I try to smile, but my throat locks as a thought pounds through my head.Liar. Always pretending everything is okay so that other people won’t feel bad. So thatyouwon’t feel bad for not being able to find a way to save the store that your mom left for you. Sweep it under the rug, like you always do, Jade. Sweep, sweep, sweep.
Ruby nudges my knee with hers. “Anything I can do? I could come back and—”
“No.” No way in hell am I letting my sister leave her new job and life with Flynn after everything she went through. I clutch her wrists, staring into her eyes. “I’m telling you, it’s fine. We’ll be okay.”
She smiles with relief. “Great. So how’s it all going with…” Her cheeks redden as she glances past my shoulder. “Nate!”
I spin to find the deputy sheriff on approach, dressed in a red plaid shirt, brown leather boots, and a bandana tied around his neck. He looks like one of the scarecrows come to life.
Ruby points a finger at him, smiling. “Are you in one of the shows today?”
“No,” he replies without further comment before stepping forward to kiss my cheek. He shakes Ruby’s hand like she’s a colleague, and they exchange a few moments of stiff small talk while I run my eyes over Nate’s profile.
I’m sonotin love, it’s ridiculous.
Which is fine. Nate and I have only been dating for a little while. But shouldn’t I feelsomethingby now? Something more than mostly tolerating his company and his kisses? He’s nice enough, but he’s also kind of…bland.
His hazel eyes gleam at me like he feels the opposite. “Would you like to walk around the festival?”
Actually, no. I’d rather do anything but. “Oh, thanks, but I’ve gotta mind the booth with Dad.”
“Your dad can’t handle a booth on his own?”
My brows come together. “No, he can’t. He’s got a bad back, and that reporter is coming by, remember? And I need for her to—”
Ruby steps forward. “I’ll mind the booth, Jade. You go have some fun with Nate.”
“No way. You only just got back to town.” The last thing she probably wants to do is work.
Her fingers gently brush my arm. “You’ve done so much for the store these past few months, so it’s my turn to do something. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to spend some time with Dad. Flynn’s parents are around here somewhere, so he’ll be happy to hang with them for a bit. Plus, we’ve got all of tomorrow. Don’t forget the mud race.” We both groan but know there’s no getting out of it. I usually enjoy games, but ones of the less slimy variety.
“Thank you, Ruby,” Nate says, taking my fingers and tugging me up the street.
I reluctantly let him lead me away from the booth that I worked so hard to set up while calling out for Ruby to please call me if the reporter comes by.
I search for Sunny Gillespie’s face everywhere while Nate and I stroll past haybales spiked with maple-shaped signs and red-and-gold flags flapping from iron lamp posts, his fingers threaded with mine. I want to enjoy the festival and try to connect with Nate, but I feel like someone’s tied my gut into knots. I’ve spent this past week distracting myself from the shop troubles andthe bounced loan payments by trawling Pinterest for festival booth ideas that might impress Sunny. The late nights paid off because our booth is an undeniable standout beside the florist’s wilting displays and the rock shop’s plastic tubs of stones and minerals. Our booth looks like it’s been professionally styled, with rustic, upturned crates hosting blooms of dried flowers and strung-up olden-day photographs of Still Springs hanging from wires. But if things don’t go well today, and the reporter misses our booth…
“Are you okay?” Nate squeezes my fingers. “You seem distracted.”
I sigh. “I guess I feel like I should be working instead of wandering around doing nothing.”
His hand loosens in mine. “I didn’t realize that being with me counted as nothing.”
“It’s not,” I reply quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just really want to talk to this reporter, and there are about a billion people at this festival, so I’m worried I won’t catch her.”
“There aren’t even a billion people in America.” He smiles like he’s sorry for me that I didn’t know that.
I shake my head and decide not to bother explaining that I didn’t mean it literally.
Nate stops and places his hands on my shoulders. “Why don’t I buy you a funnel cake?”
My ears prick up like a puppy’s. “With extra whipped cream and strawberries?”
He frowns intently. “I’m not sure they’ll allow extra toppings, but we can ask.”
I breathe a light laugh, and we head over to the food tents and order two delicious-smelling funnel cakes, balancing them on paper plates and finding a spot near the stage area to stand and eat.
Two bites in, Nate and I jump at the ear-piercing squeal of a microphone feeding back through speakers.
