Page 118 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“This isn’t decorating. This is staging.”

“That’s decorating wearing a business suit.”

She carried the pumpkin toward the barn anyway.

Meme appeared on the porch wearing a flowered dress and the pleased expression of a woman who had spent the last several days pretending she wasn’t waiting for this exact moment. She’d known before I told her. Like she always knew every thought racing through my mind.

Meme had been awake when I came downstairs at six, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and yesterday’s newspaper, even though she had already read every page. I hadn’t said anything to her excited little smile, and neither had she. But when I eventually told her I’d agreed, she’d reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

“Your Pops would be proud of you.”

I had gone outside before she could see how much that hurt, because I wanted to hear the words from his lips, not hers.

Now she watched Willow Creek arrive as though we were hosting family she hadn’t seen in years.

Rosie arrived at exactly ten with three poster boards tucked beneath one arm. Darlene Pike followed less than a minute later in an SUV decorated with an orange wreath on the front grille. And Iris Bennett arrived after her, moving carefully from her old sedan with a leather notebook tucked against her chest.

Then Walter and Margaret.

Then Jax.

Then Beau.

Then two people I vaguely recognized from the town council.

Then another truck.

Then another.

I checked my phone. 10:07.

A small group of my friends. Rosie was dead to me.

By ten fifteen, twenty-three people stood in front of Marigold Ranch.

Twenty-three.

I counted twice because I wanted to be sure when I eventually murdered Rosie and explained my motive to the judge.

Marigold hadn’t been empty for five years. We had employees. Delivery drivers. Veterinarians. Feed suppliers. People came and went. But they came because the ranch required them. Today, people were here because they wanted to be.

The driveway filled with cars. Voices traveled across the yard creating a buzz of excitement even I couldn’t ignore. June opened one of her bakery boxes, and within minutes everyone had coffee cake in their hands despite the fact that nobody had officially called a meeting to order.

Clover arranged pumpkins along the side of the barn until I made her stop; six was enough for now. Darlene walked around taking pictures until I threatened to confiscate her phone if anything appeared online before Rosie finalized the announcement. Iris wandered toward the oak tree where Pops used to hold story-hour for children during the festival, and stood beneath it for several minutes without saying anything.

Walter disappeared toward the equipment barn. Jax followed him, already looking inconvenienced by whatever job his father was about to invent.

Beau stood near his truck, watching everything. His navy eyes didn’t linger on me, but instead moved to take in everything happening around us. He had one hand resting against the open driver’s door, sunglasses pushed into his dark hair, sleeves rolled above his forearms. There was nothing remarkable about the way he stood there.

That was probably why I noticed. Everyone else arrived with an agenda.

Beau arrived like he was trying to understand what the ranch needed before deciding where he belonged in it.

Rosie eventually climbed onto the bottom rung of an old hay wagon and called everyone closer.

I stayed near the edge, listening to everything she said and waiting for the moment where I would feel the need to say no.

The first fifteen minutes belonged to logistics.