by Zoe York
Which made Catie roll her eyes a little, because they weren’t that welcoming to all newcomers, but it also made the more romantic part of her heart do an epic swoon.
But also, summer was coming, and that meant tourists. Each year brought a new burst of city folk discovering a new part of the peninsula, and this year could be Pine Harbour’s year—which, like everything else, would be good, bad, and confusing.
“We’re going to get started in a minute, please take your seats.” Again, the voice came from nowhere, and clearly every seat in the room was taken.
Catie took a restorative chug of latte instead of rolling her eyes. She needed to keep her cool. Whatever happened tonight, there would be time to reply in an appropriate manner. She’d learned a lot as a business owner—about things like consultation periods and requests for proposals. And how to tell someone to fuck right off, but in a polite way. The Bruce County version of bless your heart: We’ll agree to disagree, which definitely meant, I’m taking this up the chain.
There was a scrape of wood on waxed floor, and then a head appeared behind the podium. The voice, in turned out, was attached to the body of someone Catie didn’t recognize, who had maybe unfolded herself from a chair directly behind the podium, and now was introducing some representatives from local government. The reeve of Pine Harbour—a ceremonial role, really, since the communities had amalgamated back when Catie was a kid—and the mayor of North Bruce, as well as a representative from the neighbouring community of South Bruce.
This meeting was definitely about parking.
As Catie took another glance around the room—where was Will? This was his type of thing—she realized it was packed to the gills with seasonal cottage owners. There were a good number of year-round residents, too, but the cottage owners had been tipped off.
Was there a maximum number of times a girl could roll her eyes in one night before it became a health hazard?
The stranger started a PowerPoint presentation and Catie went back to checking her emails. She had a few clients actively house hunting right now, so she needed to stay on top of messages from fellow realtors about new properties on the market. Or at least, that’s what she told herself as she refreshed her inbox.
Then she gave up and focused back on the presentation. Apparently Pine Harbour had a total of ninety-seven public parking spots in town. And just as Catie suspected, the municipal government was proposing that they go to a paid parking model, similar to other towns. There were some valid reasons in favour of doing it on a trial basis, the strongest being that visitors to the region would pay a potentially fairer share of the costs of maintaining those parking spots.
The room erupted in loud protests, apparently unimpressed.
Catie took another long sip from her latte.
Beside her, Isla winced. “This won’t be great for us, will it?”
Catie made a matching face. As a Main Street business owner, she knew she’d be hearing about this for weeks to come. “Nope. But we’ll have time to make our concerns heard in a way that isn’t yelling at top volume over other people who share the same opinion.”
“Promise?”
She sure hoped she could make that promise. “Time will tell.”
After a few minutes of squawking, the crowd organized itself into lines behind microphones, and Catie did her best to listen to everyone.
“Are they all saying the same thing, from different viewpoints?” Isla asked at one point.
“Yep.”
Her friend sighed and handed over another bag. “I brought you another butter tart.”
“Do you know how much I value our friendship?”
Isla laughed loud enough that people turned and glared. She waved her hands. “Not about the topic at hand, folks. Promise.”
“Speaking of our friendship, and everything you’ve done for me.” Catie took a big bite of the tart and felt immediately more peaceful. “The search and rescue team try out is on Friday. And if I make it—”
Isla cut her off. “You’re going to ace it.”
Her friend had helped her train for this over the winter. Catie knew she was strong enough and fast enough now, no doubt. But still, hubris was an important part of life. “If I make it, the team training will be every Thursday night. So that won’t work for—” She cut herself off as Frances Schmidt leaned into the microphone and said something disparaging about cottagers.
Wrong room to say that in, she thought to herself.
The room proved her right with a grumpy roar.
“Folks, let’s try to keep it productive.” The presenter put on a brave face. “Let’s consider it a friendly challenge.”
The next four comments failed miserably. Nobody liked the idea of paid parking spots in town, but for very different reasons.
“With those thoughtful comments concluded, we’re going to have to move on,” the presenter said. “Further submissions for or against the parking measures can be filed online. We want to hear from all of you, both in the initial thirty-day consultation period, but over the summer as well. Now, while we’re here, I’ll turn it over to your reeve to share some town news.”
The crowd settled down, and Catie thought about ducking out to get ahead of traffic, but just as she was weighing whether she could slide away quietly, there was movement at the entrance to the room that caught her eye.
A tall, imposing figure in a green camouflage uniform. Will Kincaid—school principal, pain in the ass, and army reservist—scanned the room, lifting his chin in acknowledgment to his brothers first, then the reeve, who had just taken his spot at the podium, and finally, to Catie and Isla.
Her friend raised her hand cheerfully. Of course she did. Will was her brother-in-law. Catie had no such familial allegiance, so she opted to ignore him.
When she turned her attention back to the podium, Will was quietly apologizing to whoever he was standing in front of. The army boots gave him another inch on his already too-tall six-foot-two frame.
