Page 24 of Buried Roots

I loathe the thought of letting Frankie, Trinity, and Dakota down. They love and rely on the place, as well as the animals there. But I also don’t see another reasonable choice. Defeated, I utter, “Yes. I have to.”

The festive streets pop in reds, whites, and blues, and the smells of rising dough, cinnamon, and baking fruits fill the air, along with cooked meats and French fries.

Dakota and I browse different tents while the band plays a mix of rock and jazz, the notes fluttering through the pleasantly warm Thursday evening air. It’s everything I’d ever imagined a small-town festival would be—maybe more.

There’s something magical about Violet Moon, which is the perfect thing to distract me from my worries about Bo’s Château. Before we list, Sally has a punch list of things to do so the selling points of the home shine, then she’ll bring in a top property photographer from Atlanta. That’s a good start, but it sounds like it won’t be enough.

“We can’t miss this booth.” Dakota grabs my arm, cutting into my thoughts. We head over to the massive corner tent, and on it is the Violet Moon beer logo—an illustration of purple clouds floating over mountains with a bright moon in the sky. Somehow, it actually reminds me of Violet Moon, and I’m amazed the artist captured that in a vector drawing.

The worker, a woman with short, gray hair and rosy cheeks, smiles brightly. “Howdy, Dakota. Nice to see you, darlin’.” Then she turns to me and says, “And how are you, Ms. Willow? I’m Gertie, Dakota’s aunt. A little bird told me you’re taking over Bo’s Château.”

“That’s me. Nice to meet you, Gertie.” I look at Dakota. “I guess newsdoestravel fast around here.”

“You have no idea,” Dakota mumbles.

Gertie brushes off her apron. “I also heard you have a looker of a colt who almost didn’t make it, bless his heart. Word is, you and Frankie delivered him yourselves. You’re already something of a hero in Violet Moon.”

I inhale sharply, my mouth ready to correct her when I realize I can’t. Owen is in hiding until tomorrow, and I’m starting to get a sense why. “It was mostly Frankie. Really.”

“Well, I saw the pictures Nia’s gonna run inTheMeddling Moon. I can’t wait to come by and meet him, pretty little bugger.”

“I’d be happy to have you,” I say, meaning it. “Trinity named him Oreo, and he’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen… well besides my little goat, Sir Fig A Lot.”

“Oh, look at you—already naming the animals. You’re just meant to be here, aren’t you, darlin’?”

Not in the mood to get into yetanotherdiscussion of how I have to sell the place—although, let’s get real, Gertie probably already knows that, too—I say, “I’m definitely falling for the animals. But I do miss my turtle at home, Tesla.”

“Tesla’s welcome here.” Gertie perks a brow. “Folks find themselves coming for a visit and never leaving, I tell ya. I was living in Roswell when I met my Jimmy. Moved here to be with him and never looked back.” She sighs wistfully. “Anyway, come on, now, try our latest blonde lager. It turned out amazing, if I dare toot my own horn.”

She pours us beers with a nice foam top. I take a sip, and it’s bursting with flavor. “It’s like something German, but with the lightness of an American beer. If that makes sense?”

Gertie clasps her hands and giggles proudly. “It’s amazing you caught that. Our family’s barley seeds actually came from Europe.”

Dakota holds up her glass. “Cheers,” she says, and I clink hers with mine.

With a warmness flowing through me, I say, “I don’t know if it’s just me, or the fresh air, but everything seems better here.”

“That’s because it is, silly,” Dakota says. “We take our food and our fun seriously.”

“That’s for sure.” I turn to Gertie. “I never would’ve thought you had so much barley growing in Georgia.”

“No one does. They think cotton or peaches. It’s always a surprise to visitors, but we’re definitely earning a name for ourselves.”

“I can see why.”

Dakota and I grab a beer to-go as we continue down the bricked streets of downtown. I window browse all the charming shops, which include a bakery, a diner, and a cafe called The Sweet Bean. I can only imagine how good their coffee must be. Apparently, Bo designed this charming row of buildings, which are bricked and classic with Roman arched windows and entrances.

In the town square, everybody’s dancing like nobody’s watching, just the way it should be. Even kids and toddlers are going for it. Dakota grabs my hand and says, “It’s time to whip out your New York moves and land yourself a cutie. Let’s get you hooked up.”

“Oh, man, you’re serious about this.”

“Hell, yeah. I need to live vicariously.”

Once we’re shaking our stuff, I have a pretty good buzz going as I end up getting linked up with Wyatt, another cousin of Dakota’s. Definitely sexy with his blond locks and nice build, he gives me a lesson on country swinging, which is kind of adorable.

No complaints, although I can’t help but wish it were Owen. Wyatt gets pulled away by another woman, and I’m back in the mix, dancing with anyone and everyone, including kids. When the fresh mountain breeze hits my face, I decide it doesn’t get much better than this.

Dakota flies up to me, her jaw hanging when she says, “I can’t believe this.”

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