Page 59 of Burning Hearts
Three months ago, we were finalists. Today, Signal House had a new presence in town. Along with my raise and new equity stake, my first Executive Producer call was one Riverfield storefront, no apologies.
Conveniently, it was also the hometown of the man I was falling for.
Cade had ducked into Brickyard to forage for snacks.
I waited in front of Cast Iron Café, which had a flyer that read:TheTown Talk live on Thursdays, Start Up, Don’t Burn Down on Saturdays!
Miss Pearl stood at the corner in a sunhat and a denim shirt with her name stitched over the pocket. She directed volunteers with a pencil like it was a baton.
“If your float can’t make this turn, sugar,” she called out, loud enough that she didn’t need a megaphone, “fix it or park it.”
People listened to her; they always did.
Beau strolled by with a portable speaker and shorts that should’ve come with a citation.
“Darlings,” he drawled into the mic, “welcome to the Jubilee, Riverfield’s annual cardio for the soul. If you absolutely must misbehave, do it where my camera can see your good side.”
He blew me a kiss off-camera and sailed off to bother someone who’d actually earned it.
Across the Commons, Brickyard Brewery’s build-out turned the old feed store windows into something new—steel and glass framing the brick like it had always been there. A COMING SOON sign hung in clean block letters. A crew was hoisting ductwork into place while the foreman bent over the sidewalk chalking arrows.
The heavy equipment was scheduled to be delivered next week. There’d be new jobs, a taproom for Riverfield, and quiet nights.
Cade had promised it, and they were delivering it.
Tansy appeared at my elbow the way old money enters a room—soundless, scented, and absolutely sure it belongs.
“Darling,” she cooed, all pearls and perfume, “let’s take a photo in the shade.”
She’d brought a cake on a rolling cart with three tiers of sugar magnolias and a fondant façade that was The Langford Hotel down to the balcony railings.
She waved Beck over and he approached with the careful, neutral face of a person who knew better than to argue with Tansy Langford.
Cade eased into the crowd with the calm of a man who never really clocks out. He wore a Station 1 T-shirt and a crisp ball cap. His eyes did their quiet scan while the rest of him looked… ridiculously good.
Cameras hovered just far enough back to make the moment look candid. But I knew my aunt. This was far from candid.
Tansy lifted the lid and, inside, a cream envelope waited:CONGRATULATIONS, OWNER.
She handed it to Beck like it was a weightless feather. But inside there was something that weighed a ton:
ASSIGNMENT OF MAJORITY INTEREST
BECK LANGFORD – 51% owner
Mortgage Principal: $10,000,000
Staffing: $220,000 / month
Operations Loss:-$150,000 / month
Deferred Renovations:$3,000,000
Projected Monroe / Coulter Wedding Revenue: pending Lila Monroe final venue selection
Portico Fire Litigation:pending
The numbers were big and round on purpose—easy to read without a calculator.
