Page 7 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

I lean around her skeletal frame and follow the direction of her bony finger. The old Neilsen house—Zach’s granny on his mom’s side—is our first project and within my line of sight. I can also see that the crew’s van is parked on the gravel shoulder in front of the house. Noton the street,unless Darlene means the edge of the tires that may be on the asphalt.

But going to battle with someone who thrives on arguing is dumb. Especially when I know she’s going to find a million reasons to argue with me until she gets what she wants.

And I’m not saying one word about Lyle Voglmeyer’s hamburger stand onmyshow.

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell them to move right now,” I answer while pulling out my phone.

“I’ve already called Al to tow the van.” She makes a tsking sound. “I gave my word to my fellow council men and women that I would personally make sure all the permit conditions are followed to the letter.”

I glance at Zach, still at the counter. The look on his face tells me he’s heard everything.

Then Darlene leans in so close, I can see the gray roots of her dyed-black hair and the tiny smoker’s-wrinkles around her lips. “Rules are rules, and as much as I’d like to bend them for you, I have to prioritize the people wholiveand work in Paradise.”

Her emphasis on the word “live” needles me into a sharp breath. Her lip twitches, daring me to fight back, the way Mom would have. Tempting me to point out that, while there may not be any Becks left in Paradise, my family lived and died here for generations before Darlene married into the Voglmeyer family.

Paradise is as much my home as hers.

“If you’ll let me out of my seat,Darlene,” I say in an equally sickly-sweet voice. “I’ll call my guys, tell them to move the van, and explain the problem so it won’t happen again. And I’m sure you can call Al and tell him everything’s fixed so that my crew can stay on schedule.”

She takes a step back, and I slide off the bench seat, coming shoulder to shoulder with her when I stand. I’ve never realized just how short she is. When I was a kid, she loomed large over this town.

But I’m not a kid anymore.

“As thrilled as everyone is with the success ofGeorgia Rose”—she says my brand name like she’s swallowed a mouthful of vinegar—“I’m sure you’ll agree that the town as a whole should benefit from your show, not just you.”

I open my mouth to reply, but then I catch the raised eyebrow of another customer. He looks familiar, but I don’t remember his name. And I can’t interpret if his pointed look means he agrees with Darlene. A quick scan of the room tells me, despite all the people who’ve said hello this morning, he’s not the only one who might feel the same as Darlene.

“You understand why those of us who weren’t happy about the changes you have planned for Little Copenhagen, agreed to let you film in Paradise anyway?” Her smile dips. “Your fame outside of Paradise doesn’t mean as much as your loyaltytoParadise.”

With those words, she buries any illusions I have left about what people think about my being back in Paradise. They’re suspicious of me. I’m an outsider now.

Before I can think of anything to say, Zach returns and puts his arm around Darlene’s shoulders. “You know you’re always welcome at Britta’s, but it looks like you’ve parked over the blue line there.” He points out the window to her Cadillac’s front tire, which is millimeters over the line into a disabled parking spot. “I’d hate to have to call Al…”

He lets the threat hang in the air, drifting past her angry glare.

She glances to where Zach is pointing while resisting his efforts to guide her away from me. “I’m barely over that line.”

“True, but as you’ve already pointed out, rules are rules,” he says, still nudging her forward. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee on your way out, on the house. Americano? Or straight espresso?”

“Espresso.” She lets Zach lead her away, but before they reach the counter, she looks over her shoulder and says, “I hope we understand each other, Georgia.” Her lips pull into a humorless smile. “Every permit needs to be in order. I’d hate to shut anything down.”

Darlene wiggles her fingers at me in a wave before turning her attention to the other customers waiting in line. She chats them up in the same voice she used with me, though it somehow feels less saccharine than before.

I sit back down, feeling everyone else’s eyes on me too while I poke at my ebelskiver. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of walking out of Britta’s before I finish my favorite breakfast, even if I have lost my appetite.

I force myself to take a bite anyway. Chewing takes so much effort that the pancake might as well be flavorless.

After a couple more bites, I give up and set down my fork.

Zach takes long enough to make Darlene’s coffee that by the time he finishes I could have shiplapped an entire wall if I were Joanna Gaines. And if I actually liked shiplap. He hands Darlene her coffee, topping off the gesture with his irresistible smile. She takes off the lid and sips it before letting out ahmmm.

“Almost as good as Britta’s,” she says on her way out the door. If there’s a thank you that follows, I don’t hear it.

Darlene shoots me a final look as the glass door closes behind her, then smiles smugly at me through the window all the way to her car. When she finally pulls out of the parking lot, I breathe a sigh of relief, then chance a quick scan of the room.

No one makes eye contact. That’s all the confirmation I need to know she’s telling me the truth about what people think.

I turn all my attention to Zach. At least I have him and the rest of the Thomsens. I know they’ll have my back.

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