Beau heads toward the backroom, scanning the trail of ribbons and trimming scraps left from earlier prep. “Want me to hang around and keep helping tidy up?”
I almost say “no, this is my mess,” but then…
He hums.
Not loud. Not on purpose. Just a small thread of melody hushed as a lullaby under his breath as he starts gathering supplies into a bin.
It catches me off-guard, but in a delightfully good way.
I stop suddenly, hands full of floral wire, and tilt my head.
I know that tune.
Not the words. Not the whole song. But the way it drifts stirs something. A memory I can’t place. Maybe from the radio. Maybe from somewhere older. It’s hazy and unfinished, like a dream you forget the second you wake up.
It’s familiar, but not quite grabbable. Like recognizing someone from a distance and not remembering their name.
He looks up, brows raised. “You okay?”
I nod, my gaze shifting to the bouquet bucket, needing an anchor. A loose spray of tulips leans over the edge, their pale-yellow petals just starting to open, and a soft, herbal scent from sprigs of mint rises faintly from the water. Itgrounds me when everything else feels briefly blurry. “Yeah. Just…spacing out.”
He shrugs as if that makes perfect sense and keeps humming, now quieter.
The delicate intensity of the music settles between us as we clean. I catch myself watching the curve of his shoulder as he lifts a bin, the way his mouth moves without realizing it.
“So, helping me clean, huh? You’re really committing to this fake dating thing,” I say jokingly, reaching for some ribbon.
“Just trying not to get us disqualified,” he replies.
A heartbeat passes.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” I consider. “How easy pretending can start to feel…not so pretend.” The words leave my mouth before I realize how true they are, and I wonder if I’ve just revealed way more than I meant to. I’m not sure if I want to take them back or see how he reacts.
He doesn’t answer, but there’s a message in his eyes when they meet mine. A shimmer of something that makes my heart trip over itself.
Peaches stirs, then promptly flops back down with a huff.
We both glance her way, grateful for the interruption neither of us asked for.
Then, mysterious as an owl’s call in the night, the tune slips back into the air, faint and flitting like butterfly wings. I go still. My hands pause mid-reach, fingertips brushing a curl of ribbon I no longer remember needing.
My breath catches, held tight and suspended as a bow drawn over the strings of a violin on the last note of a solo. Beau’s humming dips and rises around me, wordless,embracing me and nudging a corner of my heart I haven’t dared to touch in a long time.
And I realize: I want to stay right here, cradled in this sliver of togetherness, as long as he keeps humming.
Chapter 6
Spiced Sabotage
Beau
It’s day four of the festival, and the competition area is already pulsating with energy and aesthetic overkill by the time we step into the fray. And right at the center of it, of course, it’s Team Let’s Go Viral, making a statement as always. By now, I’m prepared to admit that they are Maisie’s and my biggest rivals.
They show up in matching aprons embroidered withWhisk Me Away, their prep station looking more like a mini-influencer studio than a food table complete with a floral runner, three types of garnishes, and a tiny ring light angled just so. I don’t even know where you get a ring light that small.
I see Maisie squint at them, trying to decipher whether their camera is live. “Do you think they’re filming this for their followers?”
I reply dryly, “Probably. Nothing says authentic love like branded content.”
