“And now that Mike Glazer is . . . well, gone, things should run a little more smoothly,” Abigail said. She shrugged her shoulders and looked from Georgia to me. “I mean no disrespect, but from what I heard, he was making everything—the food tasting and the art show—difficult.”
“I know,” I said, nodding slowly. “I heard that he was . . . challenging to work with.”
Georgia’s cheeks got pinker. “Mr. Glazer had some very strong ideas about how things should be done. He said that chocolate was so last year. He wanted me to make something trendy like peanut butter jalapeño cupcakes.”
Abigail made a face. “Peanut butter and jalapeño cupcakes. For that fiery sensation that sticks to the roof of your mouth? I don’t think so. Trendy isn’t what people are looking for when they come here.”
“What are people looking for when they come to Mayville Heights?” I asked.
“Clean air, gorgeous scenery and charming eccentrics like me,” she retorted. Her stomach growled before I could answer. “And good food,” she added, patting her middle.
“Go have lunch,” I said. “Everything’s under control here.” I smiled at Georgia. “I’m glad we met.”
“Me too,” she said. “I’ll see you at the tasting. I’ll save you a chocolate cupcake.”
I headed for the checkout desk, where Susan was answering the phone.
Mary was just coming in. “Hi,” she said, walking over to me. “You can go for lunch anytime.”
“Thanks,” I said. “How was your morning?”
She set her quilted bag on the counter. “Very good. Burtis made some adjustments to the tents, and we have more than half the stalls set up in the second one.” She laced her fingers together on top of the bag. “Go have some lunch, Kathleen,” she said. “Susan and I have things under control.”
Susan leaned over, resting her head against Mary’s arm, and they gave me the same kind of faux-innocent look that Owen and Hercules sometimes used. It didn’t fill me with any more confidence than I had when the cats did it.
“That’s what scares me just a little,” I said, holding up my right thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
They both smirked at me.
“I’m going upstairs to get my purse and my sweater,” I said. “I’ll be at Maggie’s studio if you need me.” I started for the stairs. “Don’t do anything outlandish to my library while I’m gone,” I warned. I was only half joking.
“Would we do that?” Mary asked. I knew she was pretending to talk to Susan even though she’d raised her voice a little so I’d hear her.
“Yes,” I answered, not bothering to turn around.
“Well, not on purpose,” Susan called after me.
I let that one go.
The sun was shining and there were just a few fluffy clouds, looking like puffs of cotton, floating in the blue sky overhead. I walked over to River Arts, glad to have the time to stretch my legs. Maggie was waiting for me at the back door. “Hi,” she said. “Roma called. She can’t make it. She has to do emergency surgery on a golden retriever. But she did get the keys to Wisteria Hill.”
“That’s good,” I said. “I’m so glad the place isn’t going to be turned into a subdivision.”
Maggie nodded. “Me too. So how was your morning?”
“Busy,” I said. “I think half of Mayville Heights was looking for something to read.”
“Good,” she said as we headed up the stairs to her top-floor studio. “That means the user numbers will be up, and Everett and the board will be so impressed, they’ll offer you whatever you want to sign a new contract and stay.”
Maggie was waging an unapologetic campaign to convince me to stay in Mayville Heights. Truth be told, it made me feel good that she cared so much.
“How was your morning?” I asked.
“Also busy,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at me. “You must have heard by now everything’s a go.”
“I did.”
“Liam had to change the date to a week from this coming Monday instead of Sunday, but otherwise we’re still on schedule.”
“So Liam saved the day.”
“He really did,” she said.
We came out into the top hallway and started down to Maggie’s studio.
“And will he be appropriately rewarded?” I asked.
Maggie rolled her eyes at me. “Maybe by the town council, but not by me. I told you, there’s nothing serious between us. We’re mostly just friends.”
I stopped and put both hands on my hips. “Oh, c’mon, Mags,” I said. “Liam is funny, he’s smart, he’s working on a PhD and this proposal for Legacy Tours, he’s still tending bar and he’s majorly cute.”
“Majorly cute?”
“We had a ninth-grade class in this morning for a tour,” I said. “I picked up a few phrases to expand my vocabulary.”
She pulled her keys out of her pocket. “Yes, Liam is smart, and he makes me laugh, and he is, as you put it, ‘majorly cute,’ but we’re just friends. You’re wasting your time if you’re trying to play matchmaker.” She opened the studio door and I followed her inside.
“Why is it that all the times I told you that you were wasting your time playing matchmaker with Marcus and me, you just ignored me?”
The high worktable in the center of the room was set with two place mats and cutlery. I pulled out a stool and sat down while Maggie plugged in the kettle and started taking food out of her little refrigerator. “That’s different,” she said, moving between the table and the fridge.
I leaned an elbow on the paint-spattered tabletop and propped my head on my hand. “Why? Because it’s you?”
“No,” she said. “Well, yes, at least partly.” Her expression turned serious. “I’m good at this kind of thing. I got Roma and Eddie together.”
“That was an accident,” I protested. “People saw Roma with the mannequin you made and thought she was dating the real Eddie. He never would have gotten in touch with her if it hadn’t been for that.”
Maggie set a large bowl on the table between our plates. She’d made her pasta salad with sun-dried tomatoes. It was one of my favorites. “Exactly,” she said. “Roma ended up with the real Eddie because of the Eddie I made. The universe was working through me.”
I would have laughed at that, but I knew she was serious. “You said ‘partly,’” I said. “What’s the other part?”
“You and Marcus are perfect for each other. You’re yin and yang.” She added hot water to her teacup and brought it over to the table.
I groaned. “Oh, please don’t say we’re soul mates. I don’t want to lose my appetite before I’ve even had one bite.”
Maggie slipped onto the stool opposite me. “I’m not saying that,” she said.
I knew that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking it. “I’m officially changing the subject,” I said. “Let’s talk about the art show or the food tasting or the Gotta Dance reunion tour. They’ve added three more stops to the schedule.”
I glanced over at the Matt Lauer doll perched on a chair by the windows. I’d found the eight-inch-high knitted doll wearing a dark blue suit and a gray fedora in the same store where I’d bought the I