“I know this change is going to spark a lot of discussion, but I just want to thank everyone for coming out tonight. We don’t do this often enough, so I just wanted to take this opportunity to share some good news as well. This will be posted online tomorrow, but you’re hearing it first tonight. The annual Pine Harbour Canada Day picnic will be followed by an evening bonfire at the harbour, a first this year. Thanks so much to August Howe from the marina, and Josh Kincaid from the garage, both of whom have done a lot of the heavy lifting to make this happen.”
A polite round of applause was well earned. Catie gave a thumbs up to August, who was sitting next to her sister, January. She liked the Howe sisters a lot.
“Finally, on behalf of our favourite school principal, who has just joined us at the back of the room—”
Ugh, Catie had gone a solid twenty minutes there without an eye-roll. Will was their only school principal! Pine Harbour only had one school, for all grades kindergarten to grade twelve. Will had zero competition for the post of favourite principal. What ridiculous pandering.
“—the business club for grades nine through twelve is seeking a new advisor for the next school year. Qualified community members are encouraged to reach out to Principal Kincaid for more information.”
Beside her, Isla’s elbow poked out, jostling Catie. “You should do that.”
“You should do it. You’re his sister-in-law.”
“That’s nepotism. And my schedule isn’t flexible like yours is.”
“It’s only nepotism if you get paid or there are perks.” There would be zero perks to spending time under Will’s bossy dictatorship.
“Remember the window washing disaster?”
Oh, she remembered all right.
“You could do your thing. Sweet talk them into competency.”
“Is that my thing?”
“Yes.” Isla nodded emphatically. “That is very much your thing, and they need it. You could really help Will out.”
Or sort him out. The more sh
e thought about it, the more it sounded like a volunteer opportunity for which she would be uniquely suited. As the meeting came to an end, she opened a new email message and started typing.
From: Catie Berton
To: Will Kincaid
* * *
Will,
I understand the PHCS Business Club needs a new Advisor next year. Count me in. I’d be happy to help.
She scheduled it to send an hour later, once she was safely ensconced at home. Then she put her phone away. When she looked up, the favourite principal himself was looking at her again. As soon as their gazes connected, he crossed his arms and looked stern.
Catie would bet even money she wouldn’t get a prompt reply from him. That was fine. She had a parking debacle to sort out.
Pine Harbour needed her, even if Will Kincaid didn’t.
Chapter Two
A week after the town meeting, Will scowled at the single email remaining in his inbox.
It was the only message he hadn’t responded to yet, and had been sitting there for days—an anomaly for the principal of Pine Harbour Community School, who was a big fan of the principle of both Inbox Zero and also being courteous and prompt in replies to members of the community.
He could pretend the reason he was ignoring the message was that he was swamped, of course. That was true.
The last three weeks before the end of the academic year at PHCS were a wild ride for teachers, students, and staff alike. Plus they were experiencing an unusually early heatwave.
He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead, glared at the air conditioning unit that had inexplicably decided to stop working on the hottest day of spring so far, and took a deep breath. One of his teachers was sending a kid down to his office and he needed all the calm, centred energy he could muster.
Tonight, at the search and rescue team’s weekly training, he would get to burn off whatever frustration was about to rumble through his door. Until then, he would be the fearless leader of the combined K-12 school.
They were still working out the kinks of having both the elementary students and secondary school students under one roof. He had been an elementary school principal for five years before the merger. Now, two years in, he was still feeling his way with the older kids, who all reminded him a little too much of his own teen years. The precarious hold on a life plan still blooming, the very real chance of it all falling apart because of emotions or unfair circumstance.
“I said, don’t effing touch me!”
Will winced at the language. The grade ten boy, Sam Otto, had spent more time in Will’s office than any other kid in the school.
Sam was not a fan of his new principal. He was new this year, having moved to Pine Harbour from a few towns away. His parents were separated, and he was living with his dad full-time now. His dad had a busy job, and Sam was left to his own devices most of the time.
Will kept trying to push Sam into some of the after-school activities. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes until the end of the day. Wouldn’t even be long enough to get Sam to talk about whatever had happened to get him sent to the office.
But after school, there was a drop-in basketball program until six. The rhythmic thump of a basketball against the floor, the pause before taking one’s shot…that had been a big part of Will’s teen years. On the court, the stress of being enough faded away.
Will’s afternoon plans had just changed.
The door to his office swung open and the sullen fifteen-year-old dropped into the chair on the opposite side of Will’s desk. “This is fucking bullshit,” Sam said.
Will gave him a bland, unaffected look at the escalation from effing to the straight-up f-bomb in his face. “What time is your dad home from work tonight?”
Sam groaned. “No way, man. You can’t give me detention.”
Will shrugged. “Actually, I can. We don’t use disrespectful language, right? You know that. And I know you know that. So it’s fair for me to hold you to that expectation. There are consequences for beaking off. You and I are going to shoot some hoops as soon as the bell rings. Until then, you can sit there and take some deep breaths.”
