LANIE
The phone rings before dawn on the morning of the Great Pumpkin Festival.
It made be our first time doing this, but I know it can’t be good.
Quinn only calls this early if something’s on fire—literally or figuratively.
I fumble for my phone, already wincing. “Hey,” I rasp. “What’s up?”
He doesn’t waste time. “We’ve got a problem.”
That’s never how you want to start a sentence on the morning of your family’s biggest event of the year.
“What kind of problem?”
“The volunteer crew from the frat and sorority that were coming to help with setup and crowd management?” He sighs. “They’re out. All of them.”
My stomach drops. “Out?”
“Food poisoning. Every last one of them. They spent last night at the ER.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.” There’s a pause. “Guess who catered their dinner?”
I already know.
Karen and Chad.
A wave of hot frustration rolls through me. “You think they?—?”
“I can’t prove it,” he says grimly. “But the timing’s suspicious as hell.”
My brain goes into overdrive. The Great Pumpkin Festival opens in four hours. Without the college volunteers, we’ll be down twenty people. We can’t run parking, manage the hayrides, or keep the food lines moving with that few.
But we have to work out something. But I can’t do it from bed.
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”
“Lanie—”
“I’ve got this,” I tell him, even though my pulse is racing. “We’ve come too far to lose it now.”
The sky is still pink when I pull into the patch. The air is cool and sharp, the kind of morning that should feel full of promise. Instead, it feels like I’m about to walk into battle.
I throw the truck into park and dial. Van picks up on the first ring.
“Everything okay?” His voice is gravelly, still half-asleep.
“Not really.” I take a breath. “Our volunteers are down. The college kids all got food poisoning last night.”
He lets out a long whistle. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“You’re not canceling,” he says firmly. “You’ve worked too damn hard for that.”
“We’re already stretched thin?—”
