“I noticed the decorations outside The Snowdrift are really coming along,” I said to the twins. “At least twice as many since the last time I swung by.”
“Pops is singlehandedly causing a national tinsel shortage,” Bea chuckled. “Keeping him off ladders is becoming my new full-time job.”
“Oh, no.” Mia slunk down in her seat, covering her face like she could hide behind the wall of half-empty bar glasses crowding the wet, sticky table.
“What?” Delilah glanced over her shoulder, searching for the sudden cause of Mia’s disappearing act.
“Tom. Two o’clock.”
“Yikes.” Bea cringed, slouching in her seat with nowhere to run.
“Evening, ladies.” A tall, skinny guy with curly black hair, wearing an expensive wool coat and too much cologne, stood behind Bea’s chair, with the sort of toothy grin you only saw in local car commercials. “Mia, always a pleasure.”
Her face turned sour as she reluctantly sat up in her chair. “What do you want, Tom?”
The man held up his hands in mock defense, smile never faltering in the face of her obvious disdain. “Whoa. Cease fire. Just came to remind you about our little opening next weekend. I didn’t see your name on theRSVPlist.”
“That’s because I put the invitation through a woodchipper and turned it into mulch, Tom.”
“Isn’t she hilarious?” He laughed, glancing at the rest of us while we sat in awkward silence and slight fascination at their testy exchange. “You’re all invited as well. The more the merrier.”
Tom plopped down several business cards on the table. They immediately turned soggy in the condensation from our glasses.
“They’d rather suck a tailpipe, Tom.”
Undeterred, he just laughed and shook his head as our waiter returned with four waters, myIPA, and refills for the girls.
“If you change your minds,” he said. “We’re having some live entertainment and an open bar. I’ve never known you to pass up a free drink, Mia.”
She lifted her glass with a sarcastic sneer. “First time for everything.”
“Pleasure as always,” he answered, walking away with a nod.
“The guy seriously can’t take a hint,” Delilah groaned. “What a douche.”
“Somebody fill me in,” I said. “What was that all about?”
“Tom thinks he’s John D. Rockefeller or something,” Bea responded.
“Okay . . .” That didn’t tell me much.
“He went to school with us,” Delilah said while Mia began chugging her beer with grim-faced determination. “Just a regular local boy who lucked into business school and came back to town with delusions of grandeur. Now he’s intent on replacing as many small businesses as possible with huge obnoxious chains.”
Mia slammed her empty glass down and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “Tom is the demon spawn of Ebenezer Scrooge and Hans Gruber.”
“And he stole Mia’s business idea,” Bea added.
“Really? What was it?”
Mia slouched back in her seat, sighing. “It was stupid.”
“No,” Bea told her forcefully. “It was terrific. It still is.”
“I want to hear it,” I said eagerly.
Mia rolled her eyes. “I wanted to do, like, curated foodie vacations to Maplewood Creek that would include accommodation and seasonal activities, but mostly focused on the local farm-to-table culinary scene. Tours and demonstrations. Let people come to learn about our agriculture and local brewers, maybe take cooking classes. Wine pairings. That kind of thing.”
“Sounds fantastic,” I told her. “That’s exactly the type of vacation I’d love to take.”
