30. Chapter 30

That night, I arrive at City Hall with a fresh haircut, wearing dress slacks and a button-up shirt, and…

totally naked.

At least, that's what it feels like to be beardless. I haven't been this hairless since I was sixteen. I talked myself into believing the Miners could keep winning even if I was clean-shaven for my presentation to the city council. I didn't really believe it, but I knew the members of the city council—who have a median age of seventy-five, I did the math—would listen better if they weren't distracted by the need to tell me to get a haircut and shave.

The Miners won yesterday, even without my beard, and I'm happy about that. But once this presentation is out of the way, I'll need to process the meaning of beards if it's not to make sure my team wins. What are they even for?

Worse than my mini existential crisis is that every time I reach up to smooth my beard, all I feel is baby soft cheeks.

That's exactly what I look like, too. A giant baby. Instead of making a good impression on the city council, they'll take one look at me and think I'm even younger than I actually am. I should be ready to walk confidently into the council chambers, but I climb out of my Jeep feeling like an overgrown kid.

That all changes when I reach the doors to City Hall. My girls and a few of their parents greet me, waving signs that say things like, Hey, Hey, Let Us Play! and Green Space Hockey for Everyone! I break into a smile, and they shout their slogans at the top of their lungs.

My confidence lifts, then swells with each new chant; until one of them squeals about my missing beard and the rest join in

I should have worn ear plugs.

I think that at least once every time I'm with these girls, even when they're cheering me on. Once, after practice, when we were back at the studio, they had a screaming contest.

A screaming contest.

It was as brutal as it sounds. Seriously, forget waterboarding. The military should adopt the torture tactic of having girls in a small space scream as loud as they can. Their prisoners would give up any info to stop them.

And my players' parents are looking at me to put a stop to the suffering their kids are inflicting on all of us.

"All right, all right." I raise my hands up and down to signal for them to be quiet. I get a glance from most of them, but other than that, they pretend they can't hear me—and I know they can. They don't care what I'm saying. They're too busy holding hands, jumping up and down, still screaming.

Actually… I might use this as a defensive play once we're on the ice against another team. That is, if I win against Cassie tonight. I put my fingers between my lips and let out a long, sharp whistle that finally quiets the girls. I take it as a compliment that there's no fear in their eyes when I do that now, but I also need them to take me seriously. "No more screaming. Best behavior in there, got it?" I say to them. "We've got one chance to convince the city council to let us keep the pond."

The girls nod as one, their faces earnest.

"Can we scream if they don't?" Aspen asks, completely serious.

I shake my head even though I like the idea. "No."

"Maybe just a little?" Brighton adds, pinching her fingers close together.

"Absolutely not." I make eye contact with each girl, so she knows how serious I am about that.

"Fine," they mumble collectively.

"We're going to win, so we won't need to scream anyway." Hazel tosses her hair back with a confidence I wish I had. "It's like Taylor says, if you fail to plan, you plan to fail."

"Taylor Swift wasn't the first person to say that." My words get lost in Hazel's pep talk.

"We have a plan, and we will not fail!" Hazel's voice rises with enthusiasm. "Let's mastermind this thing!" She pumps her fist, the girls break out in a cheer, and I keep my comments to myself about making mastermind a verb.

I notice Cassie's Charger in the parking lot and I do a double take when I realize she's still in it. I can't help myself. I tell the girls I'll be right back, then jog to Cassie's car and knock on the window to get her attention.

She starts, then returns my wave. I'm not sure if the guarded look she sends with her wave is because I startled her or because she's worried. I almost stop to ask if everything's okay, then I remember, I want her to be worried. In fact, I want her to be even more worried than I am.

And I am very worried.

I don't want to dampen the girls' enthusiasm, but we've got a tough battle ahead of us. Maybe I should have warned them how tough; I just wanted them to go into battle confident. Sometimes it's better not to know how stacked the odds are against you.

Especially when you're a ten-year-old girl.

They'll learn that lesson soon enough. Too soon.

But not tonight, if I can help it.

We walk into City Hall, where a bored teenager at the reception desk points us toward the chambers where the council is meeting. They used to meet in portables out back, but with all Paradise's recent growth, the city added a wing to the old brick City Hall building originally built in the 1800s.

I've never been in the new city council chambers, but when I walk in, I'm surprised by both the size and niceness of it. At the front of the room is a semi-circular table with five large leather chairs on the other side of it. There's a podium facing the table, and behind the podium, five rows of cushioned folding chairs, like in a theater.

The officialness of the room makes me equal parts nervous and curious about how much money the city council has at their disposal. If they could build a space this nice for themselves, why can't they buy a pond and build a park that all of Paradise's residents can use?

I'm considering this when Cassie appears next to me. The girls are testing all the folding chairs, so the thwacking of seats ricocheting up and down fills the room.

That, or the pounding in my chest is making that sound.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi." None of the worry I thought I saw on her face remains. "You ready for this?"

I nod, but I don't have any of Cassie's assurance, and she knows it. Her eyes narrow like a fox sighting her prey, and I break out into a cold sweat.

Then her face softens, and she reaches for the bottom of my tie, rubbing it between her fingers. "You look nice. I almost didn't recognize you without all the hair." Her gaze rises to meet mine. "You're going to do great."

Around us, the thwacking seats go quiet and my girls break into a collective "oooooohhhhh" with all their eyes on Cassie and me. One of them even makes a kissing noise.

Cassie lets go of my tie and steps back, looking at the girls with confusion.

