Page 16 of Fairground

“Colt Marshall?” I ask, confused.

She waves dismissively. “Long story. But yeah, corruption, lies, withholding evidence. And yes, there are a ton of Marshall’s hanging around. Colt’s out of prison now and it looks like the mayor is out too. Now we need a new one.”

“Okay… so what does that have to do with me?”

Her grin stretches ear to ear. “You’re going to run for mayor of our town, silly.”

I blink, thinking she has to be joking but the smile that’s spread across her face is telling me otherwise. “What? No. I don’t even know anything about this town.”

“I’ll help you get up to speed!”

“But… why would anyone vote for someone who’s only lived here for like a week?" I lower my voice. "You do realize you're my only friend in this town.”

“Because this town needs change, and despite your sour attitude when I first met you yesterday, I think you’d be perfect for the job.” She holds up her hand, ticking things off like she’s making a list. “You’re not really that grumpy. You’ve worked for a mayor before. You know campaigns, marketing, event planning. Plus, you probably have better organizational skills than half the county. We’re all kind of a mess and suck at planning things. We just take each day as it comes to us. Living the small town life dream.”

She’s not wrong. My experience could definitely help pull off something as massive as the North Carolina State Fair. And frankly, it wouldlook fantastic on my résumé to say I’ve been mayor, even if it’s for a town with a population smaller than my social media list. Perhaps I just wouldn’t have to disclose what the population of said town was when I try to move elsewhere.

“How’s the vote determined?” I ask, curiosity and desperation edging out doubt.

“Next week’s the pre-election,” she explains. “The top two candidates will be chosen to co-plan everything. You’ll work together to pull it off. At the end of the fair, the town votes on who did the best job and then... bam, now you’re the mayor for the next two years.”

“That’s… intense. So, I’d have to partner with someone to plan the whole thing?” I ask, already feeling my shoulders tense at the idea. I work better alone—always have. Mostly because, let’s be honest, people are the worst. And yes, I realize that’s not exactly the spirit I should be channeling if I’m seriously considering a run for mayor, but what can I say? I am who I am.

She pats my hand, her confidence unshakable. “You have the skills. I know you’ll crush it. I doubt anyone else will even apply. We just need to polish up your people and social skills a bit.”

I stare down at the screen of her phone, my mind already spinning with the possibilities. Mayor of a small town? This could be the break I’ve been waiting for—a chance to prove myself on an even larger stage. Who knows where this could lead? Back to Charlotte? Los Angeles? New York City?

Okay, now I’m being ridiculous. But maybe a larger town in the south would pick up a mayor from a small town in North Carolina.

Finally, I look up at her. “Text me this photo of the flyer and let’s get me on that pre-election ballot.”

Her smile grows triumphant as I plant the phone back in her open hand.

“I freaking knew it. This is going to be so much fun,” she squeals.

Rae Black... mayor... It sure does have a nice ring to it.

Chapter 7: Cash

I’m halfway through my second cup of coffee, elbow propped on the bar, locked in a silent, slow-burning war of Chess with Colt, when I hear her—Mrs. Mayberry, Queen of Gossip and self-appointed ruler of Whitewood Creek’s brunch circuit.

Her voice cuts through the quiet hum of the Tuesday morning shift, rough and commanding like she’s halfway into her third mimosa, which by my calculations, she probably is.

“Apparently theystilldon’t know who’s gonna be on the ballot for mayor this year,” she announces, loud enough for the bartender at our Charlotte location to hear. “There’s really no one decent with the right kind of experience. I heard Smythe might throw his name in the ring.”

I glance over in time to see Mrs. Bellview gasp, hand to her pearls like someone just suggested we elect Satan himself.

“But Smythe haszeroexperience,” she says, scandalized. “He’s never even run the pie eating competition.”

Mrs. Mayberry nods like they’re delivering breaking news. “Exactly. All these fine young men and women in this town, and not one of them willing to step up and shoulder the pressure.I mean, someone’s gotta coordinate the State Fair, and that’s a full-time job in itself.”

That catches my attention.

The Whitewood Creek State Fair isn’t just a fair—it’s our damn Super Bowl. A chaotic, glorious mess of livestock contests, carnival rides, deep-fried everything, and more small-town pride than most people can stomach. The mayor plans the whole thing—decorations, events, entertainment, committee wrangling, plus keeping the vendors from stabbing each other over booth space. It’s the crown jewel of the town calendar… and the exact reason no sane person wants the job. But more importantly, it’s a key component of drawing attention to the Marshall family businesses.

“Maybe we should nominate Cash Marshall,” Mrs. Mayberry says, real casual-like, as if she didn’t just name drop me in front of anyone who can hear their conversation. “He’s well spoken. Charismatic. People like him. Might not have the experience, but he’s clever enough to figure it out.” She pauses. “Just don’t know if he could focus long enough to get anything done with all the women around.”

Colt doesn’t even look up from the board. He slides his pawn forward like he’s been expecting this all along.

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