“Glad to hear it,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “He’s a champion Barred Rock. Thought you might appreciate his…strong leadership qualities.”
Our eyes lock, and the market noise fades into the background. The air between us crackles with the kind of energy that turns sand into glass. I grip the table edge harder, my knuckles tight with the effort of not reaching for him.
We stand there, locked in a standoff, neither willing to break first. His eyes drop briefly to my lips before snapping back up, and I feel the look like a physical touch. The market could burn down around us, and I’m not sure I’d notice.
“Taylen Howard, you look absolutely exhausted!” Sylvie’s voice cuts through the tension, and as if I’ve been electrocuted, I take a step back, unsure of how I came to be so close to Bastian. “I promised your ma I’d keep an eye on you. Do I need to watch you more closely?”
Her hand touches my arm, gentle but insistent, as she studies my face with the kind of attention that makes lying futile. “I’m fine, Mrs. Hall,” I say, straightening my posture and forcing energy into my voice. “Just busy.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but shifts topics with practiced grace. “You’re still coming for Thanksgiving tomorrow, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, watching Bastian’s expression. His jaw tightens slightly, the only tell in his otherwise perfect poker face. “Can’t wait to have your apple pie. I hope there will be leftovers.”
As they leave—Sylvie with a maternal pat on my arm and Sebastian with one last loaded glance—I’m left wondering how I’ll survive Thanksgiving dinner on minimal sleep with both Elvis and Bastian in my life.
Finn appears twenty minutes later, making his usual rounds with his tablet in hand and that harried expression that’s become his permanent feature during festival season. He stops at each vendor stall, checking that everyone is okay and taking any feedback we might have. When he reaches my table, I’m down to my last few jars of apple chutney and maybe a dozen apples.
“Good day?” he asks, eyeing my nearly empty display with satisfaction. “Looks like you’ll sell out completely.”
“Best market day I’ve had all season,” I admit, grateful for something positive to focus on. “Should be completely sold out within the hour.”
Finn makes a note on his tablet and then glances at his mom’s stand.
Something feels off. Usually, he’d comment on my obvious fatigue. The dark circles under my eyes are impossible to miss, and my best friend has never been one to ignore when something’s out of whack with me.
“You still up for dinner and drinks after I pack up?” I ask, watching his face carefully. “Joe’s? I could use the company after the week I’ve had.”
Finn glances around the market square with visible discomfort, his eyes darting around, clearly avoiding mine. “I can’t tonight. Got a bunch of work to catch up on. Rain check?”
The excuse feels hollow, especially coming from someone who’s never missed our post-market tradition unless he was literally dying.
“Sure,” I say slowly. “Rain check.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d press him for details, demand to know what’s really going on. But exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders, and I’m too tired to argue with my best friend about whatever secret he’s keeping. If Finn wants to be mysterious about his sudden unavailability, that’s his choice.
“Besides,” he adds, “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
And with that, I’m left alone in my almost-empty stall.
As the market winds down around us, everyone packing up their remaining stock and customers drifting away, I find myself looking forward to just one thing: going home and sleeping until Elvis forces me awake tomorrow morning.
9
BASTIAN
I pausebefore I enter the farmhouse through the kitchen, wondering when someone last used the front door.
Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for the chaos I know I’m going to find inside. For over twenty years, I lived surrounded by people. My band brothers, crew, fans, the press, you name it.
In the last few weeks, I’ve gotten used to the solitude I only ever get when I hide in my recording studio, writing songs with Mik.
Do I miss the chaos? Yes.
Am I ready to face a whole day of it, which also includes Taylen Howard in very close proximity? Hell no.
Gouta nudges me on my leg.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re going in. You know, for a farm animal, you’re way too happy to not be on the farm part.”
