“Hiya, sweetheart,” he said, pulling me close.
I sank into his hug, inhaling the familiar scent of oak and whiskey that had always clung to his blazers. We chatted for a few minutes before Locke joined us.
“Don’t try to sweet talk me,” Dad told him as they shook hands. “It’s up to the town now. Whatever they say goes.”
“I understand, sir,” Locke said. “I’m just happy to have the opportunity.”
I gave my dad a look that saidbe nice. Regardless of how this went, Locke was still this baby’s father, and he was going to be around in our lives. Not that Dad knew about the baby yet. I’d already dropped the fake engagement on him, and that was enough for now. One major life-altering event at a time.
“Welcome, welcome, everyone!” Jo called, her voice carrying over the din of the crowd. “Can we get everyone to take their seats? We’re about to begin.”
Locke took my hand and led me to the front row of chairs. The council was up behind a table on the low-lying stage. Mel waved one of Lucy’s chubby little hands in our direction.
“I hope Mel’s vote counts for two,” he joked, leaning over to whisper to me.
“One point five, if we’re lucky.”
He grinned, his breath tickling the hairs at the side of my neck, sending an electric thrill through me. I swallowed hard, turning my attention to the white-haired man next to Jo.
“That’s Patrick Lyons,” I murmured to Locke. “Good mates with Dad. He’s been on the council for decades. Very involved with the community. Very proud of Braeburn. He’s bought a couple of my mom’s paintings over the years.”
Patrick cleared his throat. “First thing on our agenda,” he announced. “Update on the pothole repairs on Lark Street. They will be filled by the end of the week, Mrs. McBane, so you can stop spamming the council inbox.”
“Aye, about time!” a woman called from the crowd. “It was so deep, the frogs moved in after a rain!”
A chorus of chuckles sounded.
“Next on the agenda,” Patrick continued. “After last week’s discussion, the council has agreed to turn the fountain back on in the green. But please remind your teens that it’s not to be used for TikTok stunts.”
“If I see one more person twerking on that fountain—” a man began to say.
“Yes, Cormick,” Jo huffed. “You’ll burst a blood vessel. We know. Can we please iron out the preliminary summer festival details?”
“When is the first planning meeting?” someone called.
“Officially next Wednesday evening,” Patrick announced.
A buzz of excitement whipped through the crowd.
“So far, our committee consists of Aiden, who’s in charge of the setup and tear down. We have Tam on event planning.”
“Justice for the MacDonalds!” a man shouted.
Jo hushed him. “You lost the caber toss, Eric. Get over it.”
I laughed.
“Isla is on photography for the day,” Patrick continued.
Locke glanced over at me, thoughtful.
“We’ll need to gather the usual volunteer judges for the food competitions. We’re still waiting to hear if the Kincaids will be judging again this year, and yes, I know, no more haggis for Lena.” That generated a few chuckles from those who were present when Lena lost her battle holding it down last year. “If anyone wants to throw their hat in the ring early?—”
Locke raised his hand. “Go on and put me down for one of those categories.”
Jo added his name to a clipboard while I blinked at him in surprise. If Locke was committing to the festival, did that mean he planned to stick around? If he won the vote, it wouldn’t takeDad more than a few days to commit to the sale—and the festival wasweeksaway. I caught my lip between my teeth, my thoughts returning to that kiss. A giddy rush surged through me, and I ran my thumb along the back of Locke’s hand.
“Okay, we’ll sort out the rest of the festival chat next Wednesday. Time to move on to our next agenda point,” Patrick said. “This is the one most of you are probably here for. Dougal, would you like to get up and say a few words?”
