I shuffled into the Palomino Pub after leaving the post office, not because I needed a drink (although now I sort of did) but because that’s where the weekly city council meetings were held. Originally the building had been a trading post used by French and Indian fur trappers, then for a while it was a barbershop where grizzled, bearded men could get a shave and a hot bath for two cents a bucket. Soap, naturally, was extra, and I suspect most men didn’t bother with the extravagance. Early in the 1900s, the building became the township offices, and Mayor Blackwell, whichever one was around then, decided meetings should be held there every Wednesday at 3:30 p.m. Then, after World War II, once families started to vacation again, tourism took hold on Wenniway, and this building became a saloon. Council meetings continued to meet there, though, because apparently no one ever thought to change the venue.
Personally, I considered a bar to be a questionable location for the local government to tend to its duties, so my first order of business (well, after organizing and painting my office, installing computers, fixing the damn sidewalks, and rooting out any criminal element on the island) was going to be to relocate our meetings to someplace more professional, less publike. Maybe the library or community center. At least to someplace that didn’t smell like old beer and fried pickles. Partly for the message it sent, but also because, as reliable rumor had it, the board members did a fair amount of drinking during meetings. Booze and politicians may go together like mice and cheese, but that didn’t mean I had to encourage it. Even if the fried pickles were delicious.
I stepped inside the pub and paused to let my eyes adjust from sunlight to the dim interior. Dark-paneled walls surrounded a collection of unadorned tables and cozy booths.
“Hey there, Cinderella.”
I spun around at the sound of that voice, and there, behind the glossy yet dinged-up wooden bar of the Palomino Pub, wiping a highball glass with a red checkered towel, stood Prince Charming. His jacket was gone, and now he wore a dark green T-shirt with the white outline of a horse on it. The logo of the Palomino Pub. Wut? Why?
“What are you doing here? Why are you behind the bar?” My voice had a definitive blurt quality to it, tinged with annoyed surprise. Not because I was annoyed he was there. It’s just that I don’t like surprises, and today seemed to be full of them.
Fortunately, he didn’t seem to take offense. His responding smile was all mischief and charm. “I work here. My shift started ten minutes ago.”
“What do you mean you work here? Since when?” Still blurting. My people skills were sadly lacking today.
“Since yesterday. I’m Leo, by the way. And if you don’t mind me asking, why are you wearing your sister’s shoes if they don’t fit?”
“Because they go with the suit, which is also my sister’s.” I was feeling oddly defensive for no discernable reason. His questions were completely logical. It’s just that my answers were so . . . stupid. I don’t like feeling stupid.
“Why are you wearing your sister’s suit?”
“Because I’m the mayor,” I practically shouted, and even as it came out, I realized that made no sense. I needed to get hold of myself. It wasn’t his presence that had me so edgy, it was that weird private investigator and his crazy idea of a jewel thief running around Wenniway Island. And my first city council meeting. And my shoe in the poo. And, okay fine, his presence, too. Clancy was supposed to be behind the bar. He owned this place, and he was the bartender. No one had told me about a new guy, and news of a cute newcomer was typically a front-page story. How had he gotten hired here without the local gals causing a kerfuffle? And a stampede.
I took a deep breath, a trick I’d had to utilize quite often as a teacher, and tried to gather my thoughts. “Let me start again.” I stepped toward the bar, careful to keep my shoes on, and extended my hand. “I’m Brooke Callaghan. I grew up here, and I’m the new mayor of Trillium Bay.”
He set down the towel and glass, and our palms met in a very ordinary handshake. He was still stupidly handsome, but I could handle it. Because I was a grown-ass woman and not a hormone-saturated teenager.
“The mayor, huh? Interesting.”
“Interesting? In what way?”
His smile stayed relaxed. “Um, just interesting. I don’t think I’ve ever met a mayor before. Especially a barefoot one.” His gaze flicked down to my feet and then traveled back to my face. I felt a flush following the trail of his eyes because it seemed as if he might be flirting with me, but no one ever flirted with me, so it probably wasn’t that. In all honesty, I wouldn’t recognize flirting if it bonked me in the head with a rubber mallet. That ship had long since sailed: the downside of growing up in a small, isolated community. No one bothered to flirt with me anymore.
