Page 143 of Hope & Harmony

Idolyze

CHAPTER 1

BARON

“Mr. Porter?”

Baron hummed absently, his focus on the blueprints spread out before him.

“You have a voicemail from Sam Westwood. It’s about the theater.”

He hummed again. The Westwood Theater was a near-daily pain in Baron’s ass, one he didn’t need today.Today,he had to sign off on the final plans for renovating the co-working office space in the theater’s neighboring building, yet another expensive but soon-to-be lucrative project that would revitalize the downtown.

“It’s the roof,” she continued.

Baron lifted his head. Casey was posted at the desk on the other side of the office, her chin propped on her fist.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Tell me it’s not bad.”

“I wish I could. I guess there’s a bunch of new leaks from the storm that blew through over the weekend.”

“Call one of our contractors. See what it’ll take to patch things up.”

Casey shook her head. “Sam already talked to someone. They’re saying the whole roof needs to be replaced.”

Baron sat back in his chair and stared out the windows that faced Dupont Street. Years ago, he’d fallen in love with this little beach town. He saw more than a hidden gem along the coast that he could enjoy on his free weekends. He sawpotential. He’d snatched up whatever property he could on the beach. But the downtown was the ticket to transforming Cape Haven from a forgotten dot on the map to a place that a sophisticated traveler wanted to visit and spend money year after year.

Smack in the middle of that downtown was the Westwood Theater—a cornerstone of the town’s history. He was only able to acquire it after Sam Westwood made sure the theater would be preserved. Baron had been in the middle of several negotiations at the time, and the nostalgia of breathing new life into the old building eventually won out.

“Should have known,” Baron muttered.

Casey lifted a questioning eyebrow.

Baron shook his head. Seemed like every emotional decision he made in business lately came back to haunt him. The theater was becoming the epitome of a real estate money pit.

Baron gathered up the blueprints into a tidy pile, rose from his desk, and threw on his jacket. “I’m going over to check it out. Tell Sam I’m on my way.”

CORA

The sky was blue, but a brisk winter wind whipped through the leafless crepe myrtles that lined Dupont Street, blowing the last of their fine pink and white petals across the braided blanket where Cora sat. She wasn’t living on the street, per se, but it had been a long time since she’d had a place to call home. She shivered and cradled her guitar against her chest a little tighter. She flexed her fingers to draw some warmth back into them,then began strumming an easy, familiar tune—a melancholy one she’d written as a teenager.

She’d had a roof over her head then and a warm bed to sleep in, but Cora wouldn’t trade her life now for that one, cold fingers and all. She was happy enough to be singing on the sidewalks from town to town, living off the kindness and generosity of strangers. When she’d left home for good, she’d soon realized how much good was in the world.

A couple walking hand in hand stopped briefly in the middle of Cora’s song before dropping some bills into her basket.

She thanked them and thought of a woman she’d met two towns back who’d given her the fingerless gloves she was wearing now, after Cora had been singing her heart out in the damp cold, her voice quivering as her body shook to regain its warmth. She’d made enough that day to put herself in a motel for a night before getting back on the road.

And the road brought her to Cape Haven late last night, the closest town she could find before the gas needle on her Honda Civic went to zero. It was a pretty town. Clean beaches and lots of new homes built on stilts along the water, protection against the fierce storms that hit the coast every year at random.

“There’s no busking here, you know.”

Cora’s meandering thoughts came to a grinding halt as she sat in the shadow of the man before her. She blinked up at him, noting the messiness of his brown hair and the stubbled along his jaw. He was dressed well, in crisp blue jeans and a thin, black jacket.

“I’m sorry?”

He cleared his throat, and a little line formed between his brows. Something in her gut told Cora that this man might not be the first in line to extend kindness to strangers. His clothes were expensive, his shoes polished leather. His wrist glimmered with a thick watch. Of course, she’d often felt that the peoplewho had money were that way because they didn’t give much away. But what did she know…

“There’s no busking. No street performing here in Cape Haven without a permit.”

---