“You’re a terrible principal.”
“I try.” Will checked his email as Sam seethed. He sent January a note that he had her wayward student in his office, and they could discuss it the next morning, because he had plans for the kid after school.
It took eight of the ten minutes before Sam cracked. “Look, I didn’t know I had homework, all right? Ms. Howe is pissed at me that I didn’t do her stupid assignment, but it wasn’t in my assignments folder. I swear.”
Swearing was part of the problem. “How did you communicate that to Ms. Howe?”
Sam made a face. “She should know she fu—made a mistake.”
January Howe was a great teacher. Will had no doubt she would own the error if she had made it, but it didn’t excuse a belligerent response. “We don’t use disrespectful language, Sam. Full stop. Find another way to deal with your problems, or we’re going to have to put a plaque with your name on it on that chair.”
“You’d like that. A way to remember me.” Oh, that false bravado. Will could relate.
The bell sounded overhead, signalling the end of the school day.
Time to let this kid kick Will’s ass at basketball. “Come on. We’re going to the gym.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
Sam shrugged, but wouldn’t meet Will’s gaze. Less bravado now, more naked fear.
Will leaned against the edge of his desk. “The kids who go to the basketball drop-in are all nice.”
“Too nice,” Sam muttered.
Maybe the kind of nice that came with an edge—Will would bet his brand new kayak that kids were being wary of the mouthy, belligerent new guy.
There was a lesson to be learned in that experience, but it wasn’t an easy one to be dragged through, or to repair from, either. Will needed to be more mindful of that side of the coin. Sam deserved space to learn how to be a grown-up and handle the boundaries other people put up. But he was still a kid who needed friends.
“Let’s go,” Will said firmly. “I was going to let you play against me, but I think you’ll need some help.”
“Whoa, whoa, I don’t need any help beating you at basketball,” Sam protested, jumping up. “I can take you.”
“In your dreams,” Will said with a practiced cheer he didn’t completely feel.
Just like Sam, he was now a little worried about their reception in the gymnasium. And sure enough, when they strolled through the doors, the gathering chatter ceased as everyone noticed the principal joining them.
Will made eye contact with the most senior kid in the gym, DeShawn Willis. Class president, about to graduate as valedictorian, and accepted into the co-op education program at Queen’s University. In five years, DeShawn might just come back to Pine Harbour and work for Will—if he was lucky.
The young man was going to make an amazing gym teacher one day.
Today, Will needed him to be a peer mentor for Sam. To lead by example and model a kind of grace kids sometimes came by naturally, and other times had to be dragged to reluctantly. The hardest part of being a teacher was figuring out which path to take. Let them sort it out? Or push them to get over their differences before things festered to a point beyond repair.
DeShawn nodded to Sam, then cleared his throat. “All right. Let’s go. You playing, Mr. Kincaid?”
“I sure am.” Will grabbed a ball from the rack at the side of the gym and tossed it to Sam, who held it for a second, then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like fuck it under his breath before dribbling the ball a few times.
Will waited.
Sam sighed, glanced sideways at DeShawn, then back at Will. “What do you play? To nine points?”
“Sure, that works.”
Sam made a half-assed attempt at the basket, and Will got control of the ball. But as soon as their positions wer
e swapped, and it was Will’s turn to take the ball back behind the free throw line, Sam’s attitude became an advantage. His mulish obstinance lent itself to defence. It didn’t matter that Will was taller and broader than the kid.
Will had to go back and forth a couple of times, looking for his opportunity to shoot. Sam trash talked him, but inside the bounds of school appropriate language, so Will gave back a bit. “What are you gonna do next, son?”
“Not gonna let you make this shot, that’s what.”
And he didn’t. The short little son of a gun blocked Will twice, then stole the ball.
From in front of the next net, someone applauded, and then slowly everyone came over to watch them play.
Will had intended to let the kid win.
He didn’t realize how hard it would be to not be absolutely trounced by Sam.
“Why aren’t you on the basketball team?” he asked when Sam reached the nine points needed for victory.
The kid shrugged.
DeShawn tapped his arm. “You want to play me next?”
“You as easy to beat as the principal?”
Will groaned, and DeShawn laughed. “Almost.”
Which wasn’t true, at all, and their evenly matched skills made it an entertaining game to watch. When they finished, a grade eleven girl challenged Will to a game, so he played with her, keeping an ear out for the conversation between the two boys at the same time.
“Next year, someone else will have to show these guys how to shoot.” DeShawn flicked the ball to Sam. “That gonna be you?”
“Depends how often the principal gives me detention in the form of a group participation event.”
“If you show up voluntarily, you get credit for it and shit. Looks good on a resume.”
Sam snorted. “I’ll never get a job in this town.”
“Not with that attitude you won’t.” DeShawn slapped the ball away. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”
That part of their conversation stuck with Will, and came back when he headed outside after the students were all gone.
