Page 75 of Fairground

Of course not, that’s ridiculous.

“You don’t like them?”

“They’re fine. I just don’t love them the way Cash does. You know, when we first get a new batch of baby chicks, he sleeps in there with them.”

I blink; I’m sure that I’ve misheard him because... what?

“He… he what?” My heart stutters.

Lawson chuckles like he knows it sounds a little wild. “Yeah. Wants to make sure they all make it through the night and eat enough. Sleeps on the floor next to their little home. One year, he woke up with tiny pecks all over him. He was so exhausted he didn’t even notice the chicks were trying to make him their next meal. Damn little baby dinosaurs.”

“That’s…” I trail off, shaking my head as a soft laugh escapes me. “That’s probably the most surprising and adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”

Lawson levels me with a knowing look, his smile gentle. “You two seem good for each other. Just don't let this competition ruin things between you, yeah?”

And just like that, he strolls off, leaving me standing there with nothing but a gigantic orange pumpkin, an eagle perched on top, and a whirlwind of questions I’ve been avoiding.

What happens if I lose?

What happens if I win?

What happens when Laken doesn’t need me anymore?

And what exactlyisthis thing that's brewing between Cash and me?

Chapter 31: Rae

The big weekend is finally here: the parade that kicks off the Whitewood Creek, North Carolina, State Fair.

I wasn't sure what to expect, but this… this is so much more than I ever could’ve imagined.

The streets are alive with harvest season magic—pumpkins, rich reds, warm oranges, golden yellows, and lush greens decorate every corner. Loud country music hums in the air, blending perfectly with the sound of children laughing and running freely, their parents at ease. Dancers twirl through the streets, and bursts of joy ripple everywhere.

It’s like stepping into a Hallmark movie.

The small shops I once rolled my eyes at—so quaint and overly particular—now strike me as charming, their window displays glowing with pride. I even smile at the coffee shop where I was almost food poisoned by that awful, orange coffee.

I'm joking, but I know you remember that well. It still sends a shiver through my core when I think about how it tasted.

The whole scene is idyllic, almost surreal. It fills my fall-loving heart and makes me realize something I hadn’t fully admitted to myself: this feels like my home now. Maybe for good, if things go well with the mayoral race. And that thought no longer terrifies me or sends me spiraling into a world where I think I’m failing by living here. If anything, it makes me feel like I’m winning.

Before I see him, I feel him. Cash’s familiar scent wraps around me like a hug, followed by his strong arms pulling me firmly against his chest.

“Cash!” I laugh, spinning in his grip, trying to wriggle free, but his hands stay locked on my hips, holding me close. “We’re supposed to be rivals! What’s everyone going to think if they see us like this?”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me. I dodge him smoothly, slipping out of his grasp before those soft lips can steal my breath away like they've been doing for the past week.

“I do,” I say, my tone turning serious. “I don’t want people thinking I’m justMr. Whitewood Creek’snewest plaything and not serious about this job. I need to win this race because I earned it.”

His brows furrow slightly, and I can see he understands now why I'm not trying to cause a scene even if he doesn’t like it. “I get it,” he says with a soft nod. “I wish you didn’t see it that way, but I understand why you do. I’m not trying to mess up the campaign for you. I’ve just missed you.”

A shy smile tugs at my lips as I glance around to make sure no one’s watching. “I missed you too. Now, get back to our float. I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

He grins, striding off confidently in the opposite direction, and I take a moment to soak in the cheerful chaos of the crowd.

“Was that Cash Marshall that I just saw you chatting up all lovey-dovey?” my sister’s voice calls out behind me. I turn to see her with my two wild nephews in tow, their faces sticky with candied apples and what looks like pumpkin slushies. Gross.

“It was,” I admit with a shrug.

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