Page 7 of No Place Like Home
A jaunty ringtone filled the sudden silence, and Rosalyn pulled her cell from her purse. Her brow pinched as she stared at the display. Then, she quickly hit the reject button and slid it back into the bag.
“So, the circus is to help get revenue for Magnolia Days?” Rosalyn folded her hands in her lap as they continued driving. Farmer Branson exited Chug a Mug juggling a pastry bag and a to-go cup, pausing to hold the door open with his overall-clad leg for Trish, one of the waitresses at the Magnolia Blossom.
Cade lifted one hand from the wheel to wave. “Yeah, we need Magnolia Days to be lucrative this year.” To put it mildly.
Rosalyn tilted her chin toward him. “Okay, I recognize that frown. It’s the same one you had senior year when they were tallying our GPAs.” She lightly elbowed his side. “You’re stressed.” She could tell that? He touched the brake as they pulled up in front of the fenced-in community park. “It’s stressful, sure. The city budget is tight, and there are so many things that haven’t received attention yet. Like the gazebo.” He pointed to the half-repaired structure. “It’s been tall and proud as long as I can remember—the most popular summer wedding spot, but it’s not safe right now to hold a ceremony.”
Rosalyn’s brow pinched. “I guess until lately, I’ve never realized how little things add up and get expensive.”
“And give an impression.” Cade nodded. “We need the rest of Louisiana and our neighboring states to recognize Magnolia Bay as a place still worthy of tourism dollars. But when everything is in a different state of repair, it doesn’t really scream ‘Southern getaway,’ does it?”
Rosalyn was too polite to agree, but he could see it in her expression. “You sound like you know your stuff.”
“I hope so. The town is counting on me.”
They drove past Magnolia Bank & Trust, where his buddy Owen Dubois worked—the same bank where Cade had sweet-talked the branch manager into sponsoring Magnolia Days. Their contribution would help pull off the event.
But the circus and surrounding events weren’t going to be enough by themselves. Even if he could add Rosalyn’s name to the roster. Which she hadn’t technically agreed to yet.
Maybe he needed to tell Owen to start practicing his stilts after all.
“You get that a lot, don’t you? People counting on you?” Rosalyn asked.
Astute as always. He dipped his head, flashed a smile to hide the weight of it all. “It’s not so bad. I assume out there somewhere, minstrels are writing songs about a gallant town director in coastal Louisiana.”
Rosalyn let out a little sigh. “I guess I only have one other question, then.”
“Shoot.”
Her emerald eyes locked on him. “Is there a theme I need to know about? Any particular music you want me to perform to?”
He sucked in a breath, looking at the road and then back to her, half afraid to hope. “Are you saying you’ll do it?”
“I’ll do it.” She hesitated. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town, but I can at least get past the circus before leaving.”
“And your knee…” He glanced at her bandage.
She patted the wrapping. “I can scale, if I need to.” She worried her bottom lip. “It sounds like Magnolia Bay needs me.”
He exhaled a dozen concerns. “You’re a lifesaver, truly.”
“But no pressure.” She grinned—or was that a wince?
“I’m sure whatever routine you do will be amazing.” He started to tell her about the one time he’d seen her perform, then stopped. Might seem stalkerish? Still, he didn’t want her to feel the same pressure he carried.
“Oh, Second Story looks good.” Rosalyn gestured toward Sadie’s two-story, used-book shop, making the decision for him. “That was one of my favorite spots to study in high school. She had the best bean bag chairs.”
“Yeah, still does. Sadie gave the place a paintjob a few months ago.” The eggshell blue store front looked welcoming and charming. Next door, the Spin Shop held its own with a fresh coat of coral. “Both of these escaped a lot of damage compared to other shops on the strip.”
“I’m glad.” Rosalyn worked her lower lip, her brow furrowing.
Cade matched her frown. What was she thinking about? Probably not Sadie’s choice of paint colors.
And why was he suddenly so curious about Rosalyn’s flavor of lip gloss?
He glanced back at the road just in time to swerve and miss another pothole. Not in time, however, to prevent Rosalyn from sliding into him, her side brushing his driving arm. “Oops. So sorry.”
She grabbed the overhead bar. “Someone actually gave you a license to drive this thing?”
