Page 2 of No Place Like Home
Miley thumbed through the folder’s contents. “Itwasa good idea—three years ago. Maybe you’ve outgrown the job.” She narrowed her eyes. “Sort of like your workload has outgrown your desk.”
“I like my job.” Besides, the only place to go in small-town politics wasup. And he certainly wouldn’t be taking on the role of mayor anytime soon. He ripped the bag of candy and palmed a cluster into his mouth. “The festival is just…a lot. More pressure this year.”
“Found it.” Miley tossed the folder toward him. It landed on his desk calendar, which still showed last month. “There’s a chocolate stain on the corner.”
That was probably from the Twix he’d inhaled last week while crunching numbers—more red than black. He picked up the meeting request. “What’s the big deal? We’ve always had potholes.” The phone blinked, indicating Frog Legs still waited for an answer. And he’d never gotten a quote for the extra festival chairs. Had he confirmed the porta-potties?
Miley snapped her fingers in front of her own face. “Hey, right here. Focus.”
He zeroed in, though the blinking red light of the phone still teased his peripheral. So many things to do. The festival was in less than a month. He fisted another bite of candy, chewed fast.
“Have you seriously not noticed the potholes have gotten worse?” Miley crossed her arms over her chest. “Take a walk and check them out sometime. That storm last month apparently finished what the hurricane started. And let’s just say my dad’s not happy about the crater in front of Chug a Mug. He says it’s deterring customers.”
Miley’s mood swings were more likely the cause of that. Still, Mr. Mitchell, the wayfaring owner of the coffee shop who occasionally swooped into the Bay to see Miley, was not someone you wanted to disappoint. Cade sighed. “You know what’s ironic?”
Miley lifted one shoulder. “A duck that can’t swim?”
“Well, sure.” He pointed at her with the bag of candy. “But more so, the fact that everyone seems to need something that costs money, but asking for it is taking me away from planning the event that is going to bring in that money.” He squinted at her. “Are you too young to know Alanis Morissette?”
She squinted back. “I feel like this is a trick question.”
“Forget it. She has song about irony.” Cade reached up and loosened his tie. “I am that song right now.”
Miley rolled her eyes. “Regardless, Dad wants it handled. He keeps saying ‘Tell whoever’s in charge down there to make it top priority.’” She walked two fingers up the air on an invisible ladder.
Cade shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do, but as you pointed out, there are a lot of potholes in Magnolia Bay.”
“That could comfortably house a family of four?”
“I’m just saying I can’t guarantee yours will be fixed first—or any of them right now. We’re trying toearnmoney, not spend more of it.”
“You really think people are going to come to Magnolia Days this year?” Miley’s nose ring glistened, mocking him as much as her tone. But the girl had never been cruel, just brutally honest.
He eyed the phone, the frantic flashing starting to match his heart rate. “I have a plan.”
“Hope it’s not buried on your desk.”
It might be the only thing that wasn’t. Cade threw the empty candy bag into the trashcan full of gum wrappers and crinkled chip bags. “We’re having a special event this year to go along with all the food trucks and face-painting and vendors. A big draw to get people’s attention, put Magnolia Bay back on the map.”
The intercom on the phone released a burst of static, then Pearl’s voice squawked. “Cade, some exotic animal sanctuary is on line two.”
Miley slid her hand down her face. “Is that your plan? Monkeys and bearded dragons?”
“No.” Cade mashed the intercom button. “Pearl, I told that guy he couldn’t come—too much liability. Get rid of him.”
“Get rid of who?” An offended Australian accent sounded from the speaker. “Me?”
Oh brother. “One moment.” Cade jabbed the mute button. “Look, Miley. I’ll fix it, I promise.” He’d fix the hole. He’d fix the town budget. He’d fixeverything.
“How exactly are you going to fix…this?” She waved one hand toward his desk that now strongly resembled what he’d imagine an office supply store would look like if a bomb went off.
“Easy. We’re going to host a Cajun Circus.” He smiled, waiting for Miley’s grin of approval.
He only got a blank stare. “A what?”
Okay, not what he had hoped. It would work…right? Cade stood. “Cajun Circus. You know—clowns. Juggling. Aerial acts. Hoops of fire.” He spread his arms wide like a game show host. “All with a Southern flair.”
She frowned. “What’s aerial?”
