Page 97 of The Locksmith's Promise

And I was more than ready to catch up with her.

I’d forgotten just how well Moose Lake could throw a festival. With the small neighbouring communities attending, our main street was packed.

For the most part, Maggie and I wandered around together, catching sight of Corwin and Mickey at the dunk tank, the corn maze, and hassling Mickey’s grandma at the cotton candy machine.

“Excuse me, Maggie,” I murmured. “There’s someone I need to see.”

Though Miller assured me she wanted to see me, I wondered. Had I been a burden, showing up at their house at all hours?

She’d done my laundry.

Fed me.

Paid my extra school fees and more often than not, sent a lunch for me with Miller.

My heart fluttered in my chest.

When she looked up and broke into a huge smile, it fucking took flight.

“Baxter Martin!” she exclaimed, then turned to her grandson and offered him a paper cone. “Here, you little rascal, make your own.”

Bustling out from behind the cotton candy machine, she opened her arms wide and embraced me.

I hugged her back, though my body remained stiff and unyielding.

But the longer she held onto me, the more I softened until I leaned into her.

“That’s better,” she murmured, drawing back. Cupping my face in her hands, she beamed. “It’s good to have you home, you handsome devil.”

I laughed out loud.

She pinched my cheek which only made me smile harder.

“You’re even more handsome now,” she teased. “When are you going to come over and see me?”

“Soon,” I promised.

She nodded happily, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Bring Maggie and that sweet son of yours when you come.”

My heart warmed.

It wasn’t all bad; there were good people and good memories here in Moose Lake.

Mickey’s squeal alerted his grandma to his mischief, and she chased them away from the cotton candy with a final reminder for me to come visit her with ‘my family.’

My family.

I blew out a breath and turned back to Maggie with my heart in my throat. “She was good to me.”

“She’s a good woman,” Maggie murmured. “And you deserved it.”

Clearing my throat, I caught her hand in mine and changed the subject. “What’s your favourite part of the festival?”

“The bonfire,” she answered immediately. “You?”

I frowned. “Not sure.”

I remembered festivals, lots of them, but the details escaped me.

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