Page 39 of Fairground

He just winks as he stands, and then helps me pull my chair out to follow him. Before I can dwell on that gesture for too long, he’s opening his mouth to say something else, but someone interrupts us as they enter through the open tent loudly.

“Good evening, you two!” Mrs. Mayberry from the planning committee and the town's notorious gossip, strides in, followed by a few other committee members lugging folding chairs and mugs full of hot cocoa.

Whatever moment we were about to share is over before it began and it’s probably for the best.

“I’ll hold that thought,” he says with a crooked grin.

Right.That thought.I wonder what it could be.

“We’re here, kids!” Mrs. Mayberry calls out with a bright smile, like she hasn’t just walked in on the exact moment that my mental stability took a nosedive. But somehow, that easy cheer in her voice snaps me out of it. Grounds me. Reminds me I’ve got a job to do—and that now is not the time to unravel over Cash and his maddening effect on my nervous system.

I straighten my stance, forcing my focus back where it belongs. I’ve got something to prove—that I’m the one person in this town immune to Cash’s charm, no matter how objectively attractive and capable he is.

The next hour blurs by in a haze of charts, notes, and steady back-and-forth as Cash and me, to my own surprise, actually make a solid team. We present our plans for the fair’s entertainment lineup with barely a hiccup between us or a disagreement from our group. And when we finish, there’s a beat of silence before the room breaks into easy approval—nodding heads, a few impressed smiles, even a clap or two.

Relief and pride sweep over me as I smile. Maybe I can do this after all. Maybe I belong here more than anyone thinks.

“So, you think you’ll be able to get Macie?” Mrs. Mayberry asks, looking at Cash expectantly.

He nods, flashing a quick smile my way. “Yeah. I’m going to talk to Troy.”

“Oh…” someone coos, drawing out the sound like they just heard someone mention a celebrity’s name. And frankly, I get it. Just mentioning Troy Marshall—the oldest and most swoon-worthyof the Marshall brothers—has that effect on people though Cash is starting to take a rapid second place in this town.

“Will he be back?” a younger woman pipes up, her eyes wide with too much hope.

Okay, calm down, home wrecker. He’s married with two kids.

But weren't you lusting over him last night?

Yes, but only because he looked like an older version of Cash, narrator.

Right. Sure.

Cash shrugs casually. “He usually comes for one or two of the nights.”

Someone actually claps for that. Like full-on, hands-coming-together applause. For what? Troy’s presence? Not sure that was clap-worthy, but who am I to judge?

“Alright,” Cash says, turning back to me, “was there anything else you think we missed covering before they break off?”

I glance down at my tablet, scanning my notes. “No, I think that’s everything.”

Cash nods, flashing another of those maddeningly charming smiles at the group. Before I can pack up and escape his gravitational pull, Mrs. Mayberry steps towards both of us with one last curveball.

“Another thing for you two,” she says, clasping her hands together in that way that always precedes bad news. “We need to finalize the pies that’ll be sold.”

“We pick the pie flavors?” I raise a brow.

She nods, her smile unwavering. “With the Americana Classic theme, pies will be a big deal this year, but they’re always a big deal—as Cash knows very well.”

Okay, that feels like