Epilogue 2
Annabelle
Lucy was right.
I need a break.
If one more person tells me I “look tired,” I’m going to scream.
But. I do look tired. Because Iamtired. Because running the Lakeside Fall Fest was basically like hosting a royal wedding, the Super Bowl, and a three-ring lumberjack circus all rolled into one, minus the helpful minions and with way more syrup emergencies.
The funny thing is—and byfunny, I mean cruel—after it was all over and we’d counted the $80,000 we raised (I’m still suspicious someone added a zero), my first thought wasn’t relief.
It wasI need a vacation.
A real one.
One where no one calls me at six a.m. asking if they can bring their cousin’s boyfriend’s dog to the pancake breakfast. One where I don’t have to talk to the fire marshal about whether or not axe throwing constitutes a “controlled hazard.” One where I don’t have to hear the phraseAre we out of syrup?ever again in my natural life.
But I can’t take a real one becauseThere is no time.
I text Lucy to complain, thumbs flying across the screen like a woman possessed:I need a vacation. I need three vacations. Possibly asabbatical. Maybe early retirement. How do I make this happen without abandoning the town or faking my own death?
I stare at the chat bubble, waiting for those three glorious dots to appear.
Nothing.
I hate how impatient I am, waiting for her to reply. I hate how envious I am that she left for Arizona without me, because Harris freaking Bennett swept her off her feet like some kind of romantic comedy hero with biceps carved from marble.
She deserves it.
Obviouslyshe does . . .
But also?
Rude!
I’m here, running on caffeine and stress fumes, my hair in a bun that hasn’t been undone in four days, answering emails about lost and found jackets, backpacks—and whether or not we canmake the lumberjacks come back for Christmas tree lighting in the square.
I tap my phone impatiently. Still nothing.
I let out a dramatic sigh, leaning my head back against the porch railing, staring at the gray sky. Even the weather is judging me.
My phone dings.
Lucy:
Omg. Stop. Come to Arizona. Get on a plane.Do it.
Come to Arizona?
I stare at the screen, wanting to reply with a resounding “Yes! Yes, you’re right! I’m on my way! Free place to stay! Sunshine!”
My thumbs hesitate over the keys.
Except . . . I can’t.
There’s a pancake-breakfast meeting on Tuesday. And the Christmas committee kickoff on Wednesday. And Lindsey Vodgs and her fiancéare coming to tour their wedding venue on Tuesday afternoon, and her parents will finally be in town.
