Page 141 of Tasty Cherry

A chorus of cheers and high-pitched screams erupts.

“That’s great! The first group to go will be children under the age of five. If you are already this many…” I hold up my hand with five fingers spread, “you will go when I call you in about half an hour! Families with children both over and under five, please separate them into their age groups. Thank you!”

I click off the mic and the music gets loud again. I wander the crowd, exclaiming over costumes and joining in a dance party in front of the bubble machines.

Havannah appears, baby Serenity strapped to her front. Donovan follows behind, trying to corral Rebel as he darts through the bubbles, waving his hands to maximize how many he can pop.

“It’s lovely, Mila,” Havannah says. “The weather cooperated and everyone is having a good time.” She snags Rebel’s shirt. “Bring it down, love. You’re going to smack someone.”

Rebel pulls away and takes off.

“I’ll follow him,” Donovan says.

“Boys,” Havannah says. She peers down at the baby. “Please be a calm one.”

The music drops low, and the DJ calls out, “Five minutes until the under-five-year-olds!”

Families move toward the garden gates.

“We’ll be back for Rebel’s age group,” Havannah says. “I’ll see you in the staff room at six for dinner and the big announcement!”

“I can’t wait!”

I slip through the crowd and enter the main gate, careful to close it behind me. This is the scariest moment of a hunt. If I didn’t plan well, people will trip and fall and there will be a disaster.

I take the mic. “Hello! Parents of the under fives, please direct your attention to the yellow balloons!” I point to my right. “There are three gates that will open. If you encounter a fence, that’s the boundary of your hunt!”

All sorts of catastrophes break across my vision. Trampling. Gates falling over. Fences jumped and no eggs left for the older kids.

I draw in a deep breath and check that staff members stand at each yellow gate. Everyone is ready. “Let’s count it down! Ten, nine, eight…”

I let them keep going.

A hand lightly touches my waist. I sense Sebastian behind me. “It’s going to be great,” he says.

I nod.

“One!”

The gates swing wide.

I hold my breath.

The gates were a good idea. The crowd enters slowly, parents holding the hands of their little ones. The oldest of this age group dash ahead once inside, picking up eggs as they go and dropping them into baskets.

Within seconds, everyone is on the hunt and the eggs quickly disappear. I reach beneath the DJ table and pull out two enormous baskets of eggs. “You want to help me distribute to any sad kids who were too shy to run and grab?” I ask.

“Absolutely.”

He takes one of the baskets, and we head for the gates. Everyone will have to leave the way they came. As we wait for people to walk by, I take Sebastian in, tall and handsome in his suit, his wavy black hair glinting in the sunlight.

Looking at him and realizing he’s mine — it never gets old.

The eggs are all gone. The fences have held. I check my watch. Three minutes. It’s amazing how fast they get snatched.

Parents lead their children out of the garden.

“You look like you could use a few extra,” I say to a little girl who only has three eggs. I drop a handful into her basket. “Make sure you go inside to make bunny ears or dance at the ball!”

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