6. Chapter 6

Late Monday afternoon, I have an appointment with Lester Newman from the city council to talk about my proposal. I told Britta I'd check on its progress, so I have to follow through.

But Lester spends most of the time telling me how the pond was used for irrigation when he was young. Not in a vague way. In a detailed, let-me-take-you-through-the-benefits-of-pond-irrigation way.

I leave knowing more about irrigation than I've ever wanted to and nothing about where my proposal is in the approval process.

Things don't get better when I come home to find Grandpa, Georgia, and Evie waiting for me in the newly-mine apartment. Molly's happy for the company, but all signs point to nothing good happening from what is looking like an intervention. Grandpa has a hard time with stairs, but he climbed the steep staircase on the outside of the garage to get up here. So, something is going on.

Also, I need to start locking my door.

Just as soon as I get a key made—does the door even lock? Zach might not have thought about that when he built the apartment four years ago. It never crossed my mind until now.

I shut the door and toss my Jeep keys onto the side table. "Make yourselves at home. How come Zach and Adam didn't come for the party?"

Evie lets out a nervous laugh. "Zach's helping Adam at the Garden tonight. Britta too."

"Dad?"

"He's with your mother," Grandpa answers gruffly.

"So, to what do I owe this honor?" I set down my tool bag and wait.

All three of them shift nervously on the sofa that Zach left behind when he moved out. Molly is next to Grandpa, even though she knows she's not supposed to be on the furniture.

Apparently she's taking her cues from Grandpa, who's got one foot on the coffee table, even though he knows better, too. That rule hasn't changed from when this place and all the furniture still in it were Zach's. This apartment has never been a frat boy bachelor pad with old tables that nobody cares about getting scuffed. He decorated it similar to one of Georgia's model homes.

Now that he's living in Georgia's house and not some replica, he doesn't need any of the furniture. Perfect for me because I need all of it. Not only that, but I feel like an adult living in a place with real furniture and style. Without it, I would have had to move my old bed and dresser in here and use a card table and folding chairs for a kitchen table.

This surprise attack, however, is making me feel like the kid I'm trying not to be anymore. Despite the casual way he's reclined, Grandpa is stony-faced, looking ready for a very serious discussion. Georgia and Evie are a cross between worry and pity. Basically, I'm sure the bad thing all the signs are pointing to is the thing I've been afraid was coming.

Evie is the first one to crack. "Cassie is planning to make an offer on Grandpa's shop," she blurts. "We wanted you to hear it from us before it happens."

Before I can say anything, Georgia jumps in. "She still has to get funding, but she won't have much trouble. She's got great credit and money in the bank for the down payment. I'm helping her put together a business plan."

I cross the room to my kitchen sink and fill a glass with water. I've got money in the bank too; it's the great credit that's the problem. I don't have bad credit. I've just never had a reason to have any credit. Zach has pointed this out to me before, and I have ignored it. I have no reason to need credit.

I down the whole glass of water before I'm ready to speak. "How soon is this happening?"

Grandpa opens his mouth to say something, but Georgia holds up her hand and stops him. "You've got thirty days to get the money, Bear, if you want the shop. We don't want to pull the rug out from under you completely. And Cassie could change her mind, but in the meantime, she's moving into the apartment with the option to buy while we put all the pieces together."

This is a bigger blow than I thought. I lean against the counter, holding the glass so tight it may break. "She's moving into the studio? Where's my team supposed to get dressed?"

"You don't need the shop for little girls to play hockey," Grandpa butts in. "They shouldn't be out there, anyway. It's not safe on the ice."

"You didn't think it was too dangerous for me when I played on that same pond." Usually, I ignore Grandpa's old school comments, but I've got nothing to lose any more by talking back to him. "I check the ice every single day before I let anybody on it. I look for cracks. I drill holes and measure. Less than five inches thick, and they're not going on the ice."

My voice rises, even though I know none of this is the point.

"Hockey's no game for girls. It's too rough," he grumbles, picking up the threads of this useless argument.

I stand and take a breath, searching for a rebuttal, because I'm not letting this die either. I wonder if he'd give me more time if I were coaching boys instead of girls.

Evie jumps up and runs interference, rushing to the other side of the kitchen counter from me, blocking Grandpa's scowl from view.

"Cassie and Grandpa have agreed to let you use the shop until Cassie closes on the property," she says while zigging to my zag every time I look around her to say something to Grandpa. "The girls can get dressed in the shop portion, but we'll need to get it cleaned up first, so it's safe for them to be in there. Adam and I can help, but everything's got to go…" She winces like she's the one about to get socked in the jaw instead of delivering the blow I see coming from a mile away. "Including the Mustang."

I blow out a long breath. "I don't care about the car. I care about giving these girls a place to play a game that'll help them build resilience and confidence. You sell the shop and I've got no parking or green space, no room to build an outdoor shelter by the pond. Without that space, there's no incentive for the city to buy the pond from Lynette."

"The city council won't okay money for that plan, anyway." Grandpa's voice is slightly more gentle than before, but that doesn't make his words any softer. "They're too tight-fisted with taxpayer money. It will never happen, which you'll remember I told you when you first asked about this."

"He might not be wrong, Bear," Georgia says. "I've had to battle them too, and they are hard to convince. For them to dip into city coffers or raise taxes to pay for a park is going to be a hard sell. The only reason I got approval for my Little Copenhagen project is because it didn't cost them a dime. I paid for everything, which I knew I would have to do from the start."

