Page 6 of Flights and Sights

I pressed my fingers to my temples and let out a slow breath. She had to be fucking kidding. “So that’s that?”

“Well, nothing’s a done deal quite yet.”

“Great,” I said, my voice terse. “What can I do to improve my chances?”

“You’ll need to secure the funds or at least provide proof that you’re attempting to obtain the money. Grant or loan applications would benefit your case very much. Besides that, any supporting documentation—”

“Like what?”

“Well,” she said, ignoring the fact that I’d interrupted her. “You mentioned that you’ve done a lot for the community in terms of tourism and awards. If you could provide any documentation about those, it would help. The planning committee meets again in a month. We’ll review both applications thoroughly then.” She shifted in her seat a little.

“If you haven’t even met to discuss it, why are you here telling me this?”

Mrs. Traylor leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m not exactly supposed to be here. I’m only trying to help. I saw your application and I think expanding Celestial Cask would be better for the county than having a developer come in and do only God knows what to the land.”

I let my guard down a little, exhaling some of the built-up tension slowly. “Understood. Thank you for your support.”

She sniffed and tucked the papers back in her portfolio. “Of course, Mr. Lowell.”

“You really can call me Paxton,” I reminded her.

She gave me a small smile. “Paxton, then. I’ll see you this time next month.”

“I appreciate it.” I stood to show her the way out, but she held up a hand.

“I can see myself out. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” She hesitated. “One month, Paxton. That’s all you have.” With that, she was gone.

I took a deep breath and tried to shake it off before I headed back into the taproom. One month. I had thirty days to get this expansion in motion or we were going to lose out on the lot next door and miss our chance to expand the meadery on the same property we’d been founded on. I’d tried for loans in the past and could never get approved for enough money to make the changes I wanted to make. Grants it is, I guess.

I stepped out of my office and walked down the short hallway to the taproom to find Tommy at the bar, chatting with Cal. There was a flight in front of Cal, six small glasses each filled with a different type of mead. I held back and watched as he took a sip of the first one. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tasted. A moment later, he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he opened his eyes.

Tommy must have asked if he’d liked it, because Cal nodded vigorously and jotted something in his little notebook. I took the moment to approach, going around behind the bar.

“Which one was that?”

“It was the Mama Bear,” Tommy said.

“Wait, they don’t all have mead puns for names?” Cal asked.

I chuckled and shook my head. “I don’t win every argument around here, unfortunately.”

Tommy shook his head and put a friendly hand on my shoulder. “Look, we can only come up with so many puns before it sounds forced.”

I leaned in toward Cal. “Tell him,” I said. “Tell him all mead puns are good mead puns.”

Cal held up his hands in front of him as if he were surrendering. “I’m staying out of this.”

Tommy cackled triumphantly. “See?”

“That doesn’t mean you win,” I said. “It just means he’s being polite.” I fixed Cal with a look and dropped my voice to a stage-whisper. “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

In response, he picked up the next glass and took a sip. “Oh, no,” he said immediately, wrinkling his nose and putting the glass back down.

“What swill are you serving our customers, Thomas?” I asked, elbowing Tommy in the side.

“He asked to try a variety of flavors,” Tommy said defensively. He shook his head and fixed Cal with a look. “Traitor.” He walked away to help another patron.

“It’s got… mango? Passionfruit? Something like that.”