Obviously. What Lori wouldn’t do to be able to control the flush of heat to her cheeks. She avoided Calliope’s knowing glance as she tried to focus on the board members moving onto the stage at the front of the room. She’d felt accomplished when she’d managed to hold a somewhat normal conversation with Matt outside. It wasn’t easy talking to a man who had gone out of his way to avoid her for the last few weeks.
Hopefully, whatever come-hither vibes she’d been transmitting a few weeks ago had gone dormant. She certainly didn’t want to push herself on someone who clearly wasn’t interested, or worse, thought her pathetic and only talked to her out of pity. Nor did she want Matt thinking she’d locked herself away and was pining over him when it was clear he didn’t want to be anything more than friends.
She squeezed her arms tighter against her body, wishing not for the first time that the action would make her shrink.
Matt Knight was the type of man who conjured images of late-night beach fires and hands entwined beneath the stars. She could almost smell the flame-kissed pyre, feel the crackling sparks. Not so long ago he’d worn his dark hair shaggy, a bit unkempt, which accentuated the beard he’d had since he’d first moved to town. The beard was gone now; his hair tamed. Gold-flecked espresso brown eyes that glinted in the light shouldn’t have any effect on her, but they did. As tempting as he was to lean into, to give in to, Lori stopped herself. She was doing just fine on her own. She didn’t need a relationship or a boyfriend to complete her. She didn’t need a man to make her life meaningful.
But that didn’t change how she felt about him. She liked him.
A lot.
As if feelings like that had ever led her anywhere good. Good heavens, what was the matter with her?
“Is it me, or does the council look as surprised at the turnout as we were?” Matt motioned to the group that included town veterinarian, Dr. Selina Collins; accountant, Kurt Murphy; and Cocoon Club members Oscar Bedemeyer and Delilah Scoda. Lori returned Delilah’s enthusiastic wave with a shy smile. The former hairdresser had “dated” Lori’s late grandfather years before and earned a place in Lori’s pantheon of friends.
Lori made an “uh-huh” response as she caught the lightning flash movement of BethAnn Bottomley taking a seat in the front row. Perched on the edge of her chair, BethAnn craned her neck and scanned the crowd. Her surprised gaze landed on Lori. She opened her red-painted mouth in silent question. She probably assumed Lori had chained herself in her house until she finished with those stupid invitations.
As if she’d even started them yet.
Gil Hamilton, only five years Lori’s senior, strode onto the stage, his khaki slacks and button-down white shirt looking more catalog chic than small town mayor. Thick, beachy-blond hair swept over sharp, hawk-like green eyes. He took his place behind the tabletop podium and banged the gavel every Butterfly Harbor mayor had wielded for the past half century.
In an almost-Pavlovian response, Lori reached into her purse for a pen and opened up her notebook as the room fell silent.
Matt’s arm brushed against hers as he shifted in his chair. He stretched out his leg with a wince. Lori bit the inside of her cheek. Matt was never one to complain, not even when it was obvious his leg was giving him problems.
“Did you call your doctor about that new prosthesis they want to fit you with yet?”
He looked startled at her question. Maybe he was shocked she’d remembered their conversation about his leg more than a month ago. “Not yet, no.” He turned a tense jaw toward her and focused on the mayor. “Haven’t had time.”
She should have kept her mouth shut. It always confused her how he seemed perfectly fine with the fact he’d lost his leg in the war; there wasn’t a self-conscious inch of him. But when it came to his treatment or discussing advancements in lost limbs, he shut down faster than... Lori smirked. He shut down faster than Lori did when she was asked to be a bridesmaid.
“Calling this meeting to order.” Gil banged his gavel again and reminded Lori of when he’d been senior class president. The Hamiltons were as close as Butterfly Harbor got to royalty. Fourth-generation ruling class, his great-great-great-grandfather—or was it only two greats, Lori could never remember—was one of their founding fathers, had been chosen to govern. How her grandfather had gone on about the Hamiltons and rarely in a good way. Something Lori was certain Gil was more than aware of.
The rules of order were recited, the board members called attendance, the minutes approved. Lori struggled against the pull of boredom and swirled her pen over the paper, letting her imagination take hold.
There were times over the years she’d felt sorry for Gil, like when his father died. But those times were easily overshadowed whenever Gil declared a bit too vociferously that he had the town’s best interests at heart. If ever there was a flashing red warning sign...
Then again, Gil couldn’t do any more harm to Butterfly Harbor than his own father had. The previous mayor had nearly bankrupted the town, certainly sent the family banking business into a tailspin, and as a result, a mass exodus had ensued. The decreased population had put everyone’s lives on hold as they hoped and prayed things would right themselves once more.
Which was why this year’s Monarch Festival was so important. With stability came pride and there was nothing her fellow townspeople liked more than showing off their beloved home. Especially before the start of the monarch migration season.
“I swear, if they verbally itemize the budget report...” Matt mumbled.
Lori refused to laugh, but inside, she grinned. She knew Matt well enough to know attending an event like this was tantamount to torture. “I thought Luke usually came to these things.”
“He’s on a field trip with Simon.” Matt’s response earned an irritated look from a flannel-clad Cyril Walters across the aisle. “He’s taken being a stepfather very seriously. You here for Abby?”
“She had a dinner meeting with Jason.” Before Cyril could glare at her, she threw the middle-aged crank a smile and ducked her head. “Sorry you got stuck.”
“I’m not.” Matt shook his head, his gaze falling to the notebook she scribbled in. “I got to see you.”
Lori’s pen froze in midstroke. She jumped when Gil banged the gavel again. “Someone needs to disarm him.”
“Overcompensation comes in many forms,” Calliope said. “He’s stressed. I can see it coming off of him in waves.” She shivered as if those waves crested over her head.
At Cyril’s “shhhhhh” the three of them fell silent.
“I’d like to make one announcement we’ve been anxious to share.” Gil’s theatrical voice echoed in the room. “The board has finally approved an architect to design the new butterfly sanctuary. Xander Costas of Costas Architecture out of Chicago will be arriving in the next few weeks to get things underway. He’ll be touring the town, talking with folks in an effort to give us the perfect design. Keep in mind, we’ll be looking for a community liaison to work with him and ensure the design he comes up with reflects who we are.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lori caught Calliope’s hand tighten into a fist.
“At least they moved the proposed site,” Lori whispered. The original location had been less than a half a mile from Calliope’s farm, which hadn’t sat well with most people, Calliope in particular. Rumor had it Lori’s brother, Fletcher, was instrumental in ensuring the new project would be built on the secondary location, halfway between the farm and the decrepit old Admiral’s Lighthouse on the edge of town.
“I see dark clouds approaching,” Calliope murmured with that familiar dazed look in her eyes. “Dark, dangerous clouds.”
Lori