Page 48 of Fortune's Control
I held back a giggle. “Willard believes every conspiracy from forty years ago. It confused me, too.”
A bulletin board beside the cash register overflowed with Bigfoot sightings, including grainy pictures and a yellowed map covered with push pins. I considered it strange when Shane first told me about it, but now it was merely another slice of local flavor.
Emma searched the bottom of her purse for exact change. “How much do I need? Ah! A penny.” She slapped several coins on the old gray countertop and opened her water bottle. “Wait. Do I have enough?”
My old habit kicked in. “Let me help.” I counted them for her and added another penny from my collection before touching her shoulder to prevent Emma from walking away. “Don’t you want your receipt?” I nodded with my chin and held back a smile as her eyes bulged.
Willard hand-wrote a receipt for her single bottle of water. “Thank you both. Tell your husband I said hello, Mrs. Wilcott.”
My smile froze. “I sure will. Have a great afternoon.”
“Mrs. Wilcott?” Emma asked once we were outside.
“I gave up correcting him. His forty-year-old conspiracies come with a sixty-year-old worldview. You want to see the gallery next?”
******
“Hi, Pete.” The overhead bell chimed as a tourist left the store. “How’s business?”
Pete pulled his glasses up as his stern expression softened into a big smile. “Lilah Wilcott. What brings you here?”
“I’m showing off Fortune’s Creek. My friend Emma came down from Atlanta for a quick visit.”
She waved and started rifling through a bin filled with art prints. “Are these all local?”
“Everything in this store is made locally, including the furniture outside.”
She picked up an art print and moved to another aisle.
“Will you tell Shane he owes me another shipment?” Pete asked me.
“I’ll let him know. He should be ready by the end of the week.” I made that up. Shane disappeared into his woodshop early every evening and emerged late at night. My answer pleased Pete, so I deemed it good enough.
“Will you be cheering him on at the baseball game?” he asked.
Our conversation stopped as a couple entered. I knew they weren’t local, and what did that say about me? I trekked into town almost daily, and the number of familiar faces continued to grow.
Emma overheard his question. “What baseball game is that? I didn’t know Shane played.”
“No idea.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. Shane’s broad shoulders and chest hinted at an athletic nature. He ran in themornings before I woke up, too. He never mentioned a local baseball league before. Wouldn’t he want me to cheer him on? Or maybe he was awful and didn’t want an audience?
She placed the art print and a pair of earrings next to the cash register. “This town is a shopping temptation.”
Pete drew his glasses down the bridge of his nose. “Will that be all?” He removed the tiny stickers from both items and transferred them to one of his inventory sheets.
Emma watched him fill out a paper receipt with growing horror. “Please say you take credit cards.”
Pete chuckled. “You’ve been to Willard’s, haven’t you? Yes, we take them.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said with palpable relief.
“We’ll be seeing you at the baseball game, Lilah,” Pete called out as we left the store.
*****
“This town is made from scenes you find on a postcard.” Emma hooked her arm through mine as we left the gallery behind. “No wonder you want to move here.”
“Not permanently. Only for now.” The faint protest sounded insincere even to my ears. “The only part of Atlanta I miss is you.”
