Page 93 of Small Town Boy

I nod, forcing a smile, and start to turn away. But she addresses me again.

“Bronwyn, if you see Willa before I do, please give her my regards.”

“Pardon?”

“Tell her what a great job she did. I’ve never seen this many people at a Turkey Trot—oh, sorry, she changed the name—the Gobble Wobble!”

Her words slam into me like a race car into a guardrail, scraping along the way, parts flying everywhere. My stomach lurches, a mixture of hurt and anger rising in me. But I stop myself. I give the old lady the benefit of the doubt. Willa has organized this for years, so it’s entirely possible that she simply thinks Willa did it this year. Sure, I was the one who went to Women’s Club to seek help and raise awareness, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t been there on Willa’s behalf.

Okay, time to set the record straight.

“Actually, I planned this event, Mrs. Burch. Not Willa. I took it over from her this year to help rebrand and use it as a kickoff to a major marketing campaign for Hayes. So, it was me that did it all and changed the name. Which, believe it or not, the name change was inspired by Camden.”

She tsks again, her look disapproving. “Bronwyn, I know you’re a Yankee and therefore were raised a little different, but here in Hickory Hills, we don’t lie.”

What did she just say?!

I hold in my scoff, because I find that highly unlikely. Also, did she just imply that I’m a liar and have no morals? On second thought, she outright said it. There was no implying of any kind. And not just me, but apparently everyone who lives north of the Mason-Dixon line. This woman really is something else.

“I’m not lying. This was all me. You can even ask Willa.”

I turn to try and locate Willa, already dragging her over here in my mind to correct all the assumptions. Except, she’s nowhere to be found. My stomach drops—where is she?

“I don’t need to ask her,” Mrs. Burch replies, clearly oblivious to the internal panic that I’m experiencing. I swallow hard, waiting for what’s coming. I can already hear it. “It’s clear you did not do this. There is just too much Hickory Hills in this event to have been created by an outsider. The beautiful spread from Dolly’s and performance from Dustin. Oh! And even the route—taking everyone through the dairy so that the kids could see the cows was just brilliant. So please, make sure Willa gets the credit she deserves.”

Make sure Willa gets the credit she deserves…

I close my eyes, trying to tamp down the abrupt bout of nausea that has taken over. My heart is racing, and the ground feels unsteady beneath my feet. It’s irrational—I know this. But knowing it doesn’t stop all those emotions from rushing back.

Because it’s happening again.

Without another word, I step away from Mrs. Burch, leaving my still steeping tea on the table. I need space. A moment where I can wrap my head around all this. Because if that old lady thinks all that stuff, then so does the rest of this town. And once again, all my hard work will be credited to someone else.

I need to find Willa. If I can find her, then we can get this straightened out. Yes. That’s it. That’s the answer. I know Willa will tell everyone the truth. Hell, knowing her, she’ll put them in their place while doing it.

Rushing around, I try to find her. Nothing. She’s not at registration, she’s not by the starting line—that is about to be the finish line—not behind the stage, nowhere. My pulse kicks up even more, something that shouldn’t be possible at this point. If it goes any faster, my heart is going to beat straight out of my chest and take off to run the 5K on its own. That’d be a sight to see.

I do another round, just in case I missed her. But nothing. Sylvie is with Camden as the designated stragglers, Dustin and Kenzie are up on stage prepping for the group’s return, Nash is off taking care of cones—I hope—and Noel…

Noel.

He’ll set Mrs. Burch straight. He told me the other night he didn’t give a damn what she thought, and I know he’ll let them know how it really is. I bet he’ll even get more than a little enjoyment out of being able to come to my “rescue.” Which, in this case, I’ll let him have.

I head to the back side of the stage where I last saw him, waist deep in a conversation with Ken Noble. I round the corner, and sure enough, he’s still there. Only now, he’s been cornered by Mrs. Chamberlain.

Great. Just great.

“Noel, I just heard her telling Hattie Burch that she doesn’t like sweet tea,” Mrs. Chamberlain says, her voice hushed but scandalized.

“Right.”

Noel nods, not looking up from the crate he’s rummaging through.

“You need a nice girl. A local girl. Just look at Dustin and Kenzie, and even Sylvie and Camden and how happy they are!”

“They are happy.”

“Don’t you want that?”