In charge, p.1
In Charge, page 1
IN CHARGE
A SWEETGUM MEADOWS ROMANCE
BOOK FIVE
IMANI PRICE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Imani Price
www.ImaniPrice.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form on by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
First Edition: October 2023
ISBN 978-1-960207-56-2 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-962071-99-4 (paperback)
Published by Books to Hook Publishing, LLC.
www.BooksToHook.com
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by Imani Price
CHAPTER ONE
Amber leaves swirled in small whirlwinds, moving past Joanne's parked car. As she stepped out, they crunched beneath her leather boots. The door shut with a firm thud, followed by the chirp of the locking mechanism.
“It’s around the corner down Mabel Lane. This one used to be a thrift store before the owner moved out of town,” Mr. Jones said as he twisted a key into his convertible, locking his door. He waited as she caught up to him, then pocketed his free hand. Joanne could tell his acid-wash denim jacket was a tad too light for Peachwood Grove's chilly late afternoon.
Passing cyclists in cozy sweaters greeted him, their voices in cheerful harmony. “Mr. Jones!” They chorused in unison. The line of cyclists rode off in the sunset, most waving cheerily. Hellos came from folks across the street, those getting home from a long day’s work. Some laughed on doorsteps with grocery bags, while others faintly responded.
Walking alongside Mr. Jones, Joanne took in the urban layout of the town—the precise arrangement of trees in concrete planters, dividing one building from the next. Their design was reminiscent of glossy magazine photos of major cities, places she'd dreamed of but had never been.
There wasn’t a doubt in Joanne’s mind that she would. Roasted Beans Coffee Spot had started so small but was slowly expanding. With three branches in Sweetgum, she was ready for more, and Peachwood Grove was the next logical step. Big cities would know her name soon enough.
“Hope you’re ready to stay out late.” Mr. Jones held a clipboard of information. He pulled on his fading blue hat, then scratched his gray scruff of a beard. “Because we have a lot of places to see.” He kicked on some yellow leaves while avoiding a fire hydrant.
Joanne kept her eyes forward. A streetlight flickered on the very end of their path. They’d take the corner after getting there. “I don’t mind. As long as I finish this tonight,” her watch beeped when six p.m. rolled by. She’d be driving an hour to get home, and work was still awaiting her. “How many places are on the list?” She rubbed her hands together, seeking warmth. She’d put this off for too long.
The old man visibly slumped. He peeled through pages while humming. “Six. They’re all really good options for small businesses due to location and size, but I’ll get down to that when we visit each and every one of them.” His attitude brightened just now as if he’d remembered his role as a sales agent. “There’s another coffee place on the other side of town, so you might have some competition once you open. Not to discourage you, but just a heads up.”
She nodded, having done her homework. “I’m aware. But I think there’s room for one more.” A gust of wind sent leaves dancing and a passerby's hair into a frenzy. Impatiently, Joanne checked her watch again. “We might want to hurry up a bit. Are those sneakers good for a quick jog, Mr. Jones?” She accelerated her pace.
“Hey! Slow down, girlie!” His laughter echoed behind her, even as he tried to keep up.
Joanne paused, brushing hair from her face. “Sorry, I just…”
Mr. Jones got to her at last. “I wish we could’ve parked closer, but all the spots are taken.” He panted, then bent over. “But I’ll try to make do with my old man legs, all right? Just don’t leave me behind. Remember who knows this town and who’s just visiting.” He flapped the clipboard like a wing. “Now, let me tell you what I know before we get there.”
The old thrift store didn’t quite hit the mark for Joanne. Its limited parking, coupled with thin walls and a low ceiling, was off-putting. Plus, the noisy car repair shop next door? Not ideal. She was used to her branches being cozy spots where customers could relax with a hot drink, and she wasn't willing to compromise that ambiance.
Joanne arrived at the next spot and gave a dusty couch a good smack. Out scurried a bunch of spiders. Jumping back, she accidentally bumped into her escort. "Oops, that wasn’t very smart. I didn’t expect that," she chuckled, feeling the creaky floorboards give slightly under her weight. "This was a casino once, huh?" she mused, looking out a window obstructed by broken wood slats. Right next door was a roller rink, and directly across was a mall. And upstairs? A bustling arcade, from the sound of it. Footsteps and chatter echoed down the stairwell, with faint music from above. As she walked past Mr. Jones toward the counter, she noticed its once-vivid red now dulled by a layer of dust. The draped sheets over the furniture behind made it feel eerily like a haunted mansion. "Good thing I'm not a kid anymore," she thought, "or this would freak me out."
