Page 36 of Always You (A Lilac Bay Novel)

“He’s not an islander!” David argued. The outrage rippled around the room.

“He might not live here,” Mr. Hillman said, chin high in the air, “but as our employee Chase represents the biggest—”

“Business on the island, yeah, we heard you the first ten times,” Sherry muttered.

“My wife and I are far too busy running the hotel, along with our other properties, to sit on this committee,” Mr. Hillman said, appealing directly to the mayor. “Chase is incredibly trustworthy and has the best interests of the hotel—and therefore the island—in mind. And as you said, Mayor Jones, it is reasonable to expect that we should be afforded representation on the committee—”

“Well, I think that sounds okay,” the mayor began, but he was interrupted by the roar of outrage from the room. He glanced over at me, and I recognized the panic in his face. He didn’t dare go against the Hillmans—more than anyone else in this room, they were essential for maintaining our tourism position. But the rest of his constituents were here, too, and without them, his political career was as good as over.

I stepped over to the podium.

“I think the Hillmans have a good point.” Before anyone could argue, I held up a hand and continued. “The Ottawa is a landmark here on Lilac Bay. Of course we’ll want to feature it on the show. But David also has a point. The committee should be made up of residents.” There was a murmur of agreement, and Mrs. Hillman stood up to join her husband, clearly ready to argue. “That’s why I’m nominating Jenny Hillman,” I hurried to continue. “That way the hotel will have representation, and the committee members will all be current residents.”

Jenny sat up straight, shaking her head at me in mute horror, but Andrew was already seconding the nomination, and the rest of the room loudly agreeing. Mr. Hillman looked down at his granddaughter, clearly dubious about her ability to sway things in his favor, but the town had already spoken—what argument could he give? He sat down, looking grumpy, and I smiled at Jenny, who simultaneously looked like she wanted to cry and strangle me.

“Well, that’s all settled,” the mayor said, looking immensely relieved at having avoided needing to publicly choose a side. “I know it’s getting late, so unless anyone has any other questions—”

No one objected, so Mayor Jones called the meeting to a close after asking the committee to meet briefly at the front of the room.

“Well, that went pretty well,” Andrew said, coming up beside me to watch our neighbors gather up their things, everyone talking excitedly. No one seemed in much hurry to get going, save for Cora, who probably assumed an influx of excited islanders would be hitting her bar soon, eager to keep gossiping about the news.

“Riley,” the mayor called, gesturing me over to where the other committee members stood.

“See you in a minute,” I told Andrew.

“I think we should all plan on meeting for lunch tomorrow,” the mayor said, once we’d all assembled. “We have a lot to go over.”

I nodded. “The producers sent a bunch of information for us, questions to answer, stuff like that. We should probably all get up to speed before I speak to them again on Monday.”

Everyone agreed, save for Jenny, who was standing at the back of the group and glaring at me. I said goodnight to the others and took her arm, pulling her away a bit.

“I can’t believe you did that!” she hissed.

“You can’t believe I think you’d be an asset to this project?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. I don’t think I’d ever seen her look quite so angry. Certainly not at me. “You sold me out to appease the town,” she said. “So that you and the mayor wouldn’t have to deal with my grandparents.”

“I did not sell you out. I nominated you because I think you’ll be good at this—”

“Oh, give me a break—” she began, but I spoke over her.

“You’re smart, Jenny, and you have good ideas, and when you get something in your head you don’t let up,” I argued. “And I think it would be good for your grandparents to take you a little more seriously. I’m not going to apologize for any of that.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know I’ll be no good at this.”

“At helping your neighbors come up with ideas?” I asked. “At keeping information organized? I’m not asking you to be on television or take a stand against your grandparents or anything scary, okay? Jenny, give yourself a little credit.”

She gaped at me for a minute, apparently unable to come up with an argument for that.

“Look,” I said, my voice more gentle now. “Nominating you did get us out of a sticky situation with your grandparents. But I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it would be good for you, too. You should be more involved around here. You hide away too much.”

“And you saw why tonight,” she said, shaking her head. “Everyone in here hates my grandparents.”

“You are not your grandparents,” I said simply. “And the fact that everyone agreed to your nomination without argument—agreedhappily, Jenny—should tell you that they feel the same way I do.”

She looked, for just a brief moment, like she might cry. But then she smiled, a little shyly, and ducked her head. “You think so?”

“I know it. So come to the diner for lunch tomorrow and help us out with this, okay?”