“I don’t know…a chihuahua?”
Beau shook his head with an incredulous laugh. “I’m sorry, have you ever met a chihuahua?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Yes. They’re tiny aliens with Napoleon complexes. I love them.”
“That tracks,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gave me a once-over. “You’re about five foot nothing, mean as hell when provoked, and you bite.”
“I don’t recall you having any problem with my biting last night,” I teased.
Beau looked like he was about to respond, but then Milobarked as a group of kids raced past us holding what looked like voodoo dolls.
We’d reached the edge of the park.
The crowd had thickened. Bluegrass music meandered across the lawn, blending with laughter and the hiss of fire tricks. Milo tugged against the leash, trying to chase a man on stilts dressed like a moss-covered forest spirit. Kids darted between booths with their faces painted, and somewhere nearby, someone was roasting something that smelled borderline sinful.
“This is fucking wild,” I whispered.
Beau grinned. “You haven’t even seen the weird part yet.”
We wandered in deeper, navigating through knots of townsfolk and tourists. Someone handed me a cider slushie without me asking. Someone else tucked a flower behind Beau’s ear. No one seemed surprised to see us.
It was like they’d already written us into the story.
The music shifted as we reached the center of the park—less pagan ritual, more backyard jubilee. A trio of old-timers with banjos and a stand-up bass had taken over the bandstand, and someone with a fiddle absolutelyshreddedtheir way into a reel that made the whole lawn seem to vibrate. People clapped in time, stomped their boots, and whirled their partners with an enthusiasm that bordered on dangerous.
I sipped my cider slushie, eyebrows raised. “Okay. This is not what I expected.”
“Whatdidyou expect?” Beau asked, rubbing Milo’s ears as the dog sat at our feet, overwhelmed but valiantly trying to keep track of everything at once.
“I don’t know,” I said, watching a couple who couldn’t have been older than seventeen swing each other in wild circles near the stage. “Something more…satanic?”
Beau barked a laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed. This is objectively delightful.It’s like if a Halloween hayride and a hoedown had a love child.”
Beau nodded sagely. “That’s the brand.”
“You know I could do a whole podcast series about this town,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure no one would believe me.”
“Good; wouldn’t want the place turnin’ into a tourist trap,” Beau said. “Although…a series seems like an awful good excuse to stay.”
I tilted my head, considering it. “You know…thatdoesseem like something that could keep me here for a while. And it gives me a chance to dig into the really tough questions—like why every single man in this town is hotter than any man has a right to be, and whether that’s a government conspiracy or a side effect of exposure to leylines.”
Someone nearby let out a sharp whistle. A group of dancers parted like a curtain, revealing a large open circle forming just beyond the main bonfire, where two girls had started calling out a square dance pattern in unison—one singing, another signing along in ASL with brightly painted hands.
It was charming as hell. Weird. Inclusive. Cozy.
And utterly surreal.
“You wanna dance?” Beau asked, catching my eyes lingering on the bonfire.
I scoffed. “I donotdance.”
Beau raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