“Yes. Quite a popular one in the eighties, actually. But of course, it shut down, and no one thought to buy it out.” Mr. Jones squeezed his clipboard between open hands. “You look like the type to turn this fixer-upper into quite the venue. With the mall so close, I think this just might be—”
Joanne shook her head of loose curls. "Pass; not feeling this one." She was searching for that just right vibe. Her gut instinct? It was her guiding star, and it was saying, "Keep looking." Trusting it had always worked for her. "What's next on the list?" she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Jones crossed the casino off his list. “I think you’ll like this next one much better,” he said, briskly following her when she glided out.
Joanne rejected the derelict community band room as well as an old trailer outside a general store. Each one had something she liked, but something else she hated. She dismissed the properties, either due to their size, ambiance, or her own intuition. Time flew by, but she would not settle for mediocrity. She knew that her first attempt at branching out in a new town had to be flawless. Joanne had a vision.
As Joanne cruised past, the twilight farmer’s market was wrapping up, with a few farmers packing their stalls. A large canopy sheltered rows of fresh thyme, lettuce, and green onions. She watched a woman in an apron head out, a box of pinecones in tow. Checking the dashboard clock, which read eight-thirty p.m., Joanne mused, "Late night for a market."
The convertible, with Mr. Jones at the wheel, meandered down the avenue, its path lit by the muted glow of streetlamps and shadowed by grand oak trees and imposing buildings. They passed Peachwood’s beauty salon and barber, continuing until they reached the very end of Market Avenue. Parking was a breeze at this hour.
With a firm clamp, Joanne's door shut behind her. The click-clack of her boots kept rhythm as she circled her car. Up ahead, Mr. Jones was already at the door of their next stop, keys in hand. Before her stood a broad, one-story building with an inviting vibe. She took a step back, framing the building between her hands and assessing its potential. “Nice. Right near some hotspots,” she noted, referencing the salon before twirling around to spot a bakery and a tech store across the street.
“Come on in, Miss.” Mr. Jones slid inside with his clipboard.
Joanne ended her assessment to head in. The square red-bricked design brought her back in time. A younger her would always accompany her mother on errands. Errands that sometimes brought them to the local post office.
“As you can see, we got a real fixer-upper on our hands with this one, but it’s a good buy, if you ask me.” Mr. Jones just hit the lights. Not a lick of furniture remained. Stray envelopes could be found in corners, but apart from them, there wasn’t much left to say this was a post office.
Dust filled the air as she moved to the room's center. Windows lined the walls, some cracked, others missing panes. She scanned the ceiling, noting water stains, bulging spots, and missing tiles. As Mr. Jones continued explaining the place’s history, Joanne found herself momentarily distracted by the state of the room.
“… used to be a real sight back in the day, but now it’s just vacant.” Mr. Jones strolled across the space. “Got walking room,” he fanned dust away with his clipboard while going to a window. “Nice view, fresh trees out front, and a lot of spots for furnishing,” he singled out six areas where booths could be placed. “It’s a little dusty—”
“A little?” Joanne never suffered from allergies o r a sensitive respiratory tract, but right now, her eyes watered. She felt burning in her nostrils and needed to clear her throat. “It’s like I’m asthmatic,” she sneezed in her jacket.
The older man laughed. “So what? You don’t want it either?” he asked in clear amusement. “This is the last place on our list. We do have other commercial properties, but these here are our best. At least, for what you’re asking,” he smiled smartly at her. “Not that I’d ever force you to take something you don’t want, but this place was quite the treasure back in the day. Heck, it’s pretty nostalgic to Peachwood Grovers. Reminds us of…” he sighed wistfully. “Simpler times.”
Joanne didn’t mean to seem skeptical. “Oh, I wasn’t saying I had a problem with it.” Her gut approved of this setting. “It’s spacious, charming, well-placed, and an overall good buy.” She hit her stomach. “I like it, and my gut does, too.” From the time they’d encountered that market, she’d grown attached to Market Avenue. And the place looks pretty darn good. She stomped and dust clouds flew up. Specs hid between crevices of each portion of wood. “It’ll take some work, but I think this might be right.” She sneezed again.
“You sure?” Mr. Jones looked surprised. “You want our old relic?”
Those words had her thinking. “Will people be mad if I renovate this property?” Starting trouble in another town was far from her intentions. She just wanted somewhere nice to sell coffee. So far, this dilapidated post office met all her criteria. “Is it especially dear to Peachwooders?”
“It's 'Peachwood Grovers',” he clarified with a chuckle. “Many here will likely appreciate a fresh gathering spot. Coffee’s your specialty, isn’t it? There's nostalgia tied to 'Posty', but that sentiment might be stronger for us who've been around a bit longer. The younger crowd? They’ll probably be thrilled with a new coffee joint.” He slid the clipboard under his arm, his expression shifting to one of concern. “These youngsters seem to favor coffee over a proper meal nowadays.” He exhaled heavily. “But is this the place you're looking for?”
