I didn’t say that, of course.
Instead, I said, “You look like the mayor of chaos.”
She tilted her head. “Flattering.”
“Meant it to be.”
There was a beat between us then, soft and full of things we hadn’t said yet.
But what I knew in that moment, watching her run this festival, watching her own this town with her laughter and her bossy clipboard and her ability to make every single person feel like they mattered, was this:
Fifi Bell wasn’t a detour.
She wasn’t a vacation distraction.
She was the destination I didn’t even know I’d been heading for.
And I was officially screwed.
Buttercup Lake’s annual Summerberry Festival was nothing like I expected.
Everywhere I turned, people were laughing, sipping from mason jars, holding sticky hands of kids in strawberry-stainedshirts. There were booths lined with handmade jewelry, jam jars glinting in the sun, and women in wide-brimmed hats chatting about pie like they were trading stock tips. The air smelled like sweet corn and cinnamon sugar. And somehow, in all this small-town noise, Fifi moved like a conductor in a berry-streaked symphony.
I watched her from just behind the lemonade booth as she double-checked a clipboard, then crouched to pick up a plastic bag that had escaped the trash bin.
Her hair was half-up, the other half tumbling across her shoulders like it had been fighting her since dawn. She had what looked like glitter on her temple, and her dress had smudges of jam down the side. None of it dulled her shine. If anything, it made her look more like the sun itself had taken human form and started running a hospitality empire in rural Wisconsin.
I didn’t know how long I was staring when she popped up next to me with a bottle of water.
“Hydration,” she said, handing it over with a grin. “I’m told it’s crucial to surviving glitter-related emergencies.”
“Is this sparkling or still?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
I twisted the cap open and took a swig. “This explains why I couldn’t find a room anywhere else in town. Big festival.”
The moment I said it, I knew I’d messed up.
Her smile faltered, just a blink, a flicker, but it hit like a gut punch.
She looked at me. Really looked. “Wait… what?”
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the heat rise in my chest. “I just meant… the festival. That’s why all the other places were booked. I couldn’t get a room anywhere.”
Her voice was soft. “So you… didn’t mean to stay at the Honey Leaf?”
My stomach sank. “No…Fifi, that’s not what I meant.”
She took a tiny step back, arms folding across her chest. Her entire posture shifted from sunshine to storm cloud in two seconds flat. Not angry. Not loud. Just… guarded.
“Then why’d you book with us?” she asked, more cautious than confrontational.
I scrambled. “Because I saw your lodge, and it looked perfect.” I trailed off.
Because the words I needed weren’t coming fast enough to fix what I’d just broken.
Her lips twitched, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
