Page 144 of Always Meant for You
“Face your partner! Do-si-do!”
I glance toward the dance floor, then turn to my grandmother seated beside me. Her hands don’t move fast, but she’s on rhythm, clapping to the square-dancing tune, her eyes bright beneath the glow of the lights.
Mabel picked this band herself and hired the caller for Elverna’s first square dance under the stars.
And like everything else she’s planned today, it’s an undeniable success.
It’s been dark for an hour. I haven’t been able to cash in on that kiss she promised because the town’s still going strong. Couples swing and spin through the square, their shadows dancing across the pavement. Strings of bulbs crisscross overhead, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. Across the way, Betty Young and the Martinez girls man a table stocked with casseroles. Kids race past with dripping ice cream cones from the Five and Dime. Families drift between the storefronts, stopping to listen to the music, to laugh, and to linger.
Elverna hasn’t felt this alive in years.
Mabel said it might get busy.
Busybarely scratches the surface.
The day blurred by in a rush of handshakes and happy chatter. Her passport idea was brilliant. It brought in droves. Some traveled over a hundred miles to get here. People didn’t just browse—they bought. We sold every last item. Anything we could grow, bottle, or bake, folks wanted. And when the goods ran out, Mabel pivoted. She signed up hundreds for email updates, waitlists, and subscription boxes for future deliveries.
Then came the questions about our hats.
Yep, the hat Mabel designed.
When will there be more? Will there be T-shirts with the logo? Mugs? Can they order online?
The kind people who visited our town didn’t want to leave Elverna behind. They wanted to take a piece of it home. It’s as if someone threw a spotlight over this town, and the whole region turned to look. And Mabel was right. People connected with us.
I didn’t recognize a single face, but they knew mine. They asked about Cal the Goat. About the cats. About the farm. These weren’t tourists. They were thoughtful buyers because Mabel educated them, shared with them, and entertained them.
She moved through the square like she belonged there. She answered questions with ease, guided people from booth to booth, and placed passports in eager hands. She even coordinated a few cat adoptions with Claudine and matched a daycare looking for milk delivery with the Sperry Dairy.
By the time we closed the market and turned our focus to the evening festivities, the lockbox bulged with cash. I had to kneel on it to get it shut.
Elverna turned one hell of a profit today.
And I felt it down to my bones—that this place, this future, might finally be within reach. That the years Jamie and I spent trying to carry something broken might finally give way to something built right.
Not to mention, I spent a good portion of the day exchanging glances with the prettiest girl in town.
Not a fantasy. Not a maybe. Mabel Muldowney, holding her own, steering the heart of this town like it was always meant to be hers.
I lean back in my chair, soaking in the sound of fiddles. A breeze kicks up, carrying the earthy scent of the ancient grains from the fields. The current tune ends, and the crowd cheers.
My grandmother claps and sighs.
“Is this how you remember it, Gran?” I ask.
Ruben brought her over earlier, and while she hasn’t spoken, her eyes are sharp. She’s paying attention.
Margaret sits next to her. “Isn’t this something, Gladys,” she says as the band starts up again and the dancers fall into step.
Sally joins us, red-cheeked from promenading.
Elias and Claudine come in behind her.
That’s the other thing. I’m not sure Mabel’s noticed, but I’d bet our entire berry crop that Claudine and her dad are a thing. The man danced. Elias moved slower than the others, but he looked more alive than I’ve seen him in years.
Perhaps love is in the air.
Love.
