Mason nods. “Levi’s checking with the sheriff. We’ll keep it quiet.” He claps my shoulder once, then walks off toward his truck.
The air cools. The first stars blink through the blue. Milly watches me, brow creased. “You’re already planning.”
“It’s a habit.”
“Promise me you’ll tell me before you do anything reckless.”
“Define reckless.”
She gives me that look—the one that could stop an avalanche. “Austin.”
I sigh. “You’ll know first.”
“Good.” She relaxes, though I can see the worry tucked behind her smile.
We sit there until the last light fades. She leans against me, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders, not to shield her, but to share the warmth.
Maybe this is what love really is—not the guarding, but the standing beside.
In the distance, a truck engine rumbles, low and unfamiliar, then fades into the hills.
I squeeze her hand once, quietly making a promise I don’t speak aloud.
If this thing’s not over, I won’t face it alone. Mason. Levi. Her.
Because if you can’t trust the people standing next to you, who can you trust?
Chapter 13
The Founders Day Fair
Milly
The sun hadn’t been up long, but Everwood was already humming. The fairgrounds shimmered in a light haze of dust and dew, and for once, I was too excited to care about the dirt in my shoes.
I’d been waiting for this all week. The smell of fresh coffee hit my senses, and I ran downstairs with enthusiasm and no self-control.
“Coffee,” I said, like a homage to the coffee gods when I entered the kitchen.
“Your on-the-go fix in a cup.” Austin smiled and handed me a to-go cup full of heaven and dark sunshine. Our fingers met around the cup and lingered because neither of us moved quickly enough. It felt absurd to get flustered over coffee, but I was.
“Are you ready to go? We have a table to set up and fun to have?”
“I’m ready.” I saluted as he opened the door for me to exit first.
The smell of fresh hay, the clatter of pens, the buzz of early laughter—it was a special type of noise that wrapped itself around your heart and called it home. The 4-H kids were alreadymarching their animals toward the show ring, boots thudding in rhythm with stomping hooves. Their faces were flushed, proud, nervous, and absolutely sure the fate of the world depended on a good brush-out and a shiny ribbon.
I’d given most of the fair animals their check-ups earlier in the week—offered some advice on clipped nails, cleaning ears, and handed out enough advice to fill a pamphlet. It was nice, standing here now, seeing them parading past, healthy and cautiously smug. There’s something special about watching creatures you’ve given the okay to struttin’ like champions.
The honey jars gleamed from my sale table at the end of the row, catching sunlight in slow amber. I’d collected enough honey from Penny’s bees to feed an army that I decided to sell a few jars. I was sharing a table with Luke Rollins, the towns music master. Cassie had insisted we add gingham ribbons to the lids — “presentation matters,” she’d said. The bees had done most of the work, but I still felt proud enough to stand there pretending I’d invented honey.
Austin was behind me, helping Levi and Mason haul coolers from the fire-department truck. He looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in months—laughing, sleeves rolled, sun catching in his hair. Every once in a while, I caught him looking my way, that quiet half-smile on his lips, and something inside me shifted a little closer to peace.
“Doc Thomas!” someone called. Mrs. Winslow bustled up in a straw hat large enough to provide shade for a small continent. “The rabbits’ water bottles are leaking please tell me you have a trick up your sleeve.”
“I’ll be right there,” I said, trying not to laugh.
Cassie sidled over with two lemonades and a smirk. “You realize she’s already adopted three of those rabbits.”
