Our town fuels tourists with festivals and special events each weekend. You’ll never run out of things to do in Silo Bay. You can find car and boat shows, craft fairs, festivals, and everything in between. But this weekend is my favorite.
I’ve missed the Silo Bay Fourth of July Lake Spectacular.
We walk to the park in comfortable silence. Jett greets people with a handshake or a dip of his head, but his hand never leaves mine. A prickling crawls up my spine and stays there. Everywhere we go, eyes are on us.
When will the newness wear off? Will my fellow Silo Bay natives get tired of seeing me? And with Jett?
As much fun as the Silo Bay Buzz can be, it’s a toxic group for people to bitch about everything. I’m sure it was created with good intentions, but now it feels like a filthy gossip rag. I’m tired of my face being the center of attention, especially after I visited with Davis. They tried to control the narrative by saying there was trouble in paradise between Jett and me.
How wrong were they?
We pass a kettle corn stand, sugar and butter thick in the air. I groan as the smell floods my senses.
“Want some?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
A local band plays on the stage under the pavilion, their voices carrying across the park, mixing with the laughter of kids on rides.
We walk past the Scrambler, and I chuckle at the sight. The silver pods spin violently as kids squeal with each rotation of the arm.
“Remember when you puked on the Scrambler?” I ask, pointing to the dizzying ride.
Jett groans. “I told you I can’t do rotation.”
“I called you a chicken.”
“So, obviously, I had to prove you wrong.”
“Except you barfed funnel cake all over the pavement.”
He clutches his stomach, averting his gaze from the ride.
“Good thing you grew up braver.”
“Is that so, Whiskey?” His voice is sultry, laced with innuendo. I nestle into his side, our gazes locked. Heat flares, mixing with the Cerulean hue.
“Get a room,” someone shouts, interrupting our moment.
I glance over my shoulder and find a pink-cheeked Audrey watching us as her friends laugh. She waves, leaving her friends to cross the sidewalk toward us.
“Sorry about them.”
“No need.” I pull her in for a hug, which she graciously accepts.
She slips free and throws her arms around Jett’s waist. “Hey, Uncle Jett.”
“Hey, kid. Having fun?”
She nods, glancing toward her friends who are lost in their phones.
“Your dad off today?”
“He’s at Sunset Shores with everyone else. I’m surprised you guys aren’t with them.”
“Someone”—Jett shrugs his shoulder in my direction—“wantedto be nostalgic.”
I dip my head, trying to hide my giggle. Audrey raises her eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”
