The Fundraiser continued on for the day. Families with little kids started to leave early, but most of the people stayed throughout the day, going from the movie theater to the food trucks, playing games and sitting at the tables and listening to the live music, tapping their feet to the beat.
Violet appears beside me, carrying a stack of empty trays from the café stand, her hair slightly messy now from the long day, and a faint smudge of powdered sugar on her cheek.
“You look like someone who just realized he survived his own event,” she says, nudging my arm with her elbow.
I laugh under my breath. “That obvious?”
She sets the trays down on a nearby table and glances around the square. A few townspeople are still lingering, folding chairs and stacking game boards from the lawn games.
“People are staying to help clean up,” she says softly.
I follow her gaze.
Henry is hauling a table toward the truck. Mr. Brooks and his sons are gathering the hay bales from the petting zoo. Even Mrs. Calloway is carefully collecting the auction sheets and tucking them in a folder.
My chest tightens.
“Small town,” Violet says, like she can hear the thought forming in my head.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
We start folding chairs together, the quiet rhythm of metal scraping lightly against pavements filling the space between us.
“Today was incredible,” she says after a moment.
“It really was,” I reply.
The street is still scattered with signs of the day, chalkboard menus, game booths, and strings of lights swaying gently in the evening breeze. But what I notice most are the people.
Neighbors laugh while they carry tables. Kids helping stack chairs. Someone clapping Henry’s back as they walk past. Itdoesn’t feel like people are just leaving. It feels like they are wrapping up something they are a part of.
Something they are proud of.
“You brought the town together today,” Violet says.
“I didn’t do it alone.”
“No,” she agreed. “But you started it.”
“Thank you for your help again today, Firefly, you made it extra special.” The word flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.
Violet stops, looks up at me, “Firefly?” she asks.
“Everett!”
I turn to see Mr. Brooks walking toward me, wiping his hands on his jeans. Thank God he interrupted me. I didn’t mean to call her that, it just slipped out before I had a chance to correct myself.
“Just wanted to say,” he says nodding toward the theater behind us, “that was one hell of a turnout today.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling a sense of relief that someone else other than Violet and myself enjoyed the event.
He glances toward the theater doors. “That place is going to be good for this town.”
Something warm settles in my chest. “I hope so.”
Mr. Brooks chuckles. “No hoping about it. People want something like this around here again.”
Behind him, Mrs. Calloway walks over. “I’ve got the totals from the auction,” she announces.
