“Lanie,” he cuts in, calm and sure. “Take a breath. I’ll handle it.”
“You’ve got TJ and Huck—” Which, frankly, was already a huge help for today.
“They’re fine. I’ll bring them. We’ll make it work.”
“Van—”
He hangs up before I can argue.
By the time I reach the main gate, my stomach’s in knots. The air smells like hay, apples, and nerves. Tricia’s running between the merch booth and the maze, clipboard in hand. Dylan’s patching the haunted hayride’s speaker wire. Chase is elbow-deep in pie crusts.
And we’re still twenty people short.
I gather the team in the gravel lot, doing my best to sound like a woman who hasn’t just been sucker punched by the universe.
“Okay, team. We’re going to need all hands on deck. It’s going to be tight, but?—”
The sound of engines drowns me out.
I turn.
Three pickup trucks roll down the drive, one after another, each loaded with people in navy shirts. Some in uniform, some in jeans. Men, women, even a few teenagers.
Van’s at the front, leaning out the driver’s window, grinning.
“Morning, boss,” he calls. “Heard you needed a few extra hands.”
I blink, stunned, as the doors open and people start piling out—volunteer firefighters and their families, arms full of coolers, tools, and gear.
“What is this?” I ask, my throat tight.
“Shift change,” he says with a shrug. “We brought the cavalry.”
I can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of me, half joy and half disbelief. “You’re incredible.”
He winks. “Told you I’d handle it.”
The day is pure chaos, but in the very best way.
The firefighters run the parking lot with military precision. Their spouses help Chase with concessions and man the ticket lines. The kids patrol the maze like junior deputies. By mid-afternoon, the festival is packed and running smoother than it ever has.
I catch glimpses of Van everywhere—hoisting hay bales, fixing a generator, handing out hot chocolate to tired volunteers. Always steady. Always smiling.
Every time our eyes meet, something in me melts a little more.
By the time the last family leaves and the sun sets behind the mountains, the whole farm glows in string-light gold. The air hums with laughter and the smell of caramel and campfire smoke.
We did it. We actually did it.
I find him by the fire pit, sleeves rolled up, helping TJ and Huck roast marshmallows. He looks up as I approach, and that smile hits me like gravity.
“Hey, hero,” I say softly. “You saved the day.”
He shakes his head. “No, it was all you.”
“Van.” I reach out, touch his arm. “I mean it. You and your crew… I don’t even have words.”
He studies me for a long moment, then says quietly, “You do. You just don’t want to say them.”
