Page 74 of Fighting

With a laugh, I shake my head.

“I’m Rosie’s great-niece. I just moved in. Is everybody in town this friendly? I met a few women last night at The Featherweight. Damn, I haven’t been this hungover in a while,” she says with a light laugh.

I grin. “So you met my?—”

“Nessa,” she chirps waving past me.

And there she is. Long golden curls flowing and a surprising look of exhaustion behind her eyes.

“What did your roommate put in those drinks last night?” Millie asks.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I say, leaning down to kiss her.

When Nessa turns her head, the first thing I notice are her puffy eyes. She looks like she hasn’t slept, and she’s nursing a sports drink.

“Ah, so you’rethatMateo,” Millie says, eyes twinkling. “Also, ow. My head.”

“Everything looks great. Should we introduce her to Goldie?” I ask Nessa.

Turning back to Millie I say, “she’s the barista at the Coffee Crumb.”

Nessa’s weird and distant this morning, but I’m going to chalk it up to the hangover. There’s nothing else that would make sense.

Eyes narrowed, she gives me a once-over. “Maybe you’ve already had too much coffee. You seem really fucking chipper.” She sighs and sidesteps me, lowering her sunglasses.

What the fuck?

From the momentwe stepped into the coffee shop, everything went sideways. First, I spilled an entire container of milk from the coffee fixings bar. Then, in the middle of our introductions and dividing up the day’s work, Nessa disappeared. When she came back, I didn’t have the heart to tell her she still smelled like the contents of her stomach. I offered her a stick of gum, which earned a glare. Though the expression faded quickly, and she turned green again.

Watching Nessa nurse a water bottle while picking her nails clued me in that something more than a hangover was happening, I just wasn’t sure what. Not knowing what else to do, I texted Liam to come take a look at her. She was angry when he arrived, and even more so when he instructed her to go home, but she gave in quickly in the end.

Once she left, the tides turned, and the day went well. Everyone I encountered greeted me with a smile. They talked about their crafts and goods with potential clients and passed out samples.

I don’t mean to brag, but it was a well-oiled machine made up of townies and visitors eating, mingling, and shopping.

They say when a black cat crosses your path it’s bad luck, but what if it’s a woman with black cat attitude?

When Nessa returned later in the afternoon, freshly showered and stunning, it felt like she knocked the wind right out of me. That tiny butterfly effect was enough to shift everything—and the literal winds picked up.

Now, tent flaps blow around like crazy. Vendors close down booths quickly and abandon their tables.

I’m surveying the street, working on where to go from here, when the first thin gray-blue clouds roll in fast and heavy.

What starts as a fine mist turns dark as night. The rain picks up, and the wind swirls as I help person after person pack up. Volunteers abandon their posts and before long, seek shelter, making me wish I was an octopus so I’d have more arms.

When we get to a place where we can stop, we leave empty tables and heavier equipment that won’t be ruined if left out and lead our remaining volunteers into Lily’s studio. I send Nessa back home, hoping some more rest will revive her spirits both mentally and physically.

Lily and I do our best to account for everyone, but the chaos makes it hard to know who’s missing. Over and over, we ask that volunteers check in with their shift partners so we can ensure everyone is safe.

After several minutes, one of the members of the volleyball team yells, “Who was getting the key to let the athletes out of the stocks?”

My heart plummets and Lily’s face goes white. Shit. There are two teenagers still locked in the stocks. Our town loves to use the stocks for sports fundraisers during the festival. I yank the radio Liam supplied from my belt and ask him to help locate Prudence, who should have the keys.

He and the other guys on shift arrive in minutes, sirens blaring, since the station is just down the street. They’re dressed in their turnout gear, and Liam carries an axe.

In a matter of seconds, he knocks the lock from the stock, freeing the kids.

Around us, the teens are laughing and recording the commotion as their teammates are rescued.

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