Page 117 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

And the numbers on Rosie’s spreadsheet still worked no matter how many times I tried to prove them wrong.

The festival could help us. That was what mattered. At least, that was the reason I was willing to admit.

I picked up my phone. This time, I didn’t overthink it.

Carson

We’ll do it. But Marigold has final say over anything happening on the property. No one moves equipment without asking. No one touches the barns without asking. No permanent changes. And I want final approval on vendors, parking, decorations, and anything involving animals.

I read it once.

Twice.

Then hit send before fear could make the decision for me.

The response came twelve seconds later.

Rosie

I KNEW IT.

My stomach dropped. A second message appeared.

Rosie

Meeting at your place at 10.

I stared at the screen.

Carson

What meeting?

Three dots appeared immediately.

Rosie

The one we’re having at your place at 10.

I closed my eyes. This had been a mistake.

Rosie

Don’t panic, small group of friends.

I knew Willow Creek. There was no such thing as a small group.

By nine thirty, a folding table had appeared in front of the barn that I had not put there.

At nine forty-five, June Whitaker arrived carrying two bakery boxes, a clipboard, and enough determination to frighten any reasonable person.

At nine fifty-two, Clover pulled in behind her with the trunk of her car filled with pumpkins. And not the fake decorative pumpkins that filled every commercial store.

I stood in the driveway staring as she opened the trunk. “Why?”

She lifted one carefully. “Atmosphere, duh.”

“We can’t start decorating yet, there’s other work to be done first.”