Page 14 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Back to parking,” Everly said with impressive patience. “When we fill the potholes next week, we’ll need to rope off parking spots directly on the street?—”
“I’d like to add something to that—” Tom interrupted.
Everly waved her hand, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence. “Additions can be discussed during new business, Tom. You know the flow of our meetings.”
Grace snorted behind us. “You’d think he’d have figured that out by now.”
“As I was saying,” Everly continued, her voice taking on a sharp edge, “when we fill the potholes next week, we’ll need to rope off parking spots. Temporary signs will direct people to the Ruby River Mercantile lot. They’ve generously offered spaces behind their building to the affected businesses.”
“How are you planning to compensate the owners of the businesses who’ll be affected?” Tom asked.
“You don’t have a business on Main Street.” Josie, the high school English teacher, shouted.
“We’re not compensating businesses, Tom.” Everly was a saint.
“And how will we know which spots belong to who?” Anita asked, genuinely curious rather than argumentative.
“By waiting for Everly to finish her sentence,” Grace said loudly enough to be heard throughout the room.
Mom shushed my sister, but there wasn’t much force behind it.
Anita shot her a glare that was ignored.
Grace just grinned, ate another chip, and cackled.
“We will have temporary signs placed in designated spots.” Everly finished. “Any other questions?” She waited approximately two seconds. “Excellent. Let’s move on to our next item. Creating a new community meetup group. I’d like to ask for suggestions.”
I relaxed half a notch. This was neutral territory. Safe. Uncomplicated.
“How about pickleball?” Tyler suggested. He was fresh out of college, worked at the gas station, and had recently moved back to Ruby River with ideas about “modernizing” the town.
“What the hell’s pickleball?” Reggie demanded, turning in his seat.
“Is it food?” Walt asked beside him, genuinely confused. Walt and Reggie were always together at these things, a matched set.
Josh ran a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Pickleball’s a stupid idea,” someone else grumbled.
“Okay. Enough,” Everly shouted over the rising noise. “While I think that’s a lovely suggestion, Tyler, I think we’ll table pickleball for now.”
Tyler sat down with a thud, his chair scraping loudly. “This town sucks.”
“So do you with that attitude,” Matt growled from his seat near the front. He owned Matt’s Diner—had for the past twelve years—and had the personality of a cactus. A grumpy, perpetually scowling cactus.
“What about a singles meetup?” Joel, Tyler’s friend, suggested, clearly trying to salvage the situation.
A low murmur rippled through the room, a mix of interest and skepticism.
“Is our town even big enough for something like that?” Someone said.
“How else are we supposed to meet people?” Another voice argued.
I watched as Delaney leaned forward in her seat, clearly considering it, her expression thoughtful.
That one small action shouldn’t have bothered me.
But it did.