The side door to the room opens and the city council members enter one at a time with Darlene Voglmeyer in the lead. Our eyes meet and her eyebrow raises a fraction of an inch. The reaction is barely perceptible, but it's enough to send me the message that my presentation had better be good.

She doesn't sit before picking up the mic in front of her chair. "This chamber will come to order!"

Her words echo through the room, and my girls go completely silent.

"Girls! You willbehave," Darlene continues in a voice more appropriate for scolding hardened criminals than little girls. "This is a government building, not a playground. Now, sit!"

Next to me, I feel Cassie go stiff. Around me, I hear a few final thwacks as girls sink into their chairs. At the city council table, every member has a look of disapproval on his face—yes, his; they're all men. And while I hope their disapproval is directed toward Darlene and the way she's talking to the girls, she's not the one they're looking at.

"Is that Mayor Voglmeyer?" Cassie whispers to me. "Georgia warned me about her."

"That's her." I shove my hands into my pants pockets. They're already clammy, and I'm about to sweat through the button-up I've got on. I tug at my collar, barely resisting the temptation to tear off my tie.

"Are you okay, Bear?" Cassie brushes her hand down my arm, and my pulse slows to a more normal rate.

I nod, even though her question makes me more nervous.

The door opens behind me, and I turn to see my entire family—except for Mom and Grandpa—spill through the double doors. Even Adam is there, which means he closed the restaurant for the night, and Georgia must have driven back from Florence early because she's with them too.

They each give me a smile, a thumbs up, or a hug. Things have been rough with half of them actively working against my plan, but ultimately the shop is just a thing. Nothing is more important than family, so we've always worked hard not to let disagreements—including this one—get in the way of making our family work. Mom drilled that into all of us.

"Everyone, take a seat!" Darlene yells. This time she doesn't need the microphone, and we all follow her orders and take the seat closest to us.

Which is how Cassie ends up right next to me.

Before I can decide if I'm excited or more nervous that she's so close, Darlene pounds a gavel on the city council table.

Once the room is quiet, Darlene sets down her gavel and pulls her mic close. "For those who are visiting tonight, I'll explain our due process for this meeting."

Cassie leans over to me and whispers, "That's not what ‘due process' means."

Her breath is warm on my neck, and she smells citrus-y. Maybe it's in her shampoo, or maybe it's a perfume. Either way, my apartment and jersey still smell like it, and it's my new favorite smell.

"And the gavel?" Cassie's arm brushes mine, and I'm grateful for the long sleeves that hide how my flesh prickles with excitement at her touch. "I thought mayors only used it to start and end a meeting, not to emphasize every sentence."

"Mayor Voglmeyer wields that thing like a sword at a Renaissance Faire." I don't know why I say it. Maybe because, to fill the time that used to be taken up by taking care of Mom, I've been reading even more medieval fantasy, and I actually googled Renaissance Faires. At this point, I'll do anything to distract myself from worrying about Mom.

Cassie snorts a laugh, drawing a nasty glare from the mayor. She pulls in her lips until Darlene drops her gaze to the papers in front of her, then leans into me again. "And, pray tell, good sir, what you know about swords and Renaissance Faires."

Now it's my turn to try not to laugh. It doesn't work any better than my attempt to keep my whole body from flushing with pleasure. No one uses the words, pray tell unless they've got some Renaissance knowledge themselves. Maybe Cassie likes fantasy too. I don't know why I never considered that idea before. She obviously likes books if she wants to open a bookstore.

As the council works its way down the agenda to me, I spend the next boring twenty minutes entertaining myself by imagining what Renaissance costume Cassie would pick. Fanciful fairy? Nope. Too fantasy-ish. Comely wench? Absolutely not. Too submissive. All-powerful queen? Hmmm. Strong possibility. Elvin fighter? Fighter, yes. Elvin, no. She's too tall.

Huntress with a bow and arrow?

This.One hundred and fifty percent, this.

I can totally picture her in a green gown that matches her eyes, pulling her bow back, her slender arms bent at a perfect angle, biceps flexed just before she releases the arrow.

Those are the thoughts that run through my head as the city council talks about things like stop signs and Darlene bangs her gavel to bring people who are half asleep "to order." Not until I hear her say Cassie's name do I pay attention again.

"We're ready for your presentation, Ms. Lee," Mayor Voglmeyer says, and I stand to let Cassie squeeze by me.

She goes to the podium and taps her notecards on it before clearing her throat into the microphone. Then, for the next five minutes, she gives a fantastic presentation. She gives the history of the shop—some I don't even know—to argue why it shouldn't be torn down. Then she outlines all the benefits of bookstores in small towns.

Finally, she has a slide show she presents from her phone with mock-ups of what the bookstore will look like if she gets historical status—she'll keep the front as it is but install an automatic door so it can open to a patio. She points out where the plaque will be located that verifies its status and points out that the trim—badly in need of fresh paint—will be painted the original blue that the building had when it was built.

By the time she's done, I'm convinced by her argument. And she's done it all in exactly the time allotted to her.

Georgia and Evie break into applause that is quickly silenced with some throat clearing from their husbands, who shoot me worried glances.

But their worries are unnecessary.

There's no way I can do better than Cassie did. I don't have her public speaking skills. My hands are already shaking, and I'm dripping sweat. If everything comes down to our presentations, I'll lose.

But I have one thing Cassie doesn't: a dozen ten-year-old girls who know how to fight on and off the ice.