“What about you?” I asked. “Is this your full-time thing?”
She sighed, adjusting the last lantern until its light overlapped perfectly with its neighbor. Her hand lingered near mine, close enough that the air between us crackled.
“I wish,” she said. “Right now, it’s just me trying to figure out life.”
I wanted to take her hand then, to squeeze it and promise she wasn’t alone. Instead, I shoved mine in my pocket before I did something reckless. We stood surrounded by light, silence humming with all the words I didn’t say.
“Would you ever consider living in a town like this?” I finally asked.
Her gaze swept over the festival—the laughter, the kids, the glow. “Yeah. I think I would. It feels…real here. Warmer than the city.” She tilted her head, giving me a smile that nearly floored me. “Plus, once I get a job, I could probably afford a workshop. Maybe in a garage.”
The image of her here, lanterns glowing in her own space, maybe even designing lights for the honky-tonk, nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.
“Hey,” she said, glancing at her watch. “We’ve got an hour before the pageant. Want to grab dinner? My treat.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said. “But yeah, I’d like that.”
As we walked back toward the food trucks, her hand brushed mine again, light as a whisper. I wanted to grab it, lace our fingers together, claim it. Instead, I let the heat of it linger, a promise of what could be.
And for the first time in years, I wasn’t just thinking about work or survival. I was thinking about Brielle Goodwin—red hair, manicured hands, and dreams big enough to fill the sky—and how badly I wanted to be the man who stood beside her when she made them all come true.
3
BRIELLE
“Mmm,” I moaned as I bit into what had to be the best grilled chicken slider I’d ever tasted. It was juicy, smoky, and a little tangy. It practically melted on my tongue.
For days, I’d been stubbornly avoiding fair food, sneaking my own lunches from the stash I kept in my room at the inn. I’d even stopped at an organic grocery store on my way from the airport, stocking up like a prepper. I did it partly to save money and partly because it was always a gamble finding anything healthy when I was traveling.
“Like it, huh?” Wade’s voice rumbled from beside me.
My eyes flew open. I was curled into the passenger seat of his old pickup. The truck looked like it had lived through a dozen rough winters, rusty at the edges and dusted with streaks of mud, but the inside was spotless. Not a crumb in sight.
I swallowed and nodded. “Amazing. I don’t know if these are free-range chickens or…processed.”
He grinned, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Free-range? I’ve never really understood what that means.”
“It means the chickens aren’t kept cooped up in a…well, coop,” I said, and the tiny pun made me smile like I’d done it on purpose.
“I’m guessing not,” he said. “If they were, those sliders would’ve cost double.”
He wasn’t wrong. I always felt guilty splurging on organic. But after losing both my parents to serious health problems, I tried to make choices that might at least give me a fighting chance at living long enough to raise kids, see graduations, maybe even be around for grandkids.
“It can’t hurt to indulge every now and then,” I murmured, mostly to myself. “I haven’t had a cheeseburger and onion rings since high school, and that was five years ago.”
His eyes widened, and I realized a beat too late that I’d just outed myself as twenty-three. Five years ago wasn’t long at all. He, on the other hand, was definitely mid-thirties—broad shoulders, rough hands, lines at the corners of his eyes that only made him more attractive. I wasn’t about to point out our age gap, though. I was pretty sure he’d noticed.
“Were you raised eating healthy?” he asked, tearing into his barbecue pulled pork slider.
The question dug deeper than he probably expected. “Not exactly. When I was little, my parents were pretty normal about food. But after…” I hesitated, my voice sticking in my throat. Something about the glow of the carnival lights outside the windshield and the warmth of his truck made me open up. “My mom was diagnosed with cancer when I was in middle school. She died eight months later. My dad had a heart attack soon after. I went to live with my aunt after that.”
Wade slowed his chewing, his blue eyes locking on me like nothing else in the world mattered.
“My aunt was strict about health,” I continued. “Organic everything, holistic remedies, exercise routines like boot camp.At first, I’d sneak pizza and burgers with friends, but eventually I realized the healthy stuff actually made me feel better. More energy and focus. It stuck.”
“Losing your parents that young,” Wade said softly, “that must’ve been hell.”
I nodded, staring out at the families drifting past, kids clutching cotton candy like torches. “It’s something you never really get over. You just learn to carry it differently.”
