Uncle Bob rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re a little too predictable. But Evie, on the other hand… Now, Evie’s quite a woman.”
Matt couldn’t quite get his head around the conversation. “I heard someone say you called her a bully.”
“Oh, she is,” Uncle Bob assured him. “About some things. When it comes to work, she’ll pound you into the dirt. But she isn’t dull, that’s for sure. And she’s a real little beauty, besides.” He sighed, crumbling a piece of bread between his fingers, then got straight to the point. “She’s never going to come around to your way of thinking.”
Matt wasn’t sure he understood. Were his feelings for Eve so transparent that even his uncle could read them? He liked her, more than liked her, and intended to explore what seemed to be a mutual interest, but he wasn’t exactly ready to propose. Besides, Eve had baggage, and too much of it to haul around for the short while they were working together.
His fingers curled around his fork. “What’s my ‘way of thinking?’”
“About your design.” Uncle Bob leaned forward, and Matt eased his grip on the cutlery. This wasn’t going to be the conversation he’d feared. It was going to be worse.
“She’ll sabotage it,” he said, a dish crashing to the floor somewhere near the kitchen and punctuating his words. “I heard a rumor that if she can ensure a heritage-style building, she’ll be invited by the province to bid for a spot on the art gallery restoration project slated for next year. Historic reconstruction and restoration is a specialty of hers.”
Matt felt as if he’d been gut-kicked. All the air exploded from his lungs. That couldn’t be true. Eve wouldn’t get involved in politics, not even to further her career. She was too straightforward. No. Her only objection to his design was the price tag.
Because she didn’t like to lose. It was obvious that Eve wasn’t a very good sport.
“It’s true,” his uncle insisted, as if sensing Matt’s disbelief. “The province and I have been fighting it out for over a year now, ever since we decided to go ahead and replace the old City Hall. Marion Balcom’s been spearheading the project. They want to save the old building. Barring that, they want a heritage replication for the new one. You can never convince politicians that something might be out of their jurisdiction, though.” Uncle Bob sounded tired. “They get a few tree-huggers and left-wing wackos protesting outside their doors, and they cave. It doesn’t matter to them what the majority wants as long as the vocal minority gets off their backs.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you one of those politicians?” Matt said. “How can you be so sure that you know what the majority of the people want?”
“I’m not saying the majority of the people want a modern City Hall. What they probably want is for us to fix up the old one while trying to save a few dollars.” Uncle Bob rubbed his eyes, then picked up his drink again. “What I am saying is that people want a boost to the economy. Money talks. Look at this restaurant, Mattie.” He waved an arm around him. “The first two years it was in business, it lost money because people were afraid to try something new. I found the owner some investors to keep him going because I hoped tourism would save it, plus bring in the locals. Now, it’s a trendy hotspot. On weekends I can’t even get a table without booking in advance.
“That’s what I’m aiming for with this new City Hall, too. Your design will make it a tourist attraction. Hopefully it will spark a little controversy, then a lot of interest. Eventually, it will help move this province into the future.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love the city the way it is.” He downed the last of his drink. “But it has to grow—and I don’t necessarily mean in size—if it wants to compete economically with other cities in this country. And I’ll be damned if I let the province ruin things because of a vocal minority.”
“You’ve got to be wrong about Eve’s part in all this,” Matt said. He didn’t care about minorities, leftists, or anyone else for that matter. Eve wouldn’t try to change anyone’s design for her own personal gain. Especially not one of his.
A passing waitress dropped a napkin, and Uncle Bob bent over to retrieve it for her. She smiled and