Austin’s eyes glinted, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. His hands found my waist for balance.
His breath caught, barely audible, and a small, genuine smile tugged at his mouth.
“Happy Founders Day,” I whispered against his shoulder as he pulled me in close. He took a deep breath.
He didn’t answer right away. He just took my hand in his, kissed my knuckles softly, and whispered, “Best one yet,” in my ear.
He kept my hand in his as he guided me through the crowd.
The sky was already dipping into violet when the fireflies rose high enough and blinked over the fairgrounds. Their light shimmered against the lanterns strung between the tents, soft and lazy, like the town itself had decided to sigh.
Cassie waved from the dessert table, holding up what was left of a pie tin. “Your honey won the contest!” she shouted. “Forty bucks!”
I grinned. “That’s a lot of sticky fingers.”
“Everwood loves you. Even Penny only ever got second place.”
Laughter rolled across the grounds. The rodeo lights flickered out one by one, and the crowd began drifting toward the open field near the bleachers, where everyone was gathering for the fireworks. Austin fanned out our picnic blanket. Janet passed me a jug of sweet tea that tasted like summer trying to last forever.
Austin patted the spot next to him just as I was folding myself onto the grass. “You picked the perfect spot?”
“I was hoping you’d bring snacks.”
He opened a cooler next to us and pulled out a paper bag. “Kettle corn, funnel cake, and whatever this is.”
I peeked inside. “Looks like regret covered in powdered sugar.”
“Exactly.”
We shared the food, sticky fingers brushing, laughter soft and familiar. When the first firework burst overhead—silver, red, then gold—the crowd oohed like they’d never seen light before.
It wasn’t the fireworks that caught me, though. It was the reflection of them in Austin’s eyes—bright, fleeting, beautiful.
“You ever think about how quick they fade?” I asked.
“Everything beautiful does,” he said quietly. “That’s what makes it worth watching.”
The words rested between us, gentle and heavy.
Another explosion painted the sky pink. Kids shrieked, dogs barked, Mrs. Winslow declared loudly that she could feel the percussion in her teeth. I leaned against Austin’s shoulder, casual, necessary contact.
For a few long minutes, there was nothing but color and sound and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside mine.
Then, between fireworks, the silence shifted. A low engine rumble crawled in from beyond the fairgrounds—slow, distant. My body went still.
Austin heard it too. His posture changed, and he glanced toward the tree line, eyes narrowing.
“Probably someone leaving early,” I said, trying to believe it.
“Probably,” he echoed, but his arm worked its way around my shoulder.
The next round of fireworks erased the sound completely, filling the night with a burst of gold that rained down like falling stars.
When the finale ended and the applause faded, the crowd began to scatter—families gathering coolers, teenagers throwing poppers at each other’s feet. I stood, brushing grass from my jeans.
“Ready to call it a night?” Austin asked.
“Yeah,” I said, glancing back once at the emptying field. The last of the lanterns swung in the breeze, their light catching the dust in tiny halos.
