DYLAN ENTERED THE meeting room in the basement of the town hall building that night trying not to appear nervous. Or bitter. Or angry. Or anything like the punk teen he’d been back in the day.
He paused just outside the doorway and took a breath. There was no need to pretend those things. Dylan Scott had come a long way in the decade since he’d left this small town fading in his rearview mirror.
And he was thinking about himself in the third person? Bad sign.
Damn.
What was it about Magnolia that made him doubt everything? He thought about pulling up his bio on the company website, just to assure himself he had the credentials to back what he wanted to do in this town.
“Idiot,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“Exactly what we were thinking,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind him.
He turned to see Carrie staring at him, color high on her cheeks. She was flanked by two other women. The tall blonde gave him a cool once-over then narrowed her eyes to glare.
The petite woman on Carrie’s other side wrinkled her nose as if she’d just smelled a wicked dog fart. “Since we’re all in agreement that you’re an idiot, it would be the perfect time for you to leave.”
He’d seen these women with Carrie at her art show when he’d come to Magnolia a month ago and made an unannounced stop at The Reed Gallery. Niall’s three daughters. Carrie and her sisters.
Even though there was a decent chance none of them would care if he stepped off the curb and got struck by a random garbage truck, his heart warmed at the thought of Carrie finally having people in her life who truly cared for her. Niall had been one of the most selfish, self-centered men Dylan had ever met. Carrie’s mom wasn’t much better, leaving her only child to take care of that egotistical jerk.
The way her half sisters leaned in, as if ready to pounce on him if he so much as raised a brow in Carrie’s direction, told him she’d found her tribe.
A sharp ache darted along his spine as his mind immediately went to his uncle and cousin. They’d been his only true family and now he was left with no one.
Not true. He had Sam, who hated him with the burning heat of a thousand suns. Dylan was basically hosed all the way around.
Except that he had money and power and planned to use those to carve out a place for himself and for Sam. He wouldn’t fail his cousin on that count.
Even if that meant taking down the Reed sisters in the process.
“I’m just getting started here,” he said, offering the trio a wide smile. “I’d recommend you stay out of my way, ladies. It will make things easy on all of us.”
The little one stomped a booted foot. “That sounds like a threat. We don’t take kindly to threats, you big bully.”
Dylan half expected to see a dusty tumbleweed roll by like he’d been cast in some old Western movie. This mini standoff with the Reed sisters definitely made him the villain, but he didn’t mind. The role seemed suited to him and gave him an excuse to ignore his unwelcome feelings for Carrie.
“I’m not known for kindness, Meredith,” he told the spitfire and saw her eyes widen slightly, shock that he knew her name making her frown deepen. “Your older brothers can attest to that.”
“The meeting’s about to get started,” someone announced from the doorway.
Malcolm Grimes stepped forward and placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder. “Let’s try to remember that we all want what’s best for the town.”
Dylan gave a tight nod even as he saw Carrie’s mouth thin. He knew his plans for the properties in downtown would make her even angrier but told himself it wasn’t personal. He’d never let his emotions get in the way of a good business deal and didn’t plan to start now.
He entered the meeting room and felt the weight of a dozen distrustful stares upon him. No one greeted him or even offered the hint of a smile as he took a seat near the back of the rows of chairs.
In contrast, as Carrie and her sisters entered, almost every person in the room smiled and waved or called out a greeting. A not so subtle reminder that Dylan was the outsider, an interloper in their tight-knit community.
“I’ve saved seats for you,” an older woman said from the front of the room. Dylan recognized Josie Trumbell, whose dance studio had been around even when he was a kid. The sisters moved forward and he could almost feel Carrie’s effort to not look at him as she walked past.
He had a sudden urge to reach out to her, to ground himself in the feel of her softness the way he used to. Of course, he kept his hands at his side. He had no right to touch her and there was a better than average chance her sisters would relish the opportunity to claw out his eyes if he dared.
Once the women had taken their seats, Malcolm stepped behind the podium and smiled at his audience. “It’s great to see so many of you here tonight. This is an exciting time for our town.” His dark gaze tracked to Dylan. “I’d like to formally welcome back to Magnolia one of our own, Dylan Scott.”
Dylan cringed inwardly at the pathetic, halfhearted round of applause that greeted the mayor’s words.
Mal frowned. “Come on, people. Don’t forget we’re all on the same team now. Dylan’s company has a strong track record of developing real estate in Boston, and he’s going to use that expertise to inject some new life—” one thick brow rose “—and hopefully revenue into Magnolia.”