“Brooke, honey! There you are. Congratulations! I heard Harry turned tail and ran as soon as you stepped into his office.” Dmitri Krushnic stepped out from the small room off to the side of the main bar area where we held our meetings. His generous smile exposed a significant gap between his two front teeth, and he was wearing his beekeeping hat because he always wore his beekeeping hat, but he swept it from his head and bowed before me with a dramatic flourish. It was like being welcomed by a musketeer.
Never one to follow the polite rules of society, Dmitri let his salt-and-pepper hair flow freely past his shoulders, and on all of Wenniway Island, he was one of my most favorite people. Despite his eccentricities and our significant age difference, he’d always treated me as an adult, as an equal. He’d also been the one to sit with me after my mother’s funeral, and his kindness that day was something I’d never forget. I’d adored him ever since.
“I don’t think I scared him away, Dmitri. I think he just didn’t want to help me. Thank goodness for Gertie. Say, have you met the new bartender? Apparently, he works here now.” The why didn’t anyone tell me? was obvious in my inflection.
Dmitri was upright once more and nodded, tossing his hat onto one of the tables. “We have met. The kid makes a good gin and tonic. I’ll have another, by the way.” He held up an empty glass, and I saw a chance to implement my first policy change.
“How about we hold off on the cocktails until after the meeting.”
Dmitri walked to the bar and set the glass down before turning back to me.
“You expect me to sit in that tiny room and listen to Vera VonMeisterburger drone on endlessly about our fruit bat shortage without having a bit of anesthetic in my system?” he asked.
“Vera’s bat shortage crusade is not on today’s agenda.”
“It was never on Harry’s agenda, either.” He lifted his glass again, shaking the ice and winking at the new bartender. What had he said his name was? Oh yes. Leo. Leo, the tall, dark, handsome good Samaritan/bartender.
“I intend to stick to the agenda,” I said firmly to Dmitri, then looked at Leo with my stern teacher face. “Hold off on the cocktails, please. Nothing but soft drinks for at least an hour.”
“You got it, Mayor,” he said, picking up another glass to dry.
Dmitri shook his head, his forehead furrowing in a mild scowl. “Kid, you don’t work for her. You work for Clancy McArthur, the owner of this fine establishment, and never in his life would Clancy deny a patron a refreshing libation. Especially if that patron had to listen to . . . Why, hello there, Vera!”
I heard the door open, and the scent of mothballs and camphor assailed my nose as the Trillium Bay librarian bustled inside, a well-stuffed, purple canvas bag over her shoulder. Her nearly white hair was woven into two uneven braids that hung to her ample waist. If Dmitri was my most favorite person, Vera was my least favorite. In fact, with just a few exceptions, I suspect she was everyone’s least favorite. Few on the island had escaped her wrath at one time or another, and an overdue book was enough to trigger her laser-beam glare. It burned through your skin like a flamethrower. We’d all been scared to death of her as kids, and somehow it was the kind of fear one never outgrew.
“Good afternoon, Dmitri. Madam Mayor.” Everything about her demeanor said severity, until she turned and spotted the new guy. Her face transformed into a sublime gaze of appreciation. “Why, hello there,” she purred. “You’re new. What’s your name?”
I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Vera had that kind of instantaneous impact on people. “Leo. Leo Walker. You must be Mrs. VonMeisterburger.” His smile stayed steady, if a little forced, and kudos to him for remembering that mouthful of a name.
“That’s Miss VonMeisterburger, Mr. Walker,” she said coquettishly, running an age-spotted hand down one skinny braid. “So nice to meet you. Are you the new bartender?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Can I offer you something to drink? Iced tea? Lemonade?”
She didn’t bat a lash. “Dewar’s. Neat. Care to join me?”
He didn’t bat a lash, either. It was impressive. I’d seen grown men tremble under her stare, but he was cool as a professional gambler bluffing with a pair of threes. “Perhaps another time, ma’am. I never drink on the job.”
The door opened again as other city council members ambled in, effectively saving Leo from any further disturbing advances from our frisky librarian. There was June Mahoney in floral pants that stretched across her vast backside like an entire field of poppies. She was a longtime archnemesis of my grandmother, Gigi. They’d recently called a truce to the generations-old feud, but it was fragile, sure to topple at the slightest insult. Behind her was Olivia Bostwick, all ninety-five pounds of her, most of it in the form of a helmet of curls circa 1975. She’d been the longtime nemesis of my sister because Emily had broken the heart of Olivia’s son about a thousand years ago. Grudges were a bit of a hobby around here.
