address?”
He checked his clipboard.
“Mercer Farm. North event lot.”
“There is no north event lot. Turn around.”
Trish came beside me.
“We’ve already paid for delivery.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“You can’t disrupt contracted vendors.”
“I’m not.”
I pointed toward the county road.
“I’m telling a stranger he can’t unload equipment on my property.”
The driver looked from Trish to me.
“You the owner?”
“Yes.”
He shifted into reverse.
Trish stepped toward his window.
“Wait.”
He didn’t.
The truck backed down the lane.
I watched until it reached the county road.
Then I faced Trish again.
For the first time, her confidence cracked.
Not much.
Just enough.
A little stiffness around her mouth.
A little calculation behind the sunglasses.
“How many tickets did you sell?”
She said nothing.
“How many?”
“This weekend’s event has been very successful.”
“That wasn’t a number.”
“Ticket sales are an HOA matter.”
“Not when the
