Page 17 of Fairground

I take a slow sip of my coffee and clear my throat into the mug, not even trying to hide the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. I’ve been the subject of worse gossip in this town—hell, half of it I probably started myself. And my love life and dating are definitely at the top of interest for women like Mrs. Mayberry who swear everyone is destined for a great love like the one she had with her late husband who passed away just a few years ago.

I flick a glance toward Colt, whose eyes are still on the board, his expression unreadable.

“You hearing this little bro? They’re really suggesting I run for mayor of this town.”

“Come on, Cash. It’s not like you have anything else going on. You should do it,” Colt's serious voice responds.

I clutch my chest dramatically. “Hey, I take offense to that. I have a very vibrant life here in Whitewood Creek.”

“Maybe a vibrant sex life,” he murmurs under his breath.

Regan pops her head out of the back of the kitchen, two plates stacked full of freshly picked blueberry pancakes, homemade syrup and a heaping of scrambled eggs so high there has to be at least seven of them in there.

“He’s not wrong. All you do is hang out at the bar now that it’s molting season, and go to the high school sporting events shirtless so that all the single moms will hit on you.”

“The moms love me. I love this bar, and what are you two,the Grady Twins?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Are you talking about those creepy twins fromThe Shining?”

“I sure am.”

Colt’s lip twitches into a smile as he shakes his head, not meeting my eye, and forks another scoop of the eggs that Regan just dropped off into his mouth.

“Hey, can we take it easy on the eggs, please? You do realize it’s off season and they aren't as expendable as usual.”

Regan smiles. “I know, but I’m thoroughly enjoying watching Colt beef up this winter.”

Colt chuckles darkly. “Molly’s enjoying it too.”

“Gross,” I shoot back as he rolls his eyes.

“How are my little chickee’s doing?” Regan coos.

Regan’s always been the Marshall family’s floater—the one who steps in wherever she’s needed, whenever we need her. Back when Colt was in prison, she took over the egg farm without missing a beat, while I handled the distillery and started laying the groundwork for the brewery in Charlotte. But now that Colt’s been home for seven months, she’s slipped back into her usual role, bouncing between the businesses and handling whatever we throw her way.

Some weeks, she’s on the road with our older brother Lawson, helping him pitch our products to retailers we’re trying to partner with. Other times, she’s in Charlotte, managing the restaurant and brewery there. And when she’s home, she splits her time between helping me and Colt with the distillery or lending a hand at the egg farm. But now, with the opening of our Whitewood Creek location, Regan's found a fresh passion—crafting a rotating holiday menu that features ingredients she’s growing herself on Whitewood Creek Farm.

She’s turned part of the property into a massive garden, filled with everything from berries and corn to sweet potatoes, onions, and lettuce. Colt and I helped her dig it up and prep the soil, but she’s done all the hard work since—studying, planting, and mastering the tricks of the trade to make sure her harvest thrives. And honestly, she’s killing it. With Lawson's son Beckham stepping in to help at the farm stand with selling, we're setting up the next generation of Marshall's to take over and run things when we all burn out and retire someday.

Regan's a jack of all trades, much like me, though she’s far more creative and definitely less of a town flirt. Between her and Colt, creativity seems to run in their veins. Colt’s always been the designer in the family, even creating the visuals for several ofLawson’s pitches. And Regan? She’s a chameleon—able to pick up just about anything, master it, and make it look effortless.

Where I rely on charm and quick thinking, she brings a unique flair and a quiet brilliance that keeps our family businesses thriving. It doesn't hurt that she still lives at home with me and our dad so we're around each other the most.

“Remind me again why you think I should run for mayor of our cute little town?”

Regan leans over the bar, her blue eyes twinkling with delight, “For one,” she holds out a finger, “You’re Mr. Whitewood Creek.”

I snort. “That’s not actually a title but it's one I'll claim proudly.”

“No, it's not an official title, but everyone calls you that behind your back.”

“And to your front,” Colt adds.

“God forbid a man love his hometown.”

She snorts. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s a great thing and will help aid you in winning this election.”

I chuckle. “Go on…”

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