Page 101 of Penalty Kiss
“Oh, young love,” Mom sighs dramatically, clasping her hands like she’s watching a prime time soap opera.“Aigoo,k-drama scene right here!”
I catch the gleam in Dad’s eyes, the way his mouth curves like he’s two seconds from hauling Mom over his shoulder just to remind the room he still can. And judging by the way her cheeks flush, she’d let him.
For one hot second I picture it, then immediately scrub the thought before it scars me.
Tara shakes with laughter against my side while I mutter, “Let’s get going before my parents start giving us pointers.”
There’s no other way to describe this: summer magic has descended on Cedar Falls.
Tara and I weave through the bustling crowd, and for the first time in days, the vise on my chest loosens. This is what I’ve missed—the luxury of justbeing, without calculating exits, without my brain running bodyguard drills on a loop.
The August sun beats down, hot and golden, glinting off vendor tents, the whole street buzzing with the wild energy that only late summer brings. It’s sweaty, sweet, a little dusty—Colorado in its prime. I drag in a breath like a man surfacing.
Tara’s hand is warm in mine, her fingers giving a squeeze like she’s testing if I’m really here. I glance down, and she’s already sneaking a look at me, smile soft, eyes bright.
I tug her closer until our shoulders brush, and for a second I’m greedy for her. She doesn’t just sparkle—she makes me forget shadows exist.
The Farmer’s Market sprawls down Main like a spectacle. A bluegrass band at the entrance saws out something rowdy, laughter blends with the hum of conversation, and the air is thick with scents—grilled corn dripping with butter, kettle corn sweet enough to stick to your teeth.
Kids wander with lemonade cups sweating down their wrists, turkey legs clutched like trophies. Green bites of fresh cucumbers and tomatoes stacked high beside crates of fuzzy Palisade peaches and Rocky Mountain cantaloupes.
And everywhere—friendly blue. Cedar Falls PD has fanned out along the blocks, not stiff, not distant. They’re part of the rhythm. Kids crowd around cruisers, sticking badges on their shirts, high-fiving officers like they’re the main attraction. Chief Alvarez herself leans against a booth, chatting with a group of locals, her laugh carrying above the fiddle.
The sight unclenches something tight inside me. The town is braced, but alive—it’s readiness. I can breathe because they’re watching, too.
Somewhere down by the bakery stalls, my parents are definitely being charmed into taking samples. I catch sight of a jelly table: jalapeño, bright yellow dandelion, even zucchini–citrus marmalade. I mutter, “That’s not jam, that’s a dare.” Tara snorts, and for one stupid-beautiful second, it’s just us—safe, ridiculous, and a little bit in love with the absurdity of small-town summers.
“Ooo… Berry Pie Contest at two," I announce to Tara, like I'm reporting to the team bench. "I plan to win."
Tara smirks, her eyes dancing with amusement and a spark of challenge. "Mrs. Henderson's undefeated."
"I'll eat her under the table," I declare, my competitive spirit kicking in.
A grandmother passing by with a basket of apples gasps, her hand flying to her chest. Tara smacks my chest, trying and failing to hide her laughter.
I grin at the scandalized woman, my voice carrying just enough to be overheard. "Not like that. Get your minds out of the gutter, people. I'm talkingpie."
Tara giggles, and I’m beginning to realize the game is already on. She keeps finding excuses to brush her hand against my lower back, her fingers tracing the hem of my jeans, sending shivers up my spine.
At the citrus stand, she leans in close to whisper in my ear, her warm breath making the hairs on my neck stand up. "They say this lime is an aphrodisiac."
I know she’s lying, but two can play at that game.
While she's sampling a piece of cheese, I come up behind her, my hands settling on her hips, and murmur, " If I don’t end this day shirtless and crowned Hay Bale Hero, I’m lodging a formal complaint with the Summer Festival committee."
I feel her shudder against me, her body warmth seeping into mine. Point, Wilder.
"Cameron Wilder!" A voice booms across the square. "Just the man we need!"
I look up and see a burly man running towards us. My mind frantically flips through a mental Rolodex, coming up with nothing. Do I know him? I plaster a smile on my face, hoping it hides the sudden blank.
Don’t panic. Go with the flow.
But before I could stumble over my words, I feel Tara’s hand give mine a firm, reassuring squeeze. “Fire Chief Harold Thompson! Good afternoon!”
I look down at Tara and she gives me a wink, and right there and then… I know I’m going to marry this woman.
"Hello, Chief." I say cautiously, because nothing good ever starts with someone needing me specifically.
