Page 105 of Fool Me

“He lost a bet,” she says with a shrug.

The Packhorse Parade is peak Founder’s Day—nostalgia, chaos, and completely charming. Horses, mules, and even a llama from Thistle & Thread are decked out in vintage trail gear as they trot past storefronts lined with families. Kids already hopped up on sugar, clutch candy tossed from saddlebags in their fists, their sticky faces stretched in smiles.

Echo marches next to me like he owns the town as we walk the route, keeping an eye out for anything that needs our attention. When we near the park, where the parade ends, I lean against one of the picnic tables at Powderline Donuts and watch it all for a minute.

I can see the back of the judging tent for the Packhorse Parade in the distance and I’ll make my way down there soon, but Atlas still has to finish up his responsibilities, so I have time.

Echo whines at my feet, and I reach into my pocket to grab his bag of treats, rewarding his hard work on the parade route.

“So spoiled,” I tell him, patting his side.

I spent most of the route laughing, leaving my cheeks sore from smiling. But now, watching couples and families pose with their mules, something warmer spreads through my chest as I look on.

Next year, I want to enter with Atlas. And the year after that. And the one after that.

I can already see it clearly: Altas walking beside Muley, with ridiculous matching outfits that he only wore to make me smile. Then, somewhere in the future, him beside me while our son or daughter rides Muley, and we all walk together. A future that has nothing to do with our past—stitched together by usalone, overflowing with love and laughter and more adventures together.

It hits me hard and all at once, knocking me off-center. I’m not just falling for him. I want to build something with him. I want more days like today, like the Fourth of July, like the wedding and everything in between.

And suddenly, I can’t sit still.

I push off the picnic table, calling Echo to follow, my heart thudding faster than it should. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I have to tell him.

About the parade next year—about all of it. That I love all of him, even the messy parts that come with Canyon-shaped shadows. That I want to fight those shadows together, because I can’t go back to a life without him.

I move through the crowd, dodging kids with balloon animals shaped like moose and people snapping pictures in front of the gazebo.

When I get to the judging tent, it’s empty. They must’ve handed out awards for the best costume already. If that’s the case, Atlas would’ve started walking back to find me. I turn and head toward the Sloped Spine to track him down.

Scanning the crowd as I walk, I smile at people, but don’t stop to talk. My body is buzzing with energy, and the longer I look, the louder it seems to get.

A brown, well-worn cowboy hat with a white band catches my eye in the sea of them.

My pace picks up, and Echo sticks to my side. Altas is standing with his back to me, under the General Store overhang, talking to someone.

Canyon stands in front of him, and Atlas has a hand on his brother’s shoulder. A smile I’ve seen so many times stretches across Canyon’s lips. It’s nothing like the one he gave me yesterday, it’s the fun one that made me trust him. Canyon pullshim forward by his shoulder for a hug. Altas is stiff, but his arms wrap around his brother for a second before easing him away, holding him by both biceps and continuing their conversation.

Watching this from a distance feels like an intrusion, and interrupting is not an option, even though I have a hundred questions rattling around in my head right now.

Slipping away, I duck into the narrow alley behind Peaks & Petals, and drop Echo at Sloane’s downtown apartment like we’d planned, so I don’t have to run him home before the night’s festivities. Then I text Atlas to meet me at Jude’s before our chairlift ride.

It will all be fine.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

ATLAS

Leave it to my brother to sideline my whole fucking day, and it’s been a good one at that. I’m walking up First Street, looking for Harlowe, when I see Canyon approaching. He corners me by Peaks & Petals, just past the kettle corn stand. It’s far enough from the crowd to keep it private, but close enough that I can’t walk away without a scene.

Especially not when he pulls me into a hug despite the hand on his shoulder trying to keep him at bay. I’m still livid over the way he spoke to Harlowe the other day, and I don’t trust myself.

“Relax,” he says, hands raised like he’s harmless. “Not here to make trouble, just wanna talk.”

I stare past him, scanning the crowd—Harlowe’s somewhere in it. Hopefully, she found Tessa or Briar and they’re together. I don’t want her anywhere near this.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” My jaw is so tense it hurts.

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