Page 55 of Under Pink Skies

“How will you know?”

Connor shrugged, grabbing his coffee cup and flashing me a grin.

“Super powers.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Connor blew me a teasing kiss before sliding out the front door and locking it behind him.

My gaze lingered on the door for another moment before shifting to the living room window. Dawn was still an hour away, but there was plenty to do between now and ten a.m. when the Founder’s Day festival kickoff began.

I ate my omelet and sipped my coffee, allowing myself to soak up this moment of peace. Connor’s presence was a balm to my anxious heart. With him, Kameron, Lucas, Imogen, and all the other people who had worked to make this festival a success nearby, I knew it would be a good day.

After breakfast, I did a quick five-minute meditation before heading to the town square to join Connor and Kameron in setting up the festival structure. By the time I arrived, the morning sun was cresting over the mountains, casting the crossroads in an ethereal pink and orange glow.

“You finished them,” I said, and then amended my statement. “I mean, I didn’t doubt that you would, but they’re beautiful, Connor. You weren’t joking about being a master builder.”

“Well,” Connor said with a gentle smile, “I had some help from a master woodworker.”

I furrowed my brows as he stepped to the side, revealing the hunched form of my father. My dad had gotten a haircut, trimmed his beard, and by the looks of it, he was sober. He was inspecting one of the vendor booths.

Tears welled in my eyes as he approached me, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Is this where you’ve been the last few days?” I choked out. My dad nodded somewhat bashfully as he scratched the back of his neck and gave me a small shrug.

“I’m so proud of you, honey. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Thank you.”

I let out a shaky laugh as my dad squeezed my shoulder and went to inspect the next booth. I didn’t have time to process the emotional implications of my dad being here.

Not only was he here, but he wassober. He had showered and trimmed his beard, and he washere. I wiped my eyes before continuing down Main Street to make sure everyone had what they needed to be successful today.

The next few hours sped past in a blur. Connor and I spent most of our time checking in vendors, answering their questions, getting extension cords, and easing any concerns as they came up. Lucas and Kevin headed up parking duty, helping people find their way to the gravel parking lots on the outskirts of town. Imogen took point on all the food vendors, ensuring that everyone had enough space, tables, and chairs to serve the surprisingly large crowds beginning to flood the streets. Kameron stood at the entrance to the festival beneath the Founder’s Day banner in a Winding Road polo, welcoming the crowds to Watford and answering questions.

I stepped up to the microphone, welcoming everyone to the festival. There were more people here than I was expecting. At least several hundred, if not a thousand plus. I felt tears of joy and relief welling behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wanted to see everything in crystal clear vision.

I welcomed the first band to the Founder’s Day festival stage, and as the crowds filtered through the vendor fair to sample local food, brews, and products, my heart swelled.

I stepped down from the stage as the band began their set, passing the clipboard off to Kevin, who had offered to be the stage manager. Imogen was there to greet me, helping me down from the stage and giving me an excited hug.

“Let’s go check in with Kam. They set the Winding Road booth up near the festival entrance.”

Imogen linked her arm with mine and we set off through the crowd. I shook a few hands, expressed my gratitude to everyone for showing up, knowing my cheeks would probably be permanently stained red after today with all the blushing.

“Kameron,” Imogen said as we approached the boys’ booth. There was a blue and white ‘Winding Road Recovery’ banner alongside the top of the wooden stand, with a ‘Festival Sponsor’ title underneath. Kameron stood there in a pressed blue button up, his black stubble trimmed neatly. It was the most formal I’d ever seen him dressed.

“Imogen,” he said. The slight tilt to his lips had my best friend senses tingling. I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to Imogen.

“How are things going? Is there anything we can get for you? Water or food?” I asked.

“Things are great. We had some fantastic conversations with local businesses about potential sponsorship opportunities. And no need to grab me food: Connor will be here to relieve me here in a few minutes, and I fully plan on checking out the selection when he gets back. He’s helping dish out food.”

Kameron gestured across the crowded street to the line outside of Watley’s. When my eyes landed on Connor’s familiar sandy blond hair, my heart threatened to burst out of my chest. He was there, right in the middle of the chaos, with a wide smile on his face. He was handing a small kid a freshly made corn dog, kneeling to his level and giving the kid a high five.

My heart raced for an entirely different reason then.

“Hi there!”

A very cheery, distinctly male voice interrupted my thoughts before they could travel too far into the gutter. I turned to introduce myself and was stunned to find Councilman Trent Kaser standing there in all of his five-foot-seven glory, in a solid black suit and blue pinstriped tie.

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