Page 48 of Falling For Us Again

They thank me for my time, promising to send over a proposal we can work on in the next few days. I nod, smiling stiffly, not hearing their words. When they leave, I’m left standing alone in the doorway, staring out at the driveway where their car once was.

I close the door slowly, the sound of it clicking shut far too loud in the silence of the house. I lean against it, my head resting against the wood, my heart still racing.

I walk slowly to the kitchen, sinking into one of the chairs at the table. The dizziness has faded, but the memory lingers, my mind trying to wrap around it like pieces of a puzzle.

I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something I’m missing, something buried deep in that fragmented memory. Why can’t I remember? Where were we going? Why was she so scared?

I feel the beginnings of a headache, as the memory from earlier keep flashing behind my eyes. My mother’s distressed voice, the way she looked at me with that strange, unreadable expression haunting me.

The questions swirl and the unease gnaw at me.

Chapter 16

CHEAT

Dylan

The town hall smells faintly of old wood and coffee, the kind that’s been reheated one too many times. Around me, the town's committee members sit in folding chairs, some leaning in with too much enthusiasm while others keep their eyes down, hoping to get through the meeting unnoticed.

I drum my fingers on the edge of my chair, half-listening to the chair’s speech about last year’s pie competition disaster, something about cherries and a missing pie crust. I’m not sure. I’m distracted by Tom Harris throwing nervous glances at Maggie, who is seated next to me. She doesn’t seem to notice him, and I chuckle at her obliviousness.

“And that’s why we need stricter rules this year,” Mrs. Thatcher says, folding her arms across her chest, the floral print of her dress somehow too bright for the room.

There’s a murmur of agreement and scattered applause. Then her gaze zeroes in sharply on me.

“Dylan and Maggie, you two will be handling the food stalls again, right?” Her tone doesn’t leave much room for debate, even though she’s framing it like a question. The committee loves to give the illusion of choices, but it’s okay because I enjoy being of service to my community.

Maggie and I exchange humorous glances. We’ve been coming to these town meetings for years, and if there’s one thing we’ve mastered, it’s the art of silent communication. It’s the only way to survive.

“Sure, Mrs. Thatcher. We’ve confirmed all the usuals,” Maggie says. “Yolanda’s Diner is bringing their grill for burgers and hotdogs, and the ice cream truck will be there as well.”

Mrs. Thatcher doesn’t let her finish before waving her off. “That’s good. I trust you two will deliver the best as always. Richard, where are we on logistics?”

The annual fair is coming up, and it’s the most anticipated event in town. I’ve always loved attending the fair since I moved to Hartlow, and now as an adult, I contribute my efforts to the planning, ensuring it remains as joyful and memorable as it was in my teens.

My mind drift back to the first fair I attended after moving to Hartlow, and my lips curl into a small smile. I’d attended with some guys from school, and I remember how much fun we had flirting with all the girls.

My attention kept drifting to the entrance, wishing Jenna to appear. I had casually asked if she was attending, and she recoiled as if in horror at the thought. I tried to convince her that it would be fun, and she should join me, but she wasn’t convinced.

Just when I had given up on the idea of her coming, she appeared, eyes darting around nervously, her hands twisting thehem of her short dress. I ran to her with the biggest grin on my face. I ditched my friends and ended up hanging out with her the entire day.

The next year at the fair, I asked her to be my girlfriend, and she agreed. That was one of the happiest moments of my life, and I thought we would always be together.

I shift in my seat determined to not go down that memory hole. Scattered laughter rips through the room pulls me back, and I listen half-heartedly as Mrs. Thatcher berates George about last year’s parking situation.

I lean back in my chair, glancing over at Tom, who’s still openly staring at Maggie as she laughs. The expression on his face is exactly what you would describe as ‘puppy dog’; his lips curl into a smile as he watches her smile. The whole situation is humorous to me.

I nudge Maggie beside me and whisper to her. “Don’t look now, but you have an admirer.”

She giggles. “Oh, who? You?”

“Tom Harris.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically, her lips twitching into a grin. “Oh, please.”

I shake my head at her. “I’m serious! He’s definitely got the hots for you. You should give him a chance. He’s a good man.”

She chuckles.

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