commissioner.”
Shocked gasps filled the room. And Glory did a little gasping of her own. Just hearing her name in reference to the harvest commissioner made her stomach get all tight.
“I can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, that doesn’t work for me. Being harvest commissioner doesn’t work for me.”
Glory didn’t have time to take on something as comprehensive as the Harvest Fest. If she intended to finish the Community Outreach Program proposal in time to present to the hospital board, on top of studying for her finals—which she did because not passing her classes was not an option—then Glory would need every spare second to prepare. Not to mention, the harvest commissioner crowned Miss Peach, and the thought of walking into that ballroom alone brought back way too many emotions she’d worked hard to overcome.
“Yes, well, you’ll need to make it work since our former commissioner is currently fishing in the Gulf at the request of her treating nurse.” Holden skewered Glory with a glare and she sank farther into her chair. “To make matters worse. Yes, if you can believe it, they do get worse. The only two willing candidates I have are Kitty Duncan and Hattie McGraw, both of whom have been calling my office, my home, my cell, my wife, the country club. Each accusing the other of unsavory practices, which doesn’t work for me , Miss Mann. So unless you have the funds to pay off the damages today then you will step in as acting harvest commissioner until you have fulfilled your two hundred hours of service or the current commissioner returns to reclaim her seat, whichever happens first.”
Glory hadn’t even accepted the position and already she felt her heart slamming against her rib cage and the walls around her closing in.
Peg was right. This is what dying feels like.
It was hard enough to overcome your past and move forward, especially when people kept reminding you where you’d been. And in a town with two blinking lights, two restaurants, and two specialties—growing peaches and harvesting prattle—reinventing oneself was difficult. Especially if you were at the heart of the biggest scandal in Sugar’s history. Which was why Glory kept her head down, went to school, and did her best to avoid attention—and the Miss Peach Pageant.
There was no position more high-profile than the harvest commissioner—not to mention important to the town. If she screwed this up, and Ms. Kitty would see to it that she would, then all her years of hard work would have been for nothing, and the hospital board might deem her an unfit candidate for the position. So returning to the scene of the crime was not an option. Preferably never, but most certainly not until after the board read her proposal.
Judge Holden looked at his watch and stood. “Then there is nothing left to say other than congratulations, Miss Mann.”
“Wait.” She stood, too, praying to the luck fairies to sway him. Although he didn’t look very swayable. “This position means a lot to a lot of people, I’m just not one of them. I don’t know a thing about how to run a pageant or a tractor pull and well…” Desperate, Glory admitted the one thing that was sure to change the judge’s mind, “I don’t even like peaches, your honor.”
She heard Cal laugh at her admission, but the rest of the courthouse was silent. Nope, the people of Sugar responded as though she’d admitted she didn’t bleed Atlanta Falcons red—which she didn’t. Glory might don the red jersey when she tended bar on game nights, but that was just for tips. She hated football. Almost as much as she hated peaches.
“They give me hives,” she added right as the courthouse doors blew open and the sudden rustling of fabric on wood benches filled the room as everyone turned—and sucked in an excited breath. Glory, however, nearly passed out.
There in the doorway, dressed in a Jackie O–inspired shift dress, white gloves, and a hat big enough to grace
Shocked gasps filled the room. And Glory did a little gasping of her own. Just hearing her name in reference to the harvest commissioner made her stomach get all tight.
“I can’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, that doesn’t work for me. Being harvest commissioner doesn’t work for me.”
Glory didn’t have time to take on something as comprehensive as the Harvest Fest. If she intended to finish the Community Outreach Program proposal in time to present to the hospital board, on top of studying for her finals—which she did because not passing her classes was not an option—then Glory would need every spare second to prepare. Not to mention, the harvest commissioner crowned Miss Peach, and the thought of walking into that ballroom alone brought back way too many emotions she’d worked hard to overcome.
“Yes, well, you’ll need to make it work since our former commissioner is currently fishing in the Gulf at the request of her treating nurse.” Holden skewered Glory with a glare and she sank farther into her chair. “To make matters worse. Yes, if you can believe it, they do get worse. The only two willing candidates I have are Kitty Duncan and Hattie McGraw, both of whom have been calling my office, my home, my cell, my wife, the country club. Each accusing the other of unsavory practices, which doesn’t work for me , Miss Mann. So unless you have the funds to pay off the damages today then you will step in as acting harvest commissioner until you have fulfilled your two hundred hours of service or the current commissioner returns to reclaim her seat, whichever happens first.”
Glory hadn’t even accepted the position and already she felt her heart slamming against her rib cage and the walls around her closing in.
Peg was right. This is what dying feels like.
It was hard enough to overcome your past and move forward, especially when people kept reminding you where you’d been. And in a town with two blinking lights, two restaurants, and two specialties—growing peaches and harvesting prattle—reinventing oneself was difficult. Especially if you were at the heart of the biggest scandal in Sugar’s history. Which was why Glory kept her head down, went to school, and did her best to avoid attention—and the Miss Peach Pageant.
There was no position more high-profile than the harvest commissioner—not to mention important to the town. If she screwed this up, and Ms. Kitty would see to it that she would, then all her years of hard work would have been for nothing, and the hospital board might deem her an unfit candidate for the position. So returning to the scene of the crime was not an option. Preferably never, but most certainly not until after the board read her proposal.
Judge Holden looked at his watch and stood. “Then there is nothing left to say other than congratulations, Miss Mann.”
“Wait.” She stood, too, praying to the luck fairies to sway him. Although he didn’t look very swayable. “This position means a lot to a lot of people, I’m just not one of them. I don’t know a thing about how to run a pageant or a tractor pull and well…” Desperate, Glory admitted the one thing that was sure to change the judge’s mind, “I don’t even like peaches, your honor.”
She heard Cal laugh at her admission, but the rest of the courthouse was silent. Nope, the people of Sugar responded as though she’d admitted she didn’t bleed Atlanta Falcons red—which she didn’t. Glory might don the red jersey when she tended bar on game nights, but that was just for tips. She hated football. Almost as much as she hated peaches.
“They give me hives,” she added right as the courthouse doors blew open and the sudden rustling of fabric on wood benches filled the room as everyone turned—and sucked in an excited breath. Glory, however, nearly passed out.
There in the doorway, dressed in a Jackie O–inspired shift dress, white gloves, and a hat big enough to grace
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