“He bitches about this every year,” Thea muttered next to me. “Get over it, Peter, and be happy with your cotton-candy machine, for God’s sake,” she called out.

My pretzel went down the wrong pipe, and Thea pounded on my back until I stopped coughing.

“Mrs. Lambert, if you could avoid interjecting commentary,” Dad said into his microphone. As a founding member, he had occupied his seat on the council since Grandpa died. Five seats on the council were reserved for the eldest surviving members of the founding families, and the other four were elected annually from the voting members.

Basically, if the founding families wanted something—or didn’t—they got their way.

“I’ll avoid the commentary if he stops asking for the same thing year after year.” Thea folded her arms across her chest.

Oh man, I knew that look, and Dad was not happy.

“Okay, if we can stay on topic,” Walter said, leaning forward in his foreman’s seat. “Peter, I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to decline your request. I know we all believe in capitalism, but it’s not in our best interest to compete with each other when it comes to the season, and you know it. Caramel corn is pretty much what keeps Mrs. Halverson’s feed store in business. And besides, last time I checked, you were the only vendor allowed to sell sunscreen. Did you want to offer Mrs. Halverson a trade? Her caramel corn for your sunscreen?”

Peter glanced at Mary Murphy, the society’s secretary, as she lifted her pen, ready to record. “No.” He quickly shook his head. “I’m happy with what I have. Thank you.” He took his stack of papers and sat on the edge of the third row.

“Greedy asshat,” Thea whispered. “He owns the drugstore. He makes more money than almost anyone else up here during the season.”

“Not that your mom doesn’t score with her restaurant,” I reminded her.

“True, but you don’t see her trying to take Jennifer’s freaking caramel corn.”

“You have a point.” I doodled on the notebook I’d brought with me, sketching out an idea for a logo I’d gotten a commission for today. Business was good, and it was even better that I could work remotely.

James Hudgens took the podium and pitched the changes in his summer plan for the old Alba firehouse. How that man had ever produced an ass like Oscar, I’d never know.

A body occupied the seat next to me as I added shading to the design I was tinkering with.

Thea nudged me with her elbow, and I yelped, shooting her a glare.

She raised her eyebrows and glanced pointedly to the seat on my other side.