you’d better go tell him. And all the others.” Carrie took a step nearer the Donut Dugout. At least Jacob and his sugary morsels of goodness didn’t try to understand her.
“Carrie,” Nate called, and her body turned to him despite her best intentions. “They’re just concerned, you know. They love this place. Now they know you’re staying, they’ll do everything they can to help you.”
She nodded to show she’d heard and turned away. After all, how much help were they really going to be? So far, all they’d done was book up her hotel on days when she could use it for more profitable endeavours, and turn back time to 1944. Neither of which was going to make a successful wedding venue.
And she couldn’t help but notice that Nate hadn’t said he’d help. He hadn’t even said he was going to stay.
Not that she cared, of course.
Time, Carrie decided, for another doughnut.
“That was a lousy stunt, Stan,” Nate said, cornering the older man by the sound system. Cyb took one look at them and quickly found something important she had to be doing somewhere else, which Nate appreciated. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as unobservant as he’d always thought.
Stan gave him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. You seemed to be enjoying it.” He chuckled at the face Nate pulled. “All right, I’m sorry. But you two need to work together. Why else would Nancy have left you control of the gardens? So, the important thing is, did it work?”
Nate sighed. “I asked her outright. No pretence.”
“And she said?”
Over at the doughnut stand, Nate could see Carrie laughing at something Jacob had said while she selected her next doughnut. Obviously not too scarred by the whole incident, then. That was something.
“Get Gran and Cyb and I’ll tell you,” Nate decided. “May as well get it all done and over with in one go.”
“Sounds ominous,” Stan grumbled, leaving to fetch the others.
It was only fair to let Stan suffer a little bit before he set all their minds at ease. After all, as enjoyable as dancing with Carrie had been, that wasn’t exactly the way he’d wanted to go about it.
Nate still didn’t know what, besides bloody-mindedness, had possessed him to kiss Carrie Archer that first night on the terrace. But he did know that, as each day went by, he found himself wanting to do it again, more and more.
Even when she was driving him up the wall.
“What’s the news?” Moira asked. The three Seniors crammed into the tiny backstage area where, hopefully, Carrie wouldn’t see them, get suspicious, and come to find out what they were up to.
Nate sighed. They were the worst plotters since Guy Fawkes and his cronies.
“She’s not planning to sell, whatever anyone says. Her plan is still to turn this place into a wedding hotel.” He paused for the resulting sighs of relief. “But there’s a lot of work to do here if she’s going to make it viable.” It had been running at a loss for the last six months, Nate knew, ever since Nancy took ill. Whatever Carrie said, it was going to need some serious investment, and it sounded as though her uncle might be their best bet—if he could persuade Carrie to swallow her pride long enough to ask. But first, they had to convince her cousin and her fiancé to hold their wedding there.
“The place is fine as it is,” Stan grumbled, causing both Cyb and Moira to roll their eyes, much to Nate’s amusement.
“You clearly haven’t seen the survey,” he told Stan. “It’s not just the cosmetic stuff—there’s some real fundamental stuff that needs fixing.”
“And this carpet really has to go,” Cyb added, prodding at the paisley carpet with the toe of her sensible-heeled shoe.
Nate ignored her. “Carrie is going to need a lot of help to make this work.” He wasn’t sure even she realised how much.
The Seniors all nodded, without apparently appreciating his point.
“She’s got maybe two weeks, no budget, and a bride who really wants to get married here. And us. That’s it. So we are going to give her all the help she needs,” he added in a firm tone.
The nods came slower this time, but they did come. Eventually.
“I could certainly help with choosing the soft furnishings,” Cyb said, looking around at the matching paisley-patterned curtains surrounding the backstage area. “My Harry always said I had quite an eye.”
“Of course we’ll help,” Moira said. “Any way that she needs us.”
They all turned to look at Stan. Eventually he glanced away and shrugged. “Well, it’s not like she could do it without us.”
Nate took that as all the agreement he was likely to get. He just hoped it would be enough.
* * * *
“Can’t we go back to meeting at the Avalon?” Cyb asked. In the corner of the Red Lion, a fruit machine paid out, resulting in flashing lights, chinking coins, tinny music and whoops of satisfaction from the crowd of young men gathered around it. The novelty of their new meeting place had most definitely worn off.
Stan gave her a stern look. “Not exactly the best way to keep our plans secret, now, is it?”
“But why do we have to be secret? We’re helping Carrie.”
Cyb looked to Moira for backup, but the other woman shook her head. “Because she’s Nancy’s granddaughter.”
Which made no sense at all. Cyb sat back in her chair and let her arms droop by her sides. “Well, I’m stumped.”
“Look at it this way,” Moira said with a gentle smile. “If you wanted Nancy to do something, even if it was for her own good, what did you have to do?”
“Pretend you wanted her to do the opposite,” Cyb answered promptly.
“And why was that?” Moira continued.
“Because she was an ornery old...” Stan started, but Moira shushed him.
“Because she always wanted to do everything herself, and do it her own way. You had to convince her everything was her own idea,” Cyb said, finally seeing where Moira was going. “You think Carrie’s the same?” And if so, she wasn’t the only one. Cyb cast a speculative glance at Stan.
Moira laughed. “From the stories Nancy used to tell, I know she is. So we need to tread carefully.”
“Fine,” Cyb said slowly. “But how do we do that?”
“Well, first we need to inform your blessed grandson of the plan,” Stan said to Moira, his voice gruff. “You know he got someone in to raise the terrace this morning? Without so much
