Page 25 of Sugar & Shadows

I didn’t do this because it was easy. Or prestigious. Or lucrative. But because it mattered. To the people I respected and cared for.

Sabrina? Where I saw people, she saw leverage.

Maplewood wasn’t a situation to be managed. It was filled with people who looked each other in the eye day in and day out. Families, friends, colleagues. People who remembered my grandfather, my birthday, and my mistakes. People who showed up anyway.

“Are you going to pout all the way there or prepare? Grab that Redwell on the back seat.”

Craning over the console, I snagged the large accordion folder. As I straightened, I peered inside it, finding several color-coded folders. And tabs. Many tabs.

“You packed office supplies?” I scoffed.

She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I came prepared. You’re welcome.”

Each folder had a title, Tourism Board, Maple Producers Association, Economic Development, and Politician Ass-Kissing.

In each folder were briefing notes, bullet points with names, and questions and possible objections.

I blinked at the carefully curated pages, then at her. “You did this all this morning?”

“Last night,” she said.

I couldn’t get a call back from a single one of these departments, yet on top of the meetings she scheduled in the last twenty-four hours, Sabrina had created half a dozen strategy binders.

My impostor syndrome reared up inside me.

Blowing out a breath, I focused on the pages in my hands and reframed the situation.

This kind of planning could be useful.

Shit. What was I thinking? Sabrina wasn’t useful. She was a hired gun who had made it her mission to defeat me. She didn’t care about the town; she cared about results. Wins and losses. Numbers on a spreadsheet. There was no question she could get results. But what would they cost? And in a place like Maplewood, costs weren’t theoretical. They could damage the livelihood of neighbors, friends, and family. And when she left town for her next opportunity, we’d all be paying.

“The deputy commissioner is going to claim the decision was based on attendance numbers,” she said.

I frowned, watching the scenery pass by. “That’s not what the letter they sent said.”

“He’ll claim it anyway. It makes them look less incompetent. Keep flipping.” She jutted her chin at me. “I need you to ask the questions highlighted in yellow.”

The page she directed me to was titled FORCE ANSWERS in all caps.

A sensation close to admiration flickered inside me.

Followed by a shot of irritation.

The handwriting was neat, the tabs were straight, and the information was spelled out clearly.

Damn her.

As I skimmed, a battle raged inside me. This was good. Impressive.

But it could easily make things worse. It we played this situation too aggressively, we’d lose the festival forever. If we were too demanding, we could say goodbye to any chance of snatching up whatever opportunities came next.

“What?” she asked after several quiet minutes.

Head bowed, I turned another page. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring really intensely at those pieces of paper.”

“I’m not staring.”