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“There’s a gas leak in the town square.” I’m already moving to the closet. Grabbing my clothes, ignoring the fact that it’s Thanksgiving morning and I was supposed to have three hours to shower slowly, eat breakfast, and pull myself together before I had to be in the same room as Fox and my family. “Chief Morrison’s on scene. The mayor needs me there.”

“Finn.”

“I have to go.”

“I know. I’m just⁠—”

He crosses the room to me and puts his hands on my hips over the towel, stopping me for a second.

“Are you okay?”

“No. But I don’t have time to not be okay right now. I have to get dressed.”

“What can I do?”

I look at him. He’s standing in front of me, steady and quiet, his hair still dripping and his eyes on mine.

“Go to the farm.”

“Griffin—”

“Fox, we’re already not supposed to arrive at the same time. And now I’m going to be really late, if I can make it at all. Just go. Take your car. I’ll drive myself when I can get away.”

“Okay.”

He kisses me. Fast but hard, and then he steps back and lets me get dressed.

I pull on jeans and a sweater and my coat. My hair is still damp. I don’t have time to do anything about it. I grab my keys and my phone and leave.

I practically run to the town square. As soon as I turn the corner onto Main Street, I see the fire trucks ahead. Three of them. Lights on but no sirens. There’s a police cruiser blocking the entrance to the square, and Chief Morrison is there in his heavy jacket, standing next to Mayor Caldwell, both of them talking to a man in a hi-vis vest who I don’t recognize.

“Chief.”

“Griffin.” Morrison turns to me. His face is grim. “You need to see this.”

He leads me to the southern edge of the square. There’s yellow tape everywhere. A crew of people in reflective vests are working around a section of pavement that’s been torn up. A faint smell hangs in the air that’s definitely not right.

“How bad is it?” I ask.

“The line’s compromised for at least a hundred yards. Maybe more. We’re still assessing. But it’s not just the leak. There’s corrosion damage across the whole section under the square. The utility company thinks it’s been building for years. We caught it in time, but barely.”

“What does this mean?”

“I’m telling you this square will be sealed off for at least a month. Probably more.”

I stop breathing.

A month.

The tree lighting is next weekend. The Christmas Festival and market are two weeks after that.

All of it was supposed to happen here.

“Chief, there has to be⁠—”

He shakes his head in way of an answer.

Mayor Caldwell comes over. His face is gray in the cold light. “Griffin, I’m sorry. It looks like we’ll have to move the festival.”