My father came in next, tall and gruff with mirrored sunglasses hooked in the neckline of his uniform. Sometimes he skipped the city council meetings because he couldn’t stand the bickering and wheel-spinning, but I guess he didn’t want to miss my debut as the ringmaster of this particular circus. I felt a little flutter of appreciation, since he wasn’t one to make a fuss about such things. Sentimentality was not his strong suit. In fact, I’d never even dared to ask if he’d voted for me.
Semiretired and leathery-skinned Sudsy Robertson of no-bike-helmet fame came in next, wearing plaid pants and a pink cashmere sweater. He owned a dozen businesses on the island and only left his golf game to attend these meetings to ensure that no new laws, regulations, ordinances, guidelines, edicts, rulings, statutes, directives, or even suggestions interfered with any of his moneymaking ventures. He loved the island, but he was a capitalist first and foremost. The rest of the council, excluding my father, were more like a homeowners association hulked-out on mega-steroids and fueled by Red Bull. They considered it their sacred duty to micromanage every aspect of island life. We had bylaws about everything from the size of window boxes allowed on people’s houses to what color the storefronts on Main Street can be. There are rules about flowerbeds and flagpoles and chicken coops and sheds. Rules about pub hours, speed limits for bikes, and even laws about where it’s okay to feed the ducks and where it isn’t. Managing such minutiae was about to become my job.
I walked into our private meeting room as everyone called out drink orders to Leo.
“Let’s keep those drinks nonalcoholic, please,” I said loudly. There was dead silence for a moment, then everyone burst into a loud, unanimous guffaw. So much for my power play. Apparently, I’d have to make it an official bylaw if I wanted everyone’s drinking habits curtailed in the future.
As we settled down around the rectangular table, we were joined by Monty Price, our town lawyer; Ben Hawthorne, who ran the cemetery board; and Maggie Webster, president of the chamber of commerce.
“Welcome, everyone. I’m sure Gertie will be along any moment,” I said, standing up at the end of the table. “I’d like to call this meeting to order.”
“But we need the pickles,” Sudsy said. “We can’t start the meeting without the fried pickles.”
“I think we can,” I said. They all exchanged horrified glances, as if I’d said let’s start the meeting by first removing our clothes. “Gertie has the printed agenda, but since I emailed it to each of you in advance, you should all have it on your phones.” Another round-robin exchange of blank expressions, and my heart sank just a little bit. “Does anyone have the agenda on their phone?”
“How on earth am I supposed to bring my phone, Brooke?” June Mahoney asked. “It’s attached to the wall of my kitchen, and the cord isn’t that long.”
My heart dropped again and rattled in my chest, like an elevator with the cables snapping one by one. I’d thought my experience as a teacher would be an advantage in this new role, but I hadn’t considered that my demographic had shifted significantly. These were not a bunch of kids, well versed in and wholly dependent on their electronic devices. These people were old. Old people who’d grown up on an island where movies were still watched on VHS tapes. Time to recalibrate my messaging.
I heard the pub door slam just then, and seconds later Gertie came flying around the corner, a bundle of papers in her hands.
“Sorry I’m late, everyone. I had a little trouble with the printer.” She rushed around the room, her track shoes squeaking on the wood floor as she passed out the agendas; then she plopped down into a chair and demanded breathlessly, “Where the hell are the pickles?”
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Leo said after everyone else had left and I remained seated in the small meeting room holding my aching head in my hands. “But it sounds like you have your work cut out for you.”
Wow. Did I ever. I’d just spent the past two hours listening to so-called adults bickering about a litany of arbitrary topics. Should Polly’s Popcorn Shop be allowed to sell day-old products? Could the street sweepers add five minutes to their afternoon break? Who was going to play Santa during the Christmas Parade if Harry didn’t come back in time? And the biggest topic of the day? Did everyone see the awnings Tasty Pastries had put up, and who on earth had approved that?
“It’s like they couldn’t even hear me talking,” I said, looking up at him for a response, just to reassure myself that I was, in fact, speaking out loud.
He picked up an empty glass with one hand while wiping a ring of condensation off the table with a damp rag. “I’m not sure they could hear each other talking. Seemed like a lot of monologuing without any listening.”
