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Ares rolls his eyes. “We should go to the festival. It technically started the day before yesterday, so we missed a bit of it already.”
“When do you have to do your part?” I ask.
“Yeah, when is your whole the prodigal son returns thing happening?” Tate chimes in.
“Fuck off. It’s at the very end. On the last day. I’m giving the closing speech.”
“How inspirational,” Tate teases.
Ares flips him the bird. “Anyway, I have to make a few appearances before then, or my mom will lose it. And I do want to check it out. I haven’t been back for one in a while.”
We all agree to go with him, since that is the whole point of the trip anyway.
We finish up with breakfast and then get bundled up to head out into the cold.
I’ve never been to a small town festival like this before. There are vendors set up along the main street, selling trinkets, food, and hot drinks. There’s a stage up at the front of it all, currently empty, but there are instruments set up, indicating some kind of musical performance at some point. People mill around, wrapped up against the cold, buying things and chatting with each other.
As we cross to the other side of the street, someone calls out, “Is that Ares Thornton or do I need to have a word with my optometrist about my prescription?”
We all turn, and a small older woman is flagging us down.
Her hair is all white, cut into a stylish pixie cut. She’s wearing cat eye glasses in a bright shade of pink and is bundled up in a warm green puffer jacket. I don’t know how we didn’t see her before, considering how bright she is.
Ares smiles, stepping over to her. “It’s me, in the flesh. Hi, Birdie.”
“I thought you’d forgotten all about us now that you’re a big TV star. Nice to see Hope Falls still rates an appearance from time to time.”
“You know my mom would have come to Atlanta herself to drag me back here if I said I wasn’t coming for the hundredth anniversary.”
Birdie laughs. “She absolutely would.” She glances behind him at me and Tate and her eyebrows go up. “And who are these strapping young men you have with you?”
Ares sighs a little but steps aside. “These are my two best friends, Tate and Callan. Guys, this is Birdie Laughton. She runs the pottery studio in town.”
I give her a nod, but Tate steps forward and takes her hand, dipping to press a kiss to it. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Laughton,” he says.
Birdie grins up at him. “Oh, you’re dangerous, aren’t you? None of that ‘Ms.’ stuff please. I’m old, but I’m not stuffy. You can call me Birdie.”
“Birdie, then,” Tate says. “It’s my pleasure.”
She flaps a hand at him. “Go on, you. Before I get attached.” She looks up at me, giving me an appraising glance. She must like what she sees because she nods. “You have artist’s hands,” she says.
“Callan’s a tattoo artist,” Ares explains. “That would be more obvious if it wasn’t so cold.”
“Very nice,” she says with a smile. “One day I want to get more tattoos. Before I’m too old to appreciate it.”
“Well, if you’re ever in Atlanta, look me up,” I tell her.
She grins back. “I’ll do that. Let me not keep you. I’m sure three young men like yourselves have better things to do today. It was good to see you, Ares.”
“You too, Birdie.”
She goes on her way, and we keep walking down the line of vendors. Everyone who knows Ares, which seems to be half of the people here, calls out to him, saying how good it is to see him. It’s weird being in a small town where everyone knows who you are. Or at least who your friend is.
And then, a few booths away, I see Brynn.
She looks good in her dark pea coat with her hair ruffled by the wind. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she’s standing with her siblings, who look agitated about something.
Tate and Ares follow my gaze, stopping when they see Brynn.