“Have you looked at his track record?” Dylan blinked as Carrie stood and faced the crowd. “He destroys the integrity of established neighborhoods with his high-rises and dense urban revivals.”
She’d researched him? 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 about pushing people into spending money.”
“It’s about celebrating the most wonderful time of the year,” Carrie argued. “We’re going to have Santa, craft booths, light shows, games for kids and all the holiday fun anyone could want.”
“That’s right, Dylan McScrooge,” Meredith added. “Your heart must be at least two sizes too small.”
“That’s the Grinch,” Carrie told her.
“He’s like Scrooge and the Grinch rolled into one annoying package,” Meredith said.
“No name calling,” Malcolm warned the feisty brunette. “I run a civilized meeting.”
Dylan wanted to slouch down in his seat again, or better yet stalk out of the stuffy basement room and head for the nearest bar, which in Magnolia would probably mean Murphy’s Pub, his dad’s old favorite.
“Is Sean Murphy still around?” he asked the man sitting next to him. Thomas Mayfield owned the gas station on the edge of town.
“Yep,” Thomas confirmed. “Serving the same watered-down beer for over two decades. You should try the new microbrewery that opened out on the highway toward the beach. It’s a big improvement.”
“I’ll check it out,” Dylan answered then glanced up again when Mal called his name.
“What do you think of Carrie’s plan?” the mayor asked.
He’d missed whatever ideas she’d proposed during his side conversation about finding a drink. He shrugged and switched his gaze to Carrie, who was staring at him with an expression that dared him to challenge her.
Suddenly, Dylan didn’t have the heart for it. He was tired of pushing, tired of fighting. It felt as though he spent most every day engaged in a battle of wills with Sam; ironic when the move to Magnolia had been to make things easier for both of them.
“Her dad ran the town the way he wanted for decades,” he pointed out to the assembled business owners. “You all know where that got you. But if the same old Reed family monarchy is what you want—”
“That isn’t what I want,” Carrie interrupted. “I’m trying to fix the problems my father caused.” She gestured to Avery and Meredith. “We all want that.”
“Dylan has a point,” someone called from the side of the room, and he watched as the color drained from Carrie’s face. Damn. He might not want a fight, but it seemed he couldn’t help but pick one with her. “This town needs fresh suggestions.”
“The Merry Magnolia Festival is a good idea,” Avery said, rising from her chair to stand next to Carrie. “It’s new and exciting. He doesn’t have anything better to offer, and all of you know how much Carrie cares about Magnolia. You can’t punish her because of what Niall did.”
“And don’t forget he wants to price us all out of our own town,” Meredith added, continuing to glare at Dylan.
“Calm down, everyone,” Malcolm said when people erupted into buzzing grumbles. “I have a solution that will work for all of us.” He pointed toward the Reed sisters. “Carrie’s festival will bring people to town for the holidays, and Dylan assures us he wants the best for Magnolia. I propose we make them the co-directors of this year’s event. The first annual Merry Magnolia Festival.”
Dylan pressed two fingers to his chest. What the hell was going on inside him? It felt like a million butterflies had just taken flight. Of course, the mayor’s proposal was monumentally stupid on several levels.
Most important, Carrie hated him. Even now, she gaped at Malcolm as if he’d suggested she bed down with a venomous snake. Dylan wanted to destroy the last vestiges of her father’s reputation in the town, simply to prove that he could. That put them on opposite sides of everything. Enemies.
Yet, his heart hammered in a crazy rhythm at the thought of spending time with her. Even if that time needed to be focused on the nonsense of celebrating crass commercialization and sham holiday spirit.
“No way,” Carrie told Malcolm, rising to her feet again. “He doesn’t care about this town or about Christmas. We don’t need him.” She looked around the crowd as if entreating them to take her side. “I don’t want him.”
Well, that pretty much summed it up.
But Mal only shook his head. “We’re on a roll with reinvigorating things around here, but Dylan’s company is going to be part of Magnolia’s future whether you like it or not.” He paused then added, “Whether any of us want it that way. This is what’s best for the town, and that’s my priority.”
The murmurs of assent surprised Dylan. Maybe the town was willing to give him a chance even if Carrie wasn’t. He cleared his throat. “I’d be honored to help with the festival,” he lied. “It will give me a chance to get to know the community and determine how I can make the biggest impact to benefit everyone.”
Carrie’s gaze narrowed on him, but she nodded. “Fine. Dylan and I will work together,” she muttered. “Can we adjourn now?”
The mayor gave her a wide smile. “We look forward to hearing about all of your exciting suggestions that will make this holiday season the best Magnolia has ever seen.” He drew in a deep breath. “Meeting adjourned.”