A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,91

have,” Melody grumbled, as she started clearing the mess in the back room. She had enough cupcakes in reserve to cover the centennial birthday, but it would leave her shop empty of its namesake treats ... and none of the reserve cupcakes had been decorated as yet.

After Melody had scraped the last of the dumped cupcakes and bigger cakes that had been on the bottom rack into the trash and shoved all the trays into the industrialsize sink, she got the mop to start on the floors. “Fondant on floors is so much fun to clean.”

She blew her hair out of her face—again—indulged in another short swearing session as she looked at the green and pink slime coating her floors, then got over it and got down to work. As she started scrubbing she supposed she should be thankful the town meeting was keeping her shop thin of customers.

She needed to be at that town council meeting, to hear, firsthand from the man himself, exactly what the proposed changes were going to be for Hamilton, and to join ranks with the other shopkeepers to make sure their voices were heard, and heard loudly, in dissent.

It wasn’t that she was opposed to finding ways to improve the financial bottom line of Hamilton. Lionel Hamilton and his predecessors had created the economic center that was still, literally, Hamilton town square. What had grown into Hamilton Hardware, Hamilton Automotive, Hamilton Gas, and even Hamilton Herefords over the past century had become Hamilton Industries, an everexpanding conglomerate of business, both local and countywide, with Lionel’s personal investments reaching across the country, and beyond, as far as the Pacific Rim.

Though its ever-growing business center was parked right outside the town limits, the town itself had never lost its old-time quaint charm. It was, to her mind, the absolute best of both worlds. Unique, diverse, yet traditional and close-knit.

Then Lionel had to go and introduce a land shark into their otherwise peaceful and nonthreatening waters. A man who was going to take their unique big-industry/ small-town dynamic and turn it into some kind of global, international theme park. She might make cupcakes for a living, but that didn’t mean she wanted to live in a cookiecutter world.

Muttering under her breath again as she got the last of the fondant off the floor, she emptied the rolling bucket and filled it with a disinfectant cleanser. “Lovely scent to greet my customers, first thing in the morning.” She glanced up at the wall clock, then mentally juggled her commitments for the next forty-eight hours. The shop hadn’t had a single customer this morning—if she didn’t count the visit from the devil.

She glanced back at the clock again, then finished cleaning up, before scrubbing her own hands and finally taking off her chef’s coat. She’d close the shop for three hours, hit the town meeting, then double back and reopen to catch the after-school/end-of-workday crowd. It wouldn’t leave her any time to bake or decorate, but she could put in an all-nighter and get caught up. Eventually, things would even out. They always did.

3

Griffin stood to the side of the wide screen that filled most of the high school auditorium stage and narrated as pictures of his planned future for Hamilton scrolled across the screen. “By diversifying, and creating a unified theme for your village and the independent shops that line your charming town square, we can create a unique environment that will draw in not only your average American tourists, but travelers from far beyond your county lines, state lines, and even the shores of your country.”

He was careful not to lay it on too thick, knowing better than most never to talk down to or underestimate an audience. The herd mentality was a good thing when it worked in his favor, but could quite easily shift against him. Then all his carefully laid plans would blow up in his face. “We don’t want to change what makes your shops, your village, special. We want to focus on that, figure out what it is that makes the charming atmosphere you’ve created, then capitalize on it, smooth away the rough edges, and make what you’ve worked so hard to build a bright and shiny showpiece. You’re sitting on a veritable gold mine here.”

He scanned the audience, trying to gauge his relative success. Folks were nodding, sitting comfortably in their seats, seemingly willing to hear him out, even eager in some cases. More smiles than frowns, which was very good