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“I was gonna say disgusting. We don’t have the same taste in men, clothes, or party décor. And I will not be caught dead at a pink princess wedding.”

“What about a sage-green dress with a pink sash?”

“No.” I couldn’t for the life of me understand why Fancy was trying to make this a thing.

“Fine, the other bridesmaids can wear pink, and then you can wear a completely different frock, since you’re gonna be my maid of honor.”

I gasped. She wasn’t even engaged yet. “No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Shouldn’t your maid of honor be your best friend or something?”

“My best friend is a conniving, backstabbing bitch. Plus, by the time I hit the aisle, we’ll be besties.”

I wanted to protest, but Fancy was growing on me. She could always find the bright side in even the darkest of situations. And she lacked a filter, which made for interesting conversations. As potential future sisters-in-law went, she wasn’t a half-bad option.

With my parents’ move to Gainsborough, I’d volunteered to take my mother’s spot on the Hume event-planning committee. I loved my little town, and the fairs, parades, and winter festivals had been the highlights of my childhood. Now that I had Maple, I wanted her to have that same experience. What I hadn’t realized when I signed up was that the committee was made up of mostly retirees, busybodies, and a few stay-at-home moms. The majority of each meeting was spent arguing and not coming together to get shit done.

The 4-H club had a building near the high school. In recent years it had been renovated due to a generous donation from Palmer Ranch—an effort spearheaded by Ozzie. He’d grown up attending 4-H meetings, and it was important to him that he shaped the next crop of farmers, ranchers, and agricultural engineers.

The planning committee met in one of the training rooms. We’d formed a semicircle and were discussing one of the biggest events of the year, Founders’ Day.

“There is an expectation of what Founders’ Day should be. We need to give the people what they want,” Brenda, the owner of our local ice rink, said.

“I understand the interest in mixing things up. But what we do each year works. There’s no use in reinventing the wheel.” Morris was committee chairperson and was charged with keeping order of the rowdy group of ten.

“If we want to pull in the younger crowd, we need to switch things up a bit,” I chimed in. “I’m not saying we throw out the baby with the bathwater, but we have a real opportunity to do something special here.”

“Founders’ Day is special on its own; it doesn’t need any extra razzle dazzle,” Morris said. He lived a sad, beige life, the definition of routine and too much structure. I secretly feared if I wasn’t careful, I’d turn into the female version of Morris Crest—tan dockers, plaid short-sleeved button-up shirts, and all.

“I disagree.”

We all turned toward the owner of the voice to find Ozzie leaning on the doorframe.

I hoped no one noticed the corners of my mouth twitching as I resisted the urge to smile. After our kiss, which had left my head spinning, I’d pretended it never happened. Mostly for my sanity. The next morning, the drive back to Hume was filled with my running my mouth nonstop, not wanting a lull in the conversation in which Oz could potentially reassert what he’d said on the dance floor.

All words I’d been waiting to hear for years—but now that they’d been spoken, I was terrified. Wanting something was one thing. Actually putting in the work to accomplish it was another. Take my going back to school, for instance: it was something I’d thought about doing for years. I’d lain in bed at night daydreaming about life on campus and making friends. Cut to the present and I was enrolled, but the reality was very different from the dream. No campus parties, no walking the halls searching for my first class. I wanted to go back to school, and so I was doing it, but what that looked like was very different from what I’d imagined.

And I feared the same would be true with Ozzie. We’d both hoped for this reunion, but our opinions on how to make this second attempt at love work might not align. My greatest fear was failing—at anything, really. I didn’t like to lose, which was why actually trying instead of pretending not to care was giving me that cringy feeling.

Entering the room, he continued, “If I’m being honest, Founders’ Day has been stale for a while now, more about ceremony than having a good time.”

“It’s about honoring our ancestors,” Morris countered.

“With the same tired floats from ten years ago and music that puts everyone to sleep?” Oz asked.

With an ally in this fight, I cleared my throat. “You’re both right. The parade has seen better days, and I think the meaning behind it has been lost in the food and fireworks. Founders’ Day should be fun—it’s a celebration of Hume, but it should also be educational and honor the families who made this town possible.”

“What are you two suggesting?” Alberta Foreman asked.

Ozzie and I locked eyes. He wasn’t a member of this group, but he was speaking facts. When the topic of Founders’ Day came up, most people weren’t excited. Growing up, it was always a big to-do, but over time it had lost its luster. I couldn’t tell you if that was because of the parade or my just growing up and realizing that the world wasn’t shiny and filled with possibilities.

I hadn’t planned on pitching changes to the parade, but since I had the floor, I gave it a whirl. “We should focus on the families who founded the town. Create a display in the library to celebrate them, print off coloring pages and other crafts for the kids. We can get with Cyr… Mayor Birch and have him narrate a small exhibit. Founders’ Day and the weeks leading up to it should feel like an event.”

Ozzie stood behind an empty chair nodding in agreement. “And we need a new DJ.”

Kacey Dywer, Hume’s resident hater, spoke up. “Of course you want an exhibit, because your family was one of the founders.”