Page 118 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

The kitchen smells of mixed perfumes and herbs. The ladies opted to go classic with hot tea even as temperatures pushed into the nineties. It’s officially June, and the kids are out of school. The events were timed to make it a celebration of the start of summer.

But I did some digging as the festivities came to a close. I’m no financial whiz, but I’ve heard my dad talking about banking my whole life. I understand profit and loss, assets and liabilities.

While the ladies did their tea drinking, I started adding up what I thought this week of fundraising was worth.

Five-dollar hayrides, kids free. Ten-dollar tickets to the dance, minus expenses, plus the baked goods donation jar and bar sales.

Unlike actual Christmas, when the tree sales are the bulk of the gig, the only retail items were ornaments and knickknacks. With my insider knowledge from Kelsey that Gina was the sole cashier and bored out of her mind, they couldn’t have taken in very much with that.

Needing to fundraise means they aren’t supporting the family, or that supporting the family makes them fall short on the business expenses.

Jack’s wife works at the school, which might cover their basics as a young couple. Gina has an apartment in town but no other job. Grandmama requires upkeep in her cottage. I’m not privy to where Randy lives, but his parents have a house.

There’s income from this homestead, but judging by the open availability for me to extend a second week, they don’t bring in huge amounts with it.

I’m not sure how this tree farm supports them all.

I sit at the table with a platter of sandwiches and pull out my phone. I wonder ...

I quickly pay for a real estate report on this property.

And there it is. A lien.

A big one.

One so large that it would take fifty weeks of fundraising like they just did to cover it.

I shove the platter aside.

This tree farm is doomed.

But what can I say about it?

Kelsey came upstairs all aglow that their grandmother liked her. They worked out a deal, she said. If Randy acts badly, Grandmama will set him straight.

Now I wonder—why would he act badly?

Footsteps race down the stairs. “Zachery? Zach! Where are you?” She sounds frantic.

I stand up, knocking the chair back. “Kelsey?” I rush through the swinging door.

Kelsey’s at the bottom of the stairs, holding her open laptop. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit!”

“What is it?”

She looks at me, and I realize she isn’t upset, but over-the-moon excited. “The two actors Desdemona chose forLimited Fateweren’t available! The director wrote me back, asking for new leads. And get this! The script caught the attention of Andrew Fontaine—you know the one, right?”

“The Oscar committee. I do.”

“It’s on their radar in preproduction. I knew this script was special. I told Desdemona we had to put all our energy into it. Actors will be willing to lowball their pay to get Oscar buzz. It doesn’t matter that the budget isn’t great.”

“You still want Jason Venetian and Gayle Sumners?”

“You bet I do. I knew it the minute I met him.”

“Even if that action sequel he did tanks?”

“Any publicist worth their salt can spin that into proof that Jason was meant for serious films.”

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