Last payment cleared six months ago. I’m finally free. Finally starting over with nothing hanging over me.
And now I’m developing feelings for my best friend’s sister, like I haven’t learned anything about making wise choices.
The Harvest Moon Festival transforms the town square into a postcard scene. String lights everywhere, booths selling everything from handmade crafts to overpriced festival food, a live band playing covers that were popular ten years ago. The full moon hangs low over the lake, its reflection perfectly mirrored in the still water.
Rachel shows up in jeans and a green sweater that makes her eyes look even brighter. Tommy’s bouncing beside her, already begging for cotton candy.
“One hour.” Rachel holds up a finger. “You get one hour of sugar and chaos, then we’re going home for a reasonable bedtime.”
“Two hours?” Tommy tries.
“One and a half. Final offer.”
“Deal!” He takes off toward the game booths before she can change her mind.
“Tommy Morgan, you walk! No running!” She calls after him, but she’s smiling. That genuine smile that lights up her whole face.
Cole and Marco are already here, standing near the entrance like security guards. They nod when they see us, but don’t move from their posts. Always on duty, even at carnivals.
“Your friends take festivals very seriously,” Rachel says, watching them scan the crowd.
“It’s their default setting. Protect and serve, even when they’re off the clock.” I nod toward the food stalls. “You hungry? Jake’s treating since he guilt-tripped me into coming.”
“He guilt-tripped you?”
“In the nicest possible way. Very manipulative, your brother.”
She laughs. “He learned from the best. Our mom could guilt-trip a priest.”
We end up at the donut stand because festival donuts apparently cost eight dollars now. Rachel orders something with maple glaze and bacon. I get plain glazed.
“Plain glazed is a safe choice,” she says.
“Safe and boring. That’s me.”
“The guy who runs into burning buildings is calling himself boring?” She takes a bite of her donut. “That’s objectively false.”
“I’m only interesting on Tuesdays. The rest of the week I’m very standard.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true. Ask anyone. Theo Park, perfectly average human.” I finish half of my donut in one bite. “Except on Tuesdays. Tuesdays, I’m moderately heroic.”
“What about Saturdays?”
“Saturdays, I visit my grandmother and get lectured about my life choices.”
She grins. “That sounds nice. Having a family that cares enough to lecture you.”
“It’s less nice when she’s listing all the ways I’m disappointing her.” I keep my tone light, but there’s truth under it. “Apparently, I’m too old to be single, and she’s running out of time to meet great-grandchildren.”
“Oh no. The grandchild pressure. That’s brutal.”
“She’s eighty-three. I can’t even argue with her logic.” I finish my donut. “But yeah, it’s a lot. Especially when I’m still figuring out my own life.”
Rachel’s quiet for a moment. “I get that, the pressure. Derek’s family used to ask when we were getting married, when we’d have another baby. Like my entire worth was measured in relationship milestones.”
“That’s not fair to you.”
