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Or protective boyfriends?

“I do,” Genevieve replies. “My dad was so protective, I never got married.”

I pull back. I wasn’t expecting that. I also don’t like how similar it sounds to my own life right now.

“Not because of him,” she clarifies. “I made my own choice. But he never liked the guys I dated, so it definitely influenced me. He died when I was twenty. After that, I never found anyone else I liked more than him.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with it. I do miss him, though.” She looks at me. “But you understand loss.”

Everyone in town knows about Mom. It’s no surprise Genevieve does, too.

We share a look of understanding, then Genevieve gives me a soft nudge with her elbow. “Come on. I’ve got some cocoa in the back. It looks like you could use some.”

I don’t know how she knows it, but I can’t help but agree. I need something to quench my thirst for the man who’s drought I’m apparently still in, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise.

Juliet

Saturday arrives five days later, the final full day—aside from Sunday—before the festival. By some miracle, nearly everything has been completed, and Rosie and I are close to celebrating.

“Just a few things left to do,” she says, running her fingers through her blonde hair as we chat in her studio apartment at the back of the inn. “I can’t even believe it.”

“What do we have left?” I ask.

“I’m supposed to meet with the Walkers to make sure the hay is set to be delivered on time for the hayrides,” Rosie says. “But I might need to postpone it. Dean’s found some more things that need to be updated in the rooms.”

I scoot forward on the sofa. “Oh, I can do it, then.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

“Perfect. You just need to go through the checklist. Make sure there’s enough hay and that it’s not soiled or anything.”

I highly doubt this meeting even needs to occur, as the Walkers’ quality is topnotch, but I nod anyway.

“Oh, and the guy who’s driving the horses is going to be there, too. Archer, I think.”

I stare. I cannot believe this is happening again. “Why does he need to be there?”

She gives me a funny look. “I mean, he’s driving the horses and bringing the wagon. That’s kind of important.”

I look away. Fine. I guess she has a point. “Wouldn’t a phone call work?”

“No, you have to make sure everything is within the safety regulation.” She rifles through some papers, then extends me a few sheets. “If this isn’t passed and checked off, there’s no hayrides. Those papers give all the information you have to go through with them. Secure couplings, safety chain, railings three to four feet high, lighting. And like a billion more.”

I chew my lower lip, wondering if I could pass this to someone else.

Rosie leans forward. “If you’re nervous about seeing this through, I can do it.”

Nervous? Of course I’m nervous. Each time I’m around Archer, my will weakens.

But Rosie’s already swamped. As much as I’ve done for the festival to help, she’s done more.

“No, it’s okay,” I finally say. “I’ll get it done.”

I head for Dad’s office at Town Hall and ask to borrow his SUV. He’s working again today, doing his own final part to approve more spending for the festival. He readily gives his permission when I tell him I’m meeting with the Walkers—and when I omit any mention of Archer—then I head to the farm.