Page 85 of Corkscrew You
But that attitude protects the community as well as his business. If Bartons continues to attract wealthy people to little ol’ Verity, we all benefit from the halo effect. I know Jordan’s adventure company has been contracted forabsurdamounts of money to take groups camping. Locals with nice houses have been able to rent them out when Bartons is full, and Iris has catered for some mega parties. She won’t adapt her cooking, of course, and the next rich Brit to call her “quaint” might get a crab claw in the eyeball. But it earns her the kind of money she’dneverget from just running the Cracker Café. Which, for her, could be the difference between a comfortable retirement, and one where she has to watch every penny.
Ted knows this community is an eco-system, with a bunch of parts that are interdependent on one another to thrive. I’m not sure Nate has fully figured that one out yet. Don’t think they teach grass roots economics at Harvard.
Note in hand, I peek outside to make sure he’s not back yet. I feel stupid sneaking around, but his final words to me the other night were so cold, that I think I’ll burst into tears on the spot if I see that same coldness in his face.
Excellent. No pick-up. I scoot to the office on tippy-toes, like a cartoon spy. It’s locked but I have the spare key. I’m about to open the door when—
“Shelby!”
“Mom?”
She’s walking my way, with what looks like a cake box in her arms.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, hastily stuffing the note in my shorts pocket.
“I came in to meet a friend for lunch in Martinburg, so I thought I’d drive over to see you, too.”
That’s why I didn’t hear her. Mom drives an electric car, because of course she does. It’s parked by the Dodge, in Nate’s spot.
“Is this a bad time?” she asks.
Mom hates negative vibes.
“Not at all,” I say.
And then I am immediately proved incorrect, for who should pull up but Nate himself. The pickup halts as he sees Mom’s car, and then reverses to park behind the Dodge.
He’s getting out. There’s nowhere to hide. Well, I could make arunfor it—
Too late. Mom’s walking over to greet him, with a huge smile on her face.
“You must be Nathan,” she says. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Lee Armstrong.”
She shifts the cake box, so she can offer him her hand.
Nate returns the shake, keeping his eyes firmly not on me, I notice.
“Good to meet you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am?” says Mom, with a wry smile. “Either you’re very well brought up, or I’m old.Bothcould be a possibility.”
“I’m very well brought up,” says Nate, proving the point.
Mom laughs. Her red hair cascades down her back. She’s only just starting to go grey. It occurs to me that my mother is an extremely attractive woman. If you like the boho hippy look, with loose muslin shirts and floral flares. A look, I have to say, my mother totally rocks.
She smiles at the two of us.
“Have you two hard workers got time for coffee and cake? I picked some up from Iris’s.”
Good news. Mom makes cakes too, but prefers morerusticingredients. Iris’s cakes, on the other hand, are edible.
Trust that to be my first response.Now, I realize what she’s asking. And I’m praying Nate politely declines.
Which he does, thank you, thank you.
“Sorry, I’ve got some urgent business to finish,” he tells Mom.
“Well, I won’t keep you,” she replies. “But let me just say that I’mthrilledyou’re here. My daughter is a trooper, but she can’t do this on her own. I’msoglad you two are now a team.”
