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“My therapist is going to love what happened here.”

“I can do that anytime you need me to.” Ethan checked his watch. “I suppose we should go, though. We’ve both got things to do before eleven.”

At the register, I took care of the bill. We’d fallen into a good routine of trading off who paid without discussion.

“Thanks for a brilliant morning,” I said as we stopped at the intersection where we’d part ways.

“I hope we have many more.” He pulled me into a quick hug. “See you at ten forty-five. Try not to stress too much before then?”

I laughed against his shoulder. “No promises.”

The walk to the parade’s staging area gave me time to shift into coordinator mode. The morning air was pleasant and the sun shone brightly.

Perfect parade weather.

I checked my phone updates from when Ethan had confiscated it.

First aid stations: set.

Sound checks: complete.

Everything was running smoothly because my team was incredible.

Checking floats and talking with participants ranked among my favorite parts of the day. Beyond approving initial designs with the committee, I deliberately avoided seeing the floats until the lineup. Seeing everything finished and in formation was magical every time. The work businesses and individuals had put into these creations took my breath away.

While I was doing the walkthrough, a message arrived.

Ethan: Kids say hi. They’re wondering if it’d be okay to throw water balloons at me during the parade to keep the dunk tank theme going. I gave a firm no.

I chuckled. He’d been such a good sport with the dunk tank yesterday, staying longer than scheduled as people kept paying for chances. He got dunked repeatedly as his friends, campers, and townspeople lined up. Grace, Elena, and I had watched, entertained as he tried to distract throwers from hitting the target.

Andre: Tell them hi from me. And absolutely no water balloons. Can’t have the inside of the loaned car getting wet. If they want another shot at you, we can just put you back in the tank.

I capped the message with a winky face.

He sent back a surprised emoji.

I arrived at the starting line at 10:44, expecting to see Ethan. But he wasn’t with the rainbow-festooned convertible he’d ride in.

“Has anyone seen Ethan?” I asked nearby volunteers. They shook their heads, and the first flutter of anxiety hit my stomach.

10:46. I texted him.

Andre: Where are you? Everything okay?

No response. No typing indicator.

10:50. I called, but after several rings it went to voicemail. “Hey, it’s getting close to start time,” I said after the beep, keeping my voice steady. “Please call me when you get this.”

Had the festival suddenly become too much? He’d seemed fine at breakfast, excited even. Still, worry nagged that something was wrong.

10:52. I texted the volunteer thread.

Andre: Has anyone seen Ethan?

Responses flooded in, but no one knew where he was. I was the last person to get a text from him.

I sent another message to him.