Besides the sheer pompous ignorance, both of them gave me the goddamn creeps. It wasn’t anything particularly malevolent, but I kept getting a vibe that was moreunpleasant than a stranger’s wet sneeze on the back of your neck.
The Dennison twins could S.P.A.R.K.L.E. themselves right the fuck out of this town and stay the hell away from my love life.
Chapter
Seven
The sun was just beginning to dip below the skyline as the townspeople scurried about in preparation for tonight’s opening ceremony. We were less than an hour away from the week Bale and I waited for every year.
At the south end of the courtyard was a raised platform for entertainment and obligatory speeches. Beyond that was Main Street, providing the perfect backdrop for any grand campaign pitches that would likely be made tonight. Scattered throughout the spaces on either side of the platform were folks setting up tables to sell baked goods and handmade creations, and sign-up stations for various activities, including the oddly popular piglet races.
Just north of there were the grade schools, ball fields, and the therapeutic apple cannons. All of which would remain quiet until tomorrow morning, when school wasin session, before letting out for all the little boys and girls to have fun shooting fruit at various targets.
The eastern edge of the courtyard that led towards the cornfields had a moderately-sized structure that spent the warmer seasons as a makeshift baby animal barn. It is always a big hit with the youngins when it came to fluffy chicks, bunnies, and the occasional litters of puppies or kittens. However, during the cooler autumn days, it transformed into something more recreational. The corn pit was filled with dried kernels for jumping in, digging through, and pouring down tin chutes.
In the center of the gathering space sat the heart of the festival. Large chunks of wood were being strategically prepared. Each one laid with far more care than you needed for a pile of logs. Tucked into the crevices were Marigolds, striking a difference between the pale brown pieces of oak and its more vibrant gold and orange hues. Call it a homage to the town’s most beloved time of year.
At the end of the week, the bonfire would be lit to conclude the festival as we paid tribute to Falston’s ancestors and the harvest season. There would be music, drunk shenanigans, and laughter late into the evening.
Propping an elbow up on the massive back tire of the vintage tractor in the western corner of the courtyard, I casually picked some dried dirt off the connected toolbox. Each chip of dried mud that came off the rusted metal bin revealed faded paint from its original owner: Christopher Faust.
After I cleared the last speck of dirt away, I looked up and cast a withering glare at Bale.
“Could you have been more dramatic in the diner earlier?”
His response? An unapologetic shrug. Figures he would mirror my usual tactic against me, feigning indifference and basking in silence.
Leaning forward and dropping my words to a whisper, I pinned him with a serious look. “Come on. Tapping ‘die’ in Morse code in front of the whole Council? It was like you were begging them to make our lives… difficult.”
Bale scanned the flurry of activity around us, never shifting his gaze to me when he did respond.
“Do you ever wonder what would happen if we burned it all to the ground?” he mused.
Both brows shot up towards my hairline. “Burned what to the ground? The maze?”
“All of it. Every last square foot of Falston.”
I groaned and looked up at the sky as though it held all the answers to the world’s most puzzling mysteries. May the gods take pity on me; we were havingthissort of start to the festival several days early this year.
Without fail, every year, Bale had an existential crisis during the fall festival. Most often, it revolved around why we were compelled to do this, why we were stuck here, what purpose we had, and if things would ever change. Now and again, he would throw an oddball thought into it. However, for the most part, the sullenattitude and aggressive sulking lasted for at least one evening.
The best remedy I had discovered to date was stuffing him full with a hot meal, setting up a quick and dirty lay, and loading him up with enough bourbon-spiked cider to knock out a humpback whale.
“Look here, you weepy sack of straw. I don’t have the feathers to molt over this bullshit, not tonight.” I pushed off the edge of the tire and crowded his space, my boots knocking into his with how close I got.
Flicking the brim of his stupid cap, I looked him square in the eye with something in me bordering on promised violence. “Pull your shit together.”
He didn’t even flinch, bold blue eyes sharp enough to pierce through my skull, just simply held my gaze.
“Big words from a man who is about to turn into a whimpering fool, begging to become some girl’s feather duster.”
Bale’s words struck me hard, but it became a double punch when I realized he was looking just past my shoulder. I looked back over my shoulder, and sure enough, Harlow was halfway across the courtyard and striding in our direction.
Fuck.
She looked breathtaking, decked out in a dress that showed she had put thought into what she wore tonight. The burgundy fabric seemed to float around her body like air, cinching tighter in all the right spots where her curves rounded beneath it. The hem brushed along thetops of her knee-high suede boots, which were as dark as her shadowy black hair.
Her eyes, though. Those were the only accessories she needed. Their depths held the aura of moss tucked away in the most inner parts of a forest, with a glint of sunshine revealing the secrets of their true beauty. I could be a man dying of thirst, and I would reject every oasis just to choke on those emeralds.
