Page 61 of Enemies in Paradise

It doesn’t help that Georgia keeps texting me. At least once every fifteen minutes, my phone buzzes with a message from her. They progress fromsquirrels, really?to an itemized list of everything in the studio that will have to be replaced. Even though she never says the words specifically, each one implies I did this on purpose.

At least Britta’s on my side as I tell her as much of the story as I know.Mostly on my side, anyway. I end with my confession of my feelings for Cassie and feel my face turn hot with embarrassment as I recount the details.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” she tells me as we rehang the curtain rod. “Being surprised isn’t the same as not feeling the same way you do.”

“I guess. But it doesn’t mean she does either.”I drill the anchor screw back in the wall before Britta can rebut my argument. “She hates men, especially me.”

Britta laughs, nearly dropping the bracket to the curtain rod she’s holding in place for me. “I’ve seen her look at you, Bear. That’s not hate in her eyes. She likes what she sees.”

“Of course she likes what shesees.” I smile at Britta and strike a pose with the drill I have in one hand, then I go serious again. “It’s what’s inside that she doesn’t like.”

Britta waits for me to finish drilling before she says, “You may need to choose between fighting Cassie for the pond or fightingforher.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you want more than… whatever it is you two have now, the better play is to get Paradise and the surrounding communities to raise money for an indoor rink instead of fighting to keep the pond.”

My eyes dart to her face and the drill slips off the screw head, leaving a long scratch on the wall. I try to rub it away, which makes Britta laugh again.

“Or Georgia was talking the other day about soliciting some donations for a rink from philanthropists. You might talk to her about whether that’s a legitimate possibility.” She gives me an encouraging nudge, then jumps off the chair she’s standing on.

“People around here won’t donate. Mom already tried that. Aphilanthropistis an even longer shot. That’s one of Georgia’s pipe dreams.” I climb off my chair and move it back to the kitchen table.

“Yeah, so was the Little Copenhagen.” Britta tilts her head, waiting for me to argue that Georgia doesn’t have the power to make happen whatever she wants to happen.

That’s a losing argument, so I move onto her second suggestion. “Either way, I don’t want to train on an indoor rink. I like the pond. The girls do too.”

“That makes no sense. We could have a community rink that would be open year-round.” Britta brings her own chair back, picks up some papers from the floor, and sets them on the table.

“No one has time to practice during summer,” I argue.

With all the visitors who come to Paradise to play on Smuk Lake during the summer, anyone who owns a restaurant or other tourist-driven business works twenty-four / seven. Including Britta and me.

“That’s three months of the year, and we could find a way to use vacationers to raise money for a rink. We’d have the entire Fall and Spring to practice with an indoor rink, not just the Winter. We wouldn’t have to wait for the pond to freeze.”

She glances at me, but her eyes go back to the papers she set on the table. She picks one up, studying it closely.

Britta may be more interested in whatever she’s reading, but I’m itchy, and not just because of the cat dander. “I like the pond,” I repeat.

She lets her hand drop but doesn’t set the paper down. “I know that, Bear, but you may not have another option.” Britta holds the paper toward me, and we both look at it. “Cassie must have gotten the paperwork from Grandpa to get this building registered as a historic site. If this goes through, even if she doesn’t buy it, you won’t be able to tear it down.”

I take the paper from Britta and read it, hoping she’s wrong.

She’s not.

But before I can say anything, the door opens and Cassie walks in.

Chapter 19

Cassie

Bear’s Jeep is stillparked in the alley when Georgia drops me off after we get to do a little shopping-therapy and I’ve worked through most of the squirrel-induced trauma of the afternoon. She’s agreed to keep Willy Wonkat for the night until Bear can find somewhere else to keep the squirrels. She’s also played mediator between Bear and me via numerous text messages, getting him to agree to replace my broken dishes and torn curtain.

I already bought a new lamp to replace the broken one. A new used one, anyway. I found a perfect replacement at a local thrift shop, along with another find—ice skates that are only one size too big—I tucked safely in a bag.

They were an impulse buy. Obviously. I’ve only skated a few times, but I figured I’d give it a try on the pond Bear’s sodetermined to keep. Maybe it will help me understand why it’s so special, even if I’m not giving up my crazy dream of having a bookstore.

Or maybe I’ve got a romantic notion of him teaching me to skate in a place that means so much to him. I don’t know. I only know I can’t get his words out of my head that our kiss meant something to him. It wasn’t a spontaneous mistake like I assumed.

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