I glance outside even though I already know what I’ll see.
Elm Hollow’s square is packed with noise, laughter, and… screaming.
Because yes, our tiny town takes the Fall Bucket List Competition far too seriously.
Who wouldn’t?
It’s glorious. And it’s doing amazing.
It’s so popular we’re broadcasting it across the entire county.
There are giant screens showing live rankings, stadium-like chants, and even banners likeTEAM CAM & IVY FOR THE WIN!
Rae, who’s covering Ivy’s shift today, is vibrating with excitement.
And by “excited” I mean: crooked apron, a “Cam and Get Ivy” pin, and illegal levels of enthusiasm.
I settle into the corner table, laptop open, cursor blinking on a client profile I need to update.
I’m trying—really trying—to focus on a new match note:
“Gabriella, 34, bookseller. Looking for someone to watch black-and-white movies with and complain about ambiguous endings.”
A sudden eruption of screams bursts from the square.
The crowd is cheering like we’re winning the World Cup.
Through the window, I see Cam on the big screen, lifting a pie dish over his head like a trophy.
Rae tosses a tray into the air.
“THEY WON THE COOKING ROUND! I CAN FEEL IT!”
The customers inside applaud, Ivy blushes on the screen, Cam laughs and hugs her.
Lina looks up from her phone, smirking.
“Of course they won. Ivy’s second only to me in the kitchen.”
Her tone is smug, and today the tips of her hair are green—perfectly matching her nose ring, obviously.
Her phone has been vibrating as often as mine, which has only deepened my suspicions.
Suspicions that skyrocketed after the amount of flirty stories she posted today.
But being a good matchmaker… I observe and keep my mouth shut.
For now.
Rae arrives with a tray full of celebratory muffins and—who am I to say no to white-chocolate-and-berry perfection?
My phone buzzes again.
Cohen-pain-in-my-ass:Angel, did you see my pregame interview? I said my “focus number one” is work. Isn’t that progress?
I press a hand to my face.
Breathe.