Georgia's gentle tone doesn't soften the blow. Like a dog being shooed away from something he wants and loves, my hackles go up.

"Maybe you didn't cost Paradise money, but your project has cost us a lot more." I speak slowly, carefully, ignoring Georgia's wince.

"If not for you and your show," I continue, my words gaining speed. "People wouldn't want to move to Paradise in the first place and turn auto shops into bookstore. Developers wouldn't be buying up land to put up tract homes and make our little town a carbon copy of every other city full of beige houses and luxury SUVs."

"The people buying those beige houses are what's keeping Paradise alive. They're providing the taxes that support your team and the girls who play on it," Georgia answers coolly.

I'm not the first one to accuse her of ruining Paradise. I don't really believe it—Georgia makes everything more fun wherever she is—but I don't particularly enjoy having so many unfamiliar faces in my town.

"Creating the park to protect the pond is a great idea, Bear." Evie draws my eyes back to hers, and the sympathy there soothes some of my anger. "What about appealing to the city council to make sure there's green space in the new developments? Is there a way to have your shelter on the other side of the pond and extend the green space that way?"

It's not a terrible idea, and maybe I'd be more interested if not for one thing. "I've spent the past year working on the plans I have and trying to get those approved. I don't want to start the entire process over," I tell Evie.

She raises her eyebrows. "Grandpa needs to sell the shop. You know this."

Grandpa pushes himself off the couch and walks toward me, grimacing as he does. The cold is terrible on his joints. The arthritis in his hips and knees flares every winter, so he takes a while to cross the room. Molly is with him the whole way until he puts his hand on my shoulder.

"I wanted this to work for you too, son. But I can't take this cold anymore. Your Granny and I need the money to keep our place here for summers and have a house in Arizona too."

He pats my shoulder, putting an official end to the discussion.

Because how can I argue he should wait to sell the shop until the city can buy it? Grandpa and Georgia are right. That could take ages. Especially considering Mayor Darlene Voglmeyer has the final say, and she doesn't care for any of us Thomsens.

"You'll need to have your stuff out of the studio by the end of the week so that Ms. Lee can move in." Grandpa drops his hand and shuffles toward the front door. "Oh, and you'd better get an exterminator in there. The place is probably crawling with mice if those kids have left food and stuff around."

I'm about to protest that I've kept it clean but stop myself as an idea forms.

Grandpa adds, "It won't pass inspection if it's got rodents. And if Cassie's like every other woman I know, she'll go crazy at the first sign of a mouse. I don't want to jeopardize this sale or have to lower the price because there's a rodent problem."

"I'll take care of it," I mutter, questioning his assessment of Cassie, who doesn't seem to be afraid of anything, but I won't argue with him about her or the exterminator. I don't want him taking care of either problem.

I've got traps all over that shop, and I empty them every time I'm there. Grandpa hasn't wanted to spend the money on an exterminator, and I haven't encouraged him to. He has no idea the lengths I go to keep mice out. I may not work on the Mustang often, but I make sure there aren't mice to damage it.

I admit I've left empty cans in the shop, but there's not one crumb of food anywhere in the studio. Hockey gear, yes. Food. No way. And I check every door, window, and possible entry point after most practices. If I find a spot that needs to be sealed or blocked off, I do it, especially in the studio. I don't want mice in the living space any more than I want them in my Mustang. Mice are small, and kind of cute, but they carry a lot of germs with them.

Except, no matter how hard I try to keep the shop clean, field mice flood the building every winter, looking for somewhere warm to live. That's why I've got traps everywhere, and why they have to be emptied often.

That's also why I won't be calling Cliff—the exterminator—any time soon. The traps I use are humane. The ones he uses aren't.

Maybe I shouldn't care about that, but I do. All the mice want is some food and a warm place to sleep, both of which are hard to find here in the winter. Once houses replace the fields, the mice will have an even harder time surviving. I hate the thought of that.

Georgia and Evie help Grandpa to the door, but he turns around before leaving. "Have Cliff send me the bill, but call him today. Get him out there ASAP."

I nod, even though I have no intention of calling Cliff. But a nod feels further from a lie than a yes, sir. And, the fact is, I'll have to get Cliff to take care of the mice, but I'll put off the mice reaping for as long as I can.

Georgia and Evie help Grandpa down the stairs. I watch them as they go, an idea forming as they get to the last step, then walk toward the house.

If I get rid of my traps before Cassie moves in, there won't be anything keeping the mice away. No traps mean plenty of mice to burrow into all the shop and studio's nooks. The problem may get so bad that Cassie may have to find a different building to buy for her bookstore—and there are other options. Because who wants to buy a rodent-infested property?

Maybe I'm thinking too big, but the mouse problem could get so bad that the city will be forced to tear down the building. They'll have no other option besides turning it into the green space it should be. A green space with plenty of spots for displaced mice to build new burrows.

Obviously, that's the best-case dream scenario. But, at the very least, letting a little mouse problem become a big mouse problem will buy me some time to convince the city to buy the land instead of letting developers get it. It's a long shot, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Or mice-ures, in this case.

I smile at my joke.

And does thinking of Cassie taken down by an army of mice make my smile grow bigger? Possibly.

But it's followed quickly by the thought that she might get desperate enough to ask for my help to get rid of them.

That makes me want to smile more, no matter how hard I fight the urge.