Tess’s eyes rounded. “That’s new.”
“I was kind of rude to him yesterday.” Moira shrugged. “I guess I want to relieve my guilty conscience.”
Tess gave Moira an assessing look. In another life, Tess could have been a counselor instead of a bookstore owner. “Being rude to Gil has never bothered you before.”
“I’m that awful to him?” Moira asked, dreading her friend’s answer.
“So much so I’d worry about you if you weren’t.”
That didn’t help alleviate Moira’s guilt. “Maybe I’m warming up to him.” She held up a hand. “Not romantically. I just…Everyone has always told me that I should date him.”
“Because everyone with eyes can see that he has a thing for you.”
“An unreciprocated thing,” Moira said, although some little voice in her head argued that truth. She’d felt something yesterday. The smallest of somethings. “So subconsciously, I guess I’ve just avoided him.”
“Like the plague,” Tess said.
Moira sipped her coffee. “And, I guess, I’ve realized that’s not fair to him. He’s a nice guy.”
Tess grinned behind her cup of coffee before taking a drink. “The nicest guy I know.”
“Then why don’t you date him?” Moira asked, already knowing the answer.
“Because I have River, and the mysterious, silent type is more my speed.” Her smile grew at the mention of her fiancé. Tess had lost her first husband years ago, and everyone had thought she’d never fall in love again. Then River came along.
“Maybe the nice guy isn’t my type either,” Moira said.
“Gil is so much more than just a nice guy though. He’s loyal, noble, sweet, and”—Tess pretended to fan herself—“pretty handsome, if you ask me.”
Moira raised her brows, as she looked at her friend. “Uh-oh. I’m going to tell River.”
“Not as handsome as him, of course.” Tess laughed. “But Gil is cute. There’s no arguing against that.” She shrugged. “And how do you know the nice guy isn’t your type? As far as I can tell, you don’t have a type because you’re never interested in anyone.”
“My type is the kind who makes the world a better place. Who makes my world better.”
“That’s a pretty tall order,” Tess said.
“Which is why I’m still single.” Moira grabbed her cup of coffee and pushed back from the table. “I need to get home for my shift and do my small part in making my corner of the world better,” she teased. “After abandoning my post yesterday, being late would not bode well for me.”
Tess also stood. “And I need to get to the store. But first I’m going to grab another coffee to bring Lara.”
“Best boss ever,” Moira said.
“I don’t know about that. If I see Gil, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.” Tess winked.
“Not necessary. I’ll just apologize next time I bump into him,” Moira said, equal parts hoping that was never and just a few minutes from now.
* * *
Gil had seen Moira coming toward Sweetie’s Bakeshop, and he’d ducked around the corner of the building. It was usually the other way around, where Moira avoided him at all costs. Not this morning though.
He couldn’t face Moira after the conversation he’d just had with Darla. Darla was surprisingly calm about the news, but Gil suspected she was in shock. If things went as the town council had planned, her beloved business would be moving out of its longtime home at the center of town. She’d have to find a new building. Move. Unpack. There’d be time lost in the transition, which meant lost sales. It wasn’t ideal, and Gil knew it.
Being the mayor sometimes meant that he had to do the dirty work though. And he did feel dirty about the council’s decision to uproot Darla’s business. Sweetie’s Bakeshop had been housed at its central location on Hannigan Street for nearly three decades. It was like the massive oak tree near the lake that the town had once considered chopping down in order to build a public dock. A few townsfolk had surrounded the tree, including Moira, practically hugging the trunk and pleading for its reprieve. Gil had to agree with them. Things that lasted that long should be rewarded. In Gil’s experience, the things that endured were the ones that made the most difference.
He got into his truck and cranked the engine, preparing to head to his next stop. Sheriff Ronnie had asked to see him this morning. As the town’s mayor, he was sometimes called to the sheriff’s department. Over the last four years, Gil had grown close to Ronnie. He guessed the good sheriff wanted to discuss the upcoming Spring into Somerset Festival happening next weekend. As far as Gil knew, everything was on track for the big day. There would be live music and food, and arts and crafts booths. Gil was planning to use the local gathering to announce his running for a second term as mayor. Like the giant oak tree on the lake, he wanted to endure and make his mark on this town.
Pulling onto Hannigan Street, he followed it to the corner of Good Luck Avenue. His phone rang while he drove. He tapped a button on his steering wheel to answer. “Hello?”
“Gilbert,” the caller said.
Gil rolled his eyes as he came to a stop sign. “Hey, Jake.” Jake Fletcher was a lifelong friend who lived on the other side of the lake from Gil. He and the other guys Gil had grown up with often liked to call him by his full name as a way of teasing him. “What’s going on this morning?” Gil asked. A truck passed in front of him, and then the road was clear for him to continue driving forward.
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Mr. S is back to his morning shenanigans, sleeping in the buff on the lake.” Jake helped his grandmother Vi and his wife, Trisha, run the Somerset Rental Cottages. “Between moving Mr. S back into his cottage every morning and making sure Vi is following doctor’s orders, I’m staying pretty busy on this side of the lake.” Jake’s grandmother Vi had had a stroke a couple of years back. She was doing well these days, as far as Gil could tell, and was just as feisty as ever.
“Not to mention running a law practice and tending to a pregnant wife,” Gil added. “How’s Trisha doing, by the way?”
“She’s great. She’s sending me to Choco-Lovers every chance she gets, claiming the baby wants chocolate. At this rate, I’m considering naming the kid Godiva.”
Gil laughed. “That’s not a bad choice.”
“Listen,” Jake said, “I was just calling to touch base with you on what you asked me about.”
Gil’s foot lifted off the pedal just a touch as a car pulled in front of him a ways ahead. “Okay.” Jake was a lawyer and Gil’s go-to guy for all things legal. “And?”
“And I don’t see that Darla has much of a leg to stand on if she wanted to fight the council’s decision. The town owns her building. The lease is coming up and it’s their right not to renew. They can legally evict Darla without any repercussion.”
“Even if she’s been the model tenant?” Gil asked.
“Even if. The one who holds the deed gets to call the shots. In this case, that’s the town.”