Linda snorted. “We’re nationally ranked for a reason.”
“And we host literature themed weekends,” Caroline added, her face alight.
Though a trip to the Thistle Inn spa was not in my budget, it sounded heavenly. I hadn’t looked at prices, but I’d heard how luxurious the place was, and the emerald on Linda’s cocktail ring was probably worth more than my car.
But for now, this was enough. Or maybe too much. I was being folded into Maplewood at an alarming speed, welcoming handshakes and hugs from everyone I crossed, like I’d always been here.
Too much or not, strange or not, it was nice. The people of my hometown in Maine were prickly toward outsiders, so this was all foreign to me.
“Before we were innkeepers, we were academics. French philosophy.” Linda was lithe and tiny with a platinum pixie cut. Caroline was taller, with ballerina posture and deep red lips. Her look was finished off with an Hermes scarf wrapped chicly around her shoulders.
Mrs. Fitzgerald returned with onion rings and dropped into the seat across from me, bullying me into trying one.
I folded quickly, and damn, it was stupidly delicious.
“Have another, dear. You look like you could use a little comfort food,” she said with a smile.
Without much fight, I took another and let the salty greasiness ease some of my anxiety.
For years, I’d dreamed about having a night like this. The chance to go out and meet people. To make adult friends and be part of a community.
Donny never allowed it. We didn’t have friends.
That’s not true. He did; I wasn’t allowed to leave the house. He’d manipulate me, reminding me that Julian needed me and convincing me that a good mom would want to stay home and keep the kids comfortable.
But Stella had texted a photo a few minutes ago, an image of my kids decorating cookies together, and they looked pretty damn comfortable right now.
“We’ve got to step it up on the Harvest Festival,” Callie said.
Ruby laughed. “Is that why you said the onion rings were on you? Is this bribery?”
“The Maple Street Mafia is breathing down my neck,” my boss complained. “You know how relentless they are.” She craned her neck, scanning the bar like a real-life mafia don might be lurking nearby. “I cannot with Bitsy Bramble right now. Tourism numbers are down, so she’s out for blood.”
With a nod, Ruby said, “We’ve got to get the tourists back.”
“Agreed,” a woman farther down the table chimed in. “The arrest helped.”
With that simple remark, a blanket of unease settled over the crowd.
“Okay.” Callie clapped, pasting on a bright smile. “Scott, we need more vendors. You know everyone. Can you start reaching out? And I was thinking a food tent. Something a little fancier than usual.”
“Opal could do it,” Linda said.
Evie rubbed her hands together, eyes glimmering. “What about a spa tent? Mini services to highlight what the inn offers? You could offer some of the products and sell candles.”
The sisters looked at one another, having a telepathic conversation, and Caroline nodded.
“And Ruby,” Callie said, “we need merch. Come up with a catchy slogan and print it on T-shirts, hoodies, hats. All of that.”
Ruby bounced in her seat. “I’ll dust off my graphic design skills.”
“Atta girl.”
The table came alive, one person after another shouting out suggestions while Evie took notes on the back of a paper menu.
“We need better entertainment,” Stacy, the florist, said. “Any way we can convince Naomi to play on the main stage on Saturday night?”
“What if we brought back the art walk?”