“I think that’s it.” She craned her neck to look at the banner and gave him a nod. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He surveyed the tables full of novels sorted by genre, the wooden rack containing pressed-flower bookmarks, and the kitchen towels offering quotes from Austen and Brontë. “Looks like you’re ready.”
Worry lines creased her brow. “Business has been down, so I’m hoping it’s a good turnout.” Then a soft smile relit her face. “But you’ve done a great job putting everything together, so I’m sure it’ll go well.”
“Thanks, Sadie.” He followed her gaze, taking in the grounds. They were all set, weren’t they?
“Oh, there is one thing I forgot to ask.” Sadie adjusted a bookmark that had slipped out of place. “Where are the porta-potties? I usually avoid them, but my niece will be helping me with the booth this evening, and she’s only six. It’s inevitable.”
“Totally understand.” Cade turned and pointed. “They’re lined up right over by the food trucks and picnic?—”
He blinked.
Wherewerethe porta-potties?
He lowered his arm and turned a full circle, but the twelve yellow structures he’d ordered weeks ago were nowhere to be seen.
His heart crashed to his Sperrys the same time Zoey ran toward him from her beignet booth, three spots down. “Cade!” Her eyes were wide, cheeks dusted with powdered sugar. “We’re missing the porta?—”
“I know.” His gut twisted. Of all the things to forget. How many times had he started to confirm the delivery and gotten distracted? He’d much rather have forgotten those blasted poodles than the toilets.
Farmer Branson ambled toward them, thumbs hooked in his suspenders. “What’s the ruckus?”
“Is everything okay?” Miley joined them, carrying a coffee cup.
Sadie hugged a book to her chest. “There’s no toilets.”
Miley’s frown deepened as she turned accusing eyes to Cade. “I’m not a wood frog, Cade. People need bathrooms.”
“I realize that.” Cade looked between all their worried expressions and tried to hide his own. Right now, he had to try to save face. “I’m sure they’re running late on the delivery. I bet they’ll be here any minute.”
He backed away and lifted his cell phone, as if that were proof. “I’ll make a quick call to be sure.”
Their hiked brows and pursed lips looked as wary as he felt.
“Be right back.” He left the group whispering as he turned—and planted his foot directly in the puddle he’d avoided. Biting back a word his mother would have called Pastor Dubois about when he was younger, Cade shook muddy water off his shoe and scrolled his contacts for the number.Please just be late.
The phone rang three times, four.
He winced, pacing the other direction as the sun beamed down on his head.
Five rings.
Voicemail. Cade shoved his phone back in his pocket. Did that mean they weren’t in the office because they were on their way? It could be a good sign.
But his sinking heart predicted otherwise. Cade stared across the grounds to the empty spot where the porta-potties should have been. The smell of seasoned taco meat wafted on the breeze, and his stomach growled.
He had to figure out a new plan. If there were no bathrooms, people wouldn’t stay. Which meant less money spent at the food trucks, fewer people attending the musical performances, fewer wares sold at all the booths…
Less income for the town in general and less spreading of the word to friends and family.
Technically, the fault lay with the company he’d ordered from, right? They’d charged his credit card but didn’t deliver. Unless, of course, they hadn’t actually charged his card. Then it was on him for not confirming.
He pulled up the banking account linked to the card he and his father used for the town and typed in his credentials. The page spun briefly, refusing to load. “Come on.” He held his phone up for better connection.
“We have a problem.”
He thought about not looking toward the stricken female voice. Thought about yelling “One disaster at a time!” Thought about sprinting toward the food trucks and not stopping until he had a breakfast burrito safely in hand.
