CHAPTER 1
"—and for the position of Summer Dance Festival Chair, I'd like to nominate Marigold Bloom."
Marigold's pen slipped across her notebook, leaving a jagged line through her carefully organized list of agenda items. Her head snapped up from the corner seat she'd strategically chosen—third row from the back, partially obscured by a potted fern that desperately needed repotting.
*No. Absolutely not.*
The Harmony Glen Chamber of Commerce meeting had been progressing exactly as she'd expected: predictably, efficiently, and without requiring her participation beyond an occasional nod. She'd shown up because business owners were expected to show up, and because Ellie Sanderson had cornered her at the bakery last week and extracted a promise.
Now Ellie stood at the front of the community center's meeting room, her white curls gleaming under the fluorescent lights, wearing a smile that tried—and failed—to appear innocent.
"She's been a wonderful addition to our business community," Ellie continued cheerfully, carefully avoiding Marigold's eyes. "Bloom & Vine has really revitalized that corner of Main Street."
She opened her mouth to object.*I've only been here eighteen months. I'm not qualified. I don't even know what the Summer Dance Festival involves.*
"I second the nomination!"
Doris Malcolm from her knitting circle raised her hand enthusiastically from the front row. Of course she did. Doris had been trying to set Marigold up with her nephew since February.
"Wonderful." Ellie's gavel came down with a decisive crack. "All in favor?"
A chorus of "ayes" rose from the assembled business owners. She counted at least fifteen hands going up around her. The peacock woman who owned the coffee shop gave her an encouraging thumbs-up. The centaur from the blacksmith forge nodded sagely.
"Motion carries. Congratulations, Marigold!"
*This isn't happening.*
The applause felt surreal, like it was happening to some other Marigold who actually volunteered for things and didn't have heart palpitations at the thought of organizing a town-wide event. Her cheeks burned as faces turned toward her, some curious, others warmly approving.
She managed a weak smile and a small wave, her notebook clutched against her chest like a shield.
The rest of the meeting blurred past in a haze of budget discussions and parking ordinance debates. Her pen remained frozen over the same page, her mind racing through increasingly elaborate escape plans.*I could say I have a family emergency. A standing appointment. A deeply personal allergy to festivals.*
But she knew, with the resigned certainty that came from twenty-six years of being herself, that she would do no such thing. She would accept this unwanted responsibility because the alternative—making a scene, disappointing people, drawing even more attention to herself—was infinitely worse.
The moment Ellie adjourned the meeting, Marigold was on her feet.
She wove through the clusters of chatting business owners, sidestepping a conversation about property taxes and ducking past a heated debate over the new bike lane proposal. Ellie had already collected her things and was heading toward the refreshment table at the back of the room, where someone had arranged cookies and a thermal carafe of coffee that smelled like it had been brewing since dawn.
"Ellie." Marigold caught up to her near the sugar packets. "I think there's been a misunderstanding."
"Marigold! There you are." Ellie turned with that same knowing smile, reaching out to squeeze her arm. "I knew you'd be perfect for this."
"I really don't think?—"
"Nonsense. You're exactly what the festival committee needs. Fresh perspective, a creative eye." Ellie waved a handdismissively. "And you did such lovely work on the window displays for the Spring Flower Walk."
"That was just… I arrange flowers. That's literally my job."
"Exactly! The Summer Dance Festival has always had the most uninspired decorations. All those sad paper streamers and those horrible plastic tablecloths. You'll bring some actual artistry to it."
Her careful objections crumbled under the force of Ellie's certainty. This was how it always went. Someone needed something, and she found herself agreeing because saying no felt like causing a fuss, and causing a fuss was the absolute last thing she ever wanted to do.
*You need to stop being such a doormat,*she told herself. It was the same thing she'd been telling herself for years.
"I don't have any experience with event planning," she tried again, though she could hear the defeat already creeping into her voice. "I wouldn't know where to start."
"That's why we've given you a co-chair."