“But I had an agenda.” I shook my paper, now covered in notes that I’d scribbled in the margins about all the other things I wanted to discuss, at him. Things I would have discussed if I could have gotten a word in edgewise. The only one who didn’t interrupt me was my own father, but that’s because he didn’t say anything the entire time. Not unusual for him, but I had hoped to demonstrate a little more power over that cluster of clucking hens. Even Dmitri wasn’t any help. “They were worse than teenagers. I have so many great ideas, but all they care about is the awnings.”
Leo wiped another spot off the table. “What ideas?” He gazed down at me, and I noted how dark blue his eyes were. Depths-of-the-ocean kind of blue. The kind of eyes that made every glance feel significant, even if it meant nothing at all. A flutter of something long-forgotten tickled inside my veins. Attraction. Followed by an immediate need to ignore it.
“Oh, all kinds of ideas.” I smiled tiredly and pushed myself up, because it was nearly five thirty and the Palomino Pub would start filling up with the evening crew pretty soon. “I’ll get out of the way now so you can have the room for dinner guests.”
“Speaking of dinner,” he said, “I’m new around here, so I was wondering, what restaurants do you like?”
“Oh, we have lots of great places to eat. All price ranges. The Windemere Grill is right down on the corner. There’s the Imperial Hotel dining room if you want something elegant. The Feast Well Bistro, Carmen’s Café, and Tate’s Tavern on the Bluff are good, too. At the tavern, you can watch the sun set behind Petoskey Bridge. It’s a great view. And for breakfast, I recommend Link & Patty’s Breakfast Buffet. The pink piggy décor is a little much, but the pancakes are the best.”
“Are you suggesting we have dinner and breakfast?” His dark eyebrow arched just as the corner of his mouth quirked in a ridiculously endearing fashion.
I pushed in my chair with an abrupt scrape. “Excuse me?”
“I was inviting you to dinner. You were inviting me to breakfast.”
That flutter of attraction multiplied even as my mouth fell open for a second. I’m sure it was a great look on me. “I wasn’t. And you weren’t. Were you?”
He laughed, and even though it might have been at my expense, the sound of it sent a flush over my skin and a tingle to places that hadn’t tingled for a very long time.
“I was inviting you to dinner, but not very well, apparently. I’ve been on the island a few days, but I don’t know anyone here, so would you like to have dinner with me?”
I was starving. And he was handsome. And new in town. And looked to be roughly my age. There was no history, no baggage, no reason to say no. But it had been so long since anyone had asked me out, it nearly felt improper. Everyone knew me around here. Everyone would know that we’d had dinner, and certainly everyone would have an opinion about it. And it’s not as if we could go someplace private because there was no place private on the entire island. And there was that issue of the flutter. I didn’t want to be fluttering. Fluttering led to heartbreak.
He leaned against the table. “Unless you think your boyfriend wouldn’t like it.”
I recognized that ploy well enough. That was man-speak for do you have a boyfriend? I didn’t, though. I didn’t even have a dog. I lived alone on Ojibwa Boulevard in a sweet little house with a white picket fence, surrounded by lilac bushes. I’d lived there since I’d turned twenty-three and returned from college to begin teaching at Trillium Bay School. And I was long overdue for dinner out with a man. Desperately overdue. But I was the mayor now, and everything I did, especially in these first few months, was going to be scrutinized with microscopic intensity. Plus, I didn’t know anything about this guy, other than the fact that he was movie-star delicious and made a mean gin and tonic. He could have all sorts of secrets behind that slow, easy smile. I’d known a man with secrets before, and it hadn’t turned out well for me. I’d need more information before I could make an educated decision. If he was the new bartender, he’d be around for a while. Dinner could wait.
“No boyfriend,” I finally said. “But I’m pretty new at this job and I actually have a ton of work I have to do.” That was an excuse, but it wasn’t untrue. I did have work, and what I didn’t have at the moment were any emotional reserves to spend on an evening attempting to be witty and engaging while trying to pretend that the flutter wasn’t there. “Could we do it another time?”
His smile stayed in place, and I felt an illogical twinge of disappointment that he seemed to show little disappointment of his own. I guess he really was just looking for someone, anyone, to have dinner with. So much for feeling special. The flutter evaporated, replaced by a pragmatic sense of self-protection.
“Sure. You let me know when. Other than working, my schedule is wide open.”
He picked up the few glasses remaining on the table and walked from the room.
Well . . . so much for that.