Page 10 of Sugar & Shadows

I was no stranger to being persuasive, though I could learn a thing or two from this woman.

“Bitsy,” I said. “My brand of fixing is…” I trailed off, searching for a way to explain without offending her little-old-lady sensibilities.

“Manipulative?” she offered, brows arching.

Huh. The supposition was a surprise, but not incorrect.

“Ruthless?” she offered. “Morally compromised?” She sipped her coffee again, as if none of this was shocking to her.

My heart thudded against my rib cage.

She patted my hand, unbothered. “It’s okay, dear. In fact, that’s what we need. Getting this town back to its former glory is going take a lot more than smiles and bake sales.”

Eyes closed, I blew out a breath. “I’m not a small-town politician.”

“Good. We have more than enough already.” She sniffed, nose in the air. “If we needed bright smiles and empty platitudes, I’d ask the mayor. But I’m here because we need a ruthless person on our side. Someone who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.”

I opened my mouth to object. I was here because I needed a break. So I could plan my next steps.

Not jump feetfirst into small-town festival shenanigans.

Her cloudy eyes almost sparkled, like she was certain she’d already won. “And trust me. I’d never ask a man to do a woman’s job.”

She and my mom laughed like the comment was hilarious.

I, on the other hand, closed my eyes and attempted to wrap my mind around where my life had taken me.

“I know you’ve had a…” Bitsy tapped her wrinkled chin. “A fall from grace in Washington.”

A fall from grace? I nearly huffed. It had been more of an exile. Not that I’d tell her that.

My phone had been silent for days. Not a single call, text, or email notification.

She was right. I had nothing else to do. Nowhere to go.

And my mom looked so damn hopeful.

My stomach clenched as I surveyed her. Do good, my brain told me. Help them out.

I hated the damn voice in my head.

With a long breath out of my nose, I asked, “What do you need me to do?”

Bitsy clapped, straightening her bony shoulders. “First, assess the situation and figure out how to get the festival back. After that, do whatever you want. You have the full backing of the economic development council.”

“And the mayor?” I asked, grimacing. “Won’t he get in the way?”

The woman smiled like she had many secrets. “He won’t get in your way.” With that, she popped to her feet. “Excuse me. I need to head over to a park committee meeting. But think about it.” She cocked one brow. “The town is in danger. Already, the situation gets worse each day, and without this festival, we may be doomed. You have my backing, whatever it takes.”

She swept out of the house, a blur of purple and perfume, leaving Mom and me staring at one another across the tiny oak table.

“Looks like you’re staying,” she said, standing and pushing in her chair. “How about scrambled eggs?”

I peered at the microwave clock. It wasn’t even eight. How had all that happened so quickly?

“Mom.”

She pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge and turned to me.