Oh, hell. It appeared Carrie was taking seriously her promise to make things difficult for him in Magnolia.
“I renovate dilapidated buildings and give communities a second chance at prosperity,” he countered, rising to his feet.
“Renovate with a bulldozer,” she shot back. “You decimate the character and change neighborhoods to the point where the people who love them don’t even recognize their homes anymore.”
Dylan felt a muscle in his jaw clench. She’d read the editorial from the Boston paper accusing him of pushing an agenda of new urban blight. “We only go the route of a tear-down if a building isn’t structurally sound.”
“What are your plans for the properties you’ve purchased in Magnolia?” Malcolm asked, his tone a bit cooler than it had been moments earlier.
“We’re in the initial stages,” Dylan said, “so no final decisions have been made.”
“But you aren’t going to tear down any buildings?” The question came from Stuart Moore, whose family had owned the bookstore across the street from Dylan’s properties for as long as anyone could remember. “I just started turning a profit again thanks to the new wave of visitors in town this fall. A big mess of construction will impact that.”
“For a time,” Dylan conceded, trying not to show his impatience. Normally, he focused on the big financial and marketing aspect of the deal. Wiley had been the one to work with the established businesses around their properties. He’d had a way with people that Dylan obviously didn’t. “But if we convert the properties to mixed-use spaces with condos as well as upscale commercial properties, that will bring in a brand-new customer base.”
“How much will the condos sell for?” Carrie demanded, her chin lifted in challenge.
She’d done her homework.
Dylan cleared his throat. “Typically, our properties start at a base price in the mid-six figures.”
He fought back a groan at the round of gasps and disbelieving murmurs that greeted those figures.
“Magnolia locals can’t afford that,” the woman sitting next to Carrie exclaimed.
“We’re hoping to attract new residents to the town,” Dylan explained, hoping he sounded enthusiastic.
“And chase out everyone else,” Carrie accused, pointing a finger at him.
“I’m sure Dylan doesn’t have some grand scheme to return to Magnolia and take over the town,” Mal interjected before Dylan could respond.
Carrie let out a delicate snort. That was pretty much what he’d told her he planned to do that dark night when seeing her again had weakened his defenses and loosened his tongue all at once.
“I want to make things better,” he said. That much wasn’t a lie. Not for himself. His life was fine. Great. Maybe lonely. Perhaps lacking much substance outside of the relentless pursuit of success. Dylan wouldn’t complain.
But Sam needed something more. A home. A community. A chance to heal from the tragedy that had robbed him of his family.
It might be a long shot to think they could find that in Magnolia, but Dylan had to try. He’d run out of options.
“That’s the spirit,” Mal shouted with what sounded like forced enthusiasm.
No one else in the room looked convinced.
“Speaking of spirit,” the mayor continued. “Another item on the agenda for this meeting is to discuss the upcoming holiday festival. It kicks off Thanksgiving weekend. Most of the plans are well underway, but maybe you have any ideas to share, Dylan?”
Dylan struggled to keep up with Malcolm’s rambling train of thought. “About what?”
“Christmas?” the mayor prompted.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Dylan mumbled, throwing a narrow-eyed glance at Carrie and her sisters.
To his surprise, Carrie’s lips twitched as if she were fighting a smile.
“I’m serious,” Malcolm said, leaning forward on the podium. “We want to continue the success of the fall tourism campaign to attract visitors to Magnolia for the holidays. You’re from the big city. Surely you have some creative suggestions for making our town more festive.”
Dylan pressed a finger to his right eye, which had begun to twitch. The entire room seemed to be waiting for him to offer up some brilliant idea.
“I don’t do Christmas,” he said finally.
Another round of gasps and disapproving murmurs.
“Hanukkah?” Mal asked tentatively. “I guess I never realized you were—”
“No.” Dylan shook his head. “The holidays. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, New Year. All of them. None of them, actually. Celebrating fake holidays isn’t my deal.”
“Those holidays aren’t fake,” Carrie said to a universal chorus of nodding heads and a few amens.
“Not as phony as Valentine’s Day,” Dylan agreed. “But they’re all about materialism. Which means that you should reconsider obstructing my proposal when your plan for the festival is