“Is there anything Luke and I can do?” Holly asked, giving a nod of acknowledgment to one of her customers.
“I’ll let you know. But I should probably get back to the Flutterby and dive into those books. Can I get my order to go? Along with a turkey sandwich for Lori?”
“Of course. You know Paige, though. Chances are she’ll throw something unexpected on your burger.” Holly patted her hand and headed for the kitchen.
Considering Abby’s luck today, it would be a handful of jalapeños. Abby shuddered. She hated jalapeños. She took a calming breath and inhaled the familiar aroma—frying onions accompanied by hot sugar from Holly’s homemade pies.
How could some people make food sing while others, like her, made it scream?
Abby plucked the pamphlet advertising the By the Bay Food Festival from in front of the laminated menu of Holly’s desserts and grasped a final hope. Her full reservation book should bring in a good chunk of change for the coffers. If Matilda came home in time to get the kitchen up and running. If. If, if, if.
“Abby, what brings you by so early today?” Mayor Gil Hamilton, or Gil the Thrill, as he’d been known in high school, sidled up to her booth and leaned a hand on the table. With his longish blond hair and overbright blue eyes, Gil would forever be Butterfly Harbor’s charmer in residence. He might have spent a good portion of his thirty-two years trying to distance himself from his father’s financially irresponsible actions during his own term as mayor, but even benefit-of-the-doubt Abby had to admit Gil slipped too easily into the political swamp his father had polluted. Then again, she did believe his concern for the town’s survival was genuine. So long as some of his ideas didn’t strip the uniqueness out of Butterfly Harbor in the meantime. That was one of the reasons she was in support of the butterfly sanctuary he was trying to get off the ground.
“Errands,” she said and painted on her trademark smile. She’d keep smiling even as the ship began to sink. “How are the plans coming for the festival?”
“Amazingly well, actually. Tents and banners should start going up around town and in Skipper Park sometime tomorrow, and Calliope has offered her empty property at Duskywing Farm for the open house on Thursday night. We lucked out with the timing. Being able to celebrate Butterfly Harbor’s anniversary when we’ve got a town full of people gives us a chance to show off. One hundred twenty-five years is nothing to sneeze at. Plus, we’ll get that national exposure thanks to all the media coverage.”
“The Cocoon Club is anxious to expand on their success from the Pig in a Poke BBQ cook-off.” The group of Butterfly Harbor seniors had their fingers in a lot of events these days. She only wished she could convince Gran to get involved with them again. Abby flipped open the pamphlet for the upcoming festival and immediately locked on the bolded wording on the second page. “Wait. This is an amateur cooking competition? As in no talent required?” With a hefty fifty-thousand-dollar first prize. Was this the universe’s way of bashing her over the head with a skillet? “Who’s sponsoring this? ShopMax Foods?”
“Hardly,” Gil chuckled. “I told you, sponsorships have been rolling in. And NCN is footing most of it. They’re hoping to find some new on-air talent. Since Butterfly Harbor pitched in a good chunk from our discretionary fund, we get to host the two-day competition while Pacific Grove and Monterey will pick up the other events. You know, now that I think about it—” Gil angled a look at her that told Abby his thought wasn’t new at all “—it would be nice to have someone from Butterfly Harbor representing us to really get the community involved. I wonder if Matilda has any suggestions.”
Why did he insist on asking questions he already knew the answers to?
“Last I heard she and Ursula were somewhere around Ohio.” That motor home of theirs had more miles on it than the space shuttle, but the sisters’ charity trek had become an annual event, one Abby wasn’t about to get in the way of, not when both Matilda and Ursula were breast cancer survivors.
“What about you?” Gil asked.
“What about me?”
“You should enter, Abby. There’s no one more amateur than you. Think about it. They’re only allowing three competitors, so your chances of winning might be better than we think.”
Was he serious? “Sarcasm aside, I doubt that’s a good idea.” Even if she had the inclination, by the time word got around town of her scone BBQ this morning, they’d probably start a petition to ban her from even owning a kitchen.
Still... She bit her lip. Fifty thousand dollars.
“Including one of our oldest businesses would look great in the advertising. Besides, you have the personality for it,” Gil said. “Then there’s the added advertising the inn wouldn’t have to pay for. All you’d need to do is come up with the entry fee. Don’t say no. Not until you check it out, but FYI, the deadline to enter is tomorrow.” He rapped his knuckles on her table and headed out.
Temptation and opportunity knocked. That money could be the answer to her problems. Assuming she won, of course. And Gil was right about one thing: no one was more amateur than her. Oh, this was crazy, wasn’t it? Even crazy for Abby, who wasn’t known for always making the most reasoned decisions. The smoke detector was evidence of that.
She was getting ahead of herself. She couldn’t make any decision until she got a look at the books. It could be she was worried over something a good couple of months could fix, in which case she had time to come up with a gangbusters promotion plan.
No reason to put all her expectations on a competition she didn’t have any hope of winning. Not until she knew what she was dealing with. But...she supposed it could be an option. A nuclear option, but still an option.
“Your order will be ready in about ten.” Holly returned after filling her customers’ coffee cups and clearing some tables. “What was that about?” She aimed a suspicious glance at Gil’s retreating back.
“Possibilities.” Abby shoved the brochure into her purse and smiled. “Do me a favor—add a small strawberry shake to that order? Lori deserves to remember life is all about enjoyment and taking chances.”
Now all Abby had to do was remember the same thing.
ABBY MADE IT until five that afternoon before she uncorked that bottle of wine. The nuclear option was looking better by the second.
For the first time in memory, keeping a good thought had failed her. Not only had Mr. Vartebetium’s fiscal warnings been shy of the mark, but they’d be lucky to keep the doors of the Flutterby Inn open through the summer.
Her employees and friends’ jobs aside, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let Gran lose her home. Abby would go down swinging if she had to in order to make sure Alice lived out the rest of her life feeling safe and secure.
Meanwhile, Abby would start a list of words she didn’t ever want to see in print again, beginning with back taxes and ending with pipe replacement. Even worse, the money she’d been assured had been set aside for a booth at one of the food festival’s events didn’t exist. There wasn’t seventy dollars to spare, let alone seven hundred. She still had employees and bills to pay.
Not even the normally comforting waves of the Pacific worked their magic this evening. Nor did sitting on the bench in one of the more picturesque areas of Butterfly Harbor, on the hill outside the Flutterby. The cypress trees arched their branches in framed perfection while the frothy foam bubbled up and draped over the rocks below in the lazy tide. Every time Abby tried to find the bright spot, any bright spot, she floundered like a beached dolphin who had taken a wrong and very unfortunate turn.
What she did have, aside