Sweet Caroline(71)

“Caroline, let’s definitely add the Frogmore Café to the Ghost Tours this Halloween.”

“I’d love it.” I nudge Mitch with my elbow. Go ahead. But he waits for me to finish. “I’ll e-mail you about fund-raising for the Ghost Tours too. Maybe we can figure out something with Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits.”

“Oh, wonderful. Caroline, please, send along the information about the Vet Wall. Shame on us for overlooking it all these years.”

When Mitch escorts me over to the congressman’s circle, he introduces me as a respected Beaufort businesswoman.

The congressman shakes my hand. “The Frogmore Café. I’ve heard of it. Home of Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits.”

“Yes sir.” Impressive.

He turns to Mitch. “How’s Nashville?”

“Still there.”

The circle laughs. Yuk, yuk, har, har, phony, phony.

Mitch body whispers, as Hazel would say, when he brushes his hand over my shoulders.

The congressman aims his charm on Mitch, asking him to help out on his next campaign. “Running for Senate this time. People would come out to see us with you on the ticket, hear what we have to say.”

His impression of Shere Khan is fantastic. I glance at Mitch. He’s no Mowgli.

“I’m flattered, Congressman, but I’m unimpressed with the celebrity-politics mix of the day.”

Brief moment of shock and dismay. Mr. Congressman recovers with only a small blip in his smile. “Mighty narrow view, Mitch. People trust celebrities—they have a lot of influence.”

Mitch smiles and stares the tiger down. “Exactly my point.”

Touché, Mitchy.

The circle coughs and looks away. The congressman fixes his tie, adjusts his jacket with a shift of his shoulders. “Think about it. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Mitch bows slightly and leads me away. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

“Mitch, wow. You were amazing.”

“Don’t be impressed. The congressman is a liar and a cheat. I’d prefer to debate his inconsistencies, but this isn’t the place.”

“I remember a Mitch who wouldn’t turn down any opportunity to perform, be the center of attention.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the old Mitch, and he’s dead.” He holds the auditorium door for me. As I pass inside, he touches my hand. I stop and peer into his eyes. “Caroline, you were by far the most charming and beautiful woman in that room. Everyone wanted to talk to you. You never have known how amazing you are.”

Our relationship leaps to another plane.

As the house lights dim for the second half of the performance to begin, Mitch offers his hand. “May I hold your hand, Caroline?”

Gulp. I nod.

His hand is firm and broad; his fingers lock perfectly with mine. “Mitch,” I say, barely above a whisper. “I’m afraid of falling.”

He presses his lips to my ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.

“Caroline, it’s Kirk.”

It’s Thursday evening and we are hustling. The town is starting to come out, little by little. “Yeah, what’s up? Paris, refill the teas on table 10 for me, please?”

Exchanging the old wall phone, with the out-of-shape twist cord, for a portable was one of my best ideas yet, if I say so myself.

“Sounds like you’re busy.”

“Is that why you called?”

He laughs. “No. Listen, did you renew the insurance?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes. Why?”

“Don’t be snippy; just checking. Keeping an eye on you. Looks like Hurricane Howard is tracking your way.”

“Yeah, we’re watching the news. I think Savannah is going to get the worst.”

“Either way, you’re insured. Good news—Dale and Roland are back on the Frogmore Café kick. The other deal didn’t work out. They want to come down tomorrow, check out the Café, chat with you. See what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, fine, nothing like being second choice.” I motion for Russell to run out the order sitting under the heat lamps, flashing the table number with my fingers.

“Don’t be bitter. At least you’re getting an invitation to the prom.”

“Kirk, there’s no prom.”

“No prom? Are you saying you don’t want to sell?”

“Don’t talk crazy. See you tomorrow.”

The Café is hopping when Kirk walks in the door with Roland and Dale, strutting like a Hollywood celebrity team. John Travolta in Saturday Night Live. Cheesy yet confident.

Kirk shoves me toward the kitchen before I can barely greet them. “Give us a minute.”

“Go ahead and take the booth in the back . . . Mercy, will you see to these gentlemen?”

“Sure thing.”

Kirk leans close. Coffee breath. “What is it?”

“On the way down, they talked about how much they want to get in this area. You’re looking at a million-two, maybe a million-three.”

I glare at him. “H-how much?” In all the talk of selling, I never considered the price.

“Over a million.”

My knees buckle a little. “W-wow.”

Kirk grins. “Also, wanted to tell you I’m your lawyer on this deal. I told the Buzz Boys to hire representation. I don’t want to be compromised.”