Joanne confidently tilted her head up, hands clasped behind her. "Absolutely, Mr. Jones," she replied, putting on her most persuasive tone. "At Roasted Beans Coffee Spot, we don't just sell coffee. We promote indulging in pastries and delightful treats alongside our beverages." She flashed her most charming smile.
Mr. Jones blinked in amused surprise before bursting into laughter. "All right, you've sold me," he chuckled, guiding her towards the door. "I'll shoot you an email with the agreement and relevant paperwork so you can have a look at them."
“Sure,” Joanne had a good feeling rising inside her. First Peachwood Grove, next, the whole world! She smiled in satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWO
It wasn’t often that Xavier went into the office. This morning, though, when he’d finished his protein shake and exercises, an email about a certain property caught his eye. So rather than working remotely on other business, he’d suited up for a visit to Sky High Real Estate downtown.
“Let me get that for you, sir.” Eddie, the company manager, opened the main office door on his behalf. “We put Jones on the job when she contacted us,” he said in response to the inquiry as he hustled alongside Xavier. Ringing phones, modern desk designs, and glass walls bombarded Xavier’s senses. This floor stood atop Peachwood’s tallest edifice. Four stories below contained a music studio while varying martial arts dojos fit themselves in floors between.
“I know,” Xavier gave pleasant greetings while searching for Jones, but felt bothered. He’d never take it out on these hard workers, though. His unsaid preferences pertaining to who bought his properties were unbeknownst to them. So far, he owned three buildings, with two currently being rented out; that post office was his last on the market. Not anymore.
Navigating through a maze of cubicles, he finally spotted Jones, who was wrapping up a call. “Jones?”
“Mrs. Gregory, I’ll have to get back to you,” Jones said cheery goodbyes before hanging up. After fixing the brown tie hanging over his buttoned shirt, Jones stood, causing his seat to roll back. “Xavier! The man himself. How are you, sir?” he asked, reaching out and shaking Xavier’s hand.
“I’m quite well. We missed you at game night at the plaza.”
“Missed?” Eddie was only a few years behind Xavier. He’d finished college with a degree in management, so had instantly got the job after applying. “I was actually glad to win at something without Jones around,” he said as he tapped Jones on the arm. “But our star agent was off working after hours.”
“That sure is right,” Jones beamed. “And I did it again. The client already signed the agreement. We just need your signature and mine to proceed. Did I mention she’s opening a business? Our little town is going to have its own coffee place on Market Avenue.” He high-fived Eddie, then folded his arms. “I sent you an email about it this morning. Did you get the time to read it? I see you’re all suited up,” he whistled while staring Xavier down. “New shoes?”
The young investor cracked a smile. “Yes, they are,” Xavier said smoothly. “In your email, you mentioned something about the client I hadn’t known until I read it this morning.”
“And what might that be?” Jones’s thick, graying brows crinkled as he leaned toward Xavier. “Is something the matter? I thought you’d be glad someone was interested.”
“It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t realize that the person you were selling it to was an outsider.” He breathed in deeply, letting his pectorals expand as fresh air rushed in. They throbbed from his earlier workout, but the tall man always welcomed the after-effects of good exercise.
Jones looked lost. “Is that a problem?”
“Outsider?” Eddie clicked his jaw, then rubbed his bearded cheeks. “What do you mean?”
“Obviously that she isn’t from here,” Xavier didn’t mean to snap, but he just hated the idea of some out-of-towner profiting off his hometown. Peachwood meant everything to him. These people raised Xavier into who he was and had his back after his dreams were crushed ten years ago. In his darkest hours, the smiling faces of Peachwood Grovers uplifted his drooping spirits. He wasn’t sure how much he trusted some stranger among his people.
Jones scratched his arm. “She’s not from too far. It’s just the town over: Sweetgum Meadows. That nice little place with the festivals and hiking spots. I’ve visited a couple of times.”
“That place?” said Eddie. “Is she moving here?”
“No. I already said why she took an interest. It’s a commercial property. She wants to open up a branch of her coffee shop here in Peachwood. Last time I was in Sweetgum, her business didn’t exist, but she’s young. Probably only opened her little business about two years ago. Seems like a nice girl. A bit picky but ambitious,” Jones gave a firm nod. “She has my seal of approval,” he raised a sure thumb for emphasis.
Eddie seemed convinced. “There you have it. It’s not some corporate vampire coming in to change things. Just a nice girl and a coffee shop,” he said as he clasped both hands. “We could use a place like that here, don’t you think, Xavier?”
Xavier had already familiarized himself with her intentions. “Yes,” he agreed verbally, but thought otherwise. “I think I’ll pay Sweetgum a visit first,” he thanked Jones and Eddie for their time before leaving. A girl with a dream and coffee. Who was she, and did she have Peachwood’s best interest at heart? He’d been in the business long enough to know that even humble establishments could grow corrupt. His paranoia might have been irrational, but Xavier couldn’t help it. Joanne Richards. Who was she?
