A murmur of concern spread quickly.
“The mayor has his microphone set up for announcements,” Drew reminded us.
“Good. But—” Someone nearby won a game, and a chorus of cheers and ringing bells filled the air. “—that won’t be enough. See if the mayor or anyone has a bullhorn. Something we can use to spread the message all the way back to the picnic area.”
“Mayor York’s got the bugle over at the gazebo!” a childish voice piped up. “That could be loud… if you blew it.”
Luke tilted his head in mild reproof. “Olin, sweetie, is now the time to bring up that bugle?”
But I blinked, because actually, when I thought about it…
“Luke. What’s the one thing that will make this whole town stop and take notice?”
“Uh. I dunno.”
“Yes you do. What makes every patron of Panini Jack’s stop eating their breakfast? Whatonesubject is so popular, my freakin’ family is selling us out to win commemorative scrolls?”
Luke’s lips parted in horror. “No. No, there are other ways. Skywriters. Fireworks. Air raid sirens.”
“Do you have an air raid siren handy, baby?”
His shoulders slumped. “No, but?—”
“Love, it’s gonna be fine. Trust me?”
Luke’s eyes softened, and despite the worry still in them, he nodded without hesitation. Despite all the things left unsaid between us—all the things I hadn’t told him last night about land deeds, and Amanda, and the fact thatI was in love with him—he still said yes.
And I vowed to myself right then and there that I would work hard every single day for the rest of our lives to be worthy of that instant trust.
I grabbed his hand, and together we ran toward the table by the stage in the center of the common by the gazebo. The mayor wasn’t there, but Dora York was, holding down the fort for her husband.
“Dora, Luke and I need the bugle. Right away. And we’re gonna need to use the stage.”
Dora gasped and fluttered her hands excitedly, like she wasn’t sure whether she should find her husband, text her friends, contact Genevieve with an exclusive story, or hand over the bugle first.
I made that decision for her by reaching over and snatching the bugle off the temporary plaque that some kind and overly invested soul had erected on the table.
“Thanks so much, Ms. York,” Luke called over his shoulder as he let me tow him up the makeshift stairs to the stage.
We stepped up to the microphone stand, and I stared down at the brass instrument in my hand. It still looked a little dented and tarnished and old but somehow seemed more intimidating than it had all those weeks ago. Maybe because I knew just how powerful it was.
I put it to my lips and blew… and, yep, my drunkenness had not distorted my memory of that noise one little bit, but it seemed to have the desired effect.
People near us stopped talking and laughing, and the silence spread outward like ripples in a pond. Game bells stopped jangling. The music slowly died.
The silence didn’t come quickly enough for the man at my side, though. He grabbed the bugle from my hand impatiently and blew it once again, even louder than I had.
“Holy crap,” someone in the crowd muttered, covering their ears.
“Oh mah gahd, they’re doing their vows,” someone else said.
“WebbbestowedLuke his sweatshirt! Part the Fifth is complete! This is really happening!”
“Lukey! Oh, Sue, it’s Lukey and Webb. I told you they’d work things out. Didn’t I tell you?” Ms. Williams yelled from somewhere nearby.
“Heck, yeah, Luke!” Alan Laroche yelled, wiping his misty eyes with his Habs jersey. “Couldn’ta happened to a nicer guy!”
“We’re looking for a missing child,” Luke said into the microphone, and the cheering cut off as quickly as the carnival sounds had. His voice wobbled a little with worry and unmistakable love. “My—uh. Webb Sunday’s boy Aiden’s gone missing, and we need help finding him. For those of you who don’t live here and maybe don’t know him, he’s seven years old. Four and a half feet tall. He’s got dark hair and big green eyes. He’s wearing a Nature Scout uniform with a brand-new knot-tying badge on it—” Luke sniffled a little and tried to cover it with a cough, and I wrapped my arm around his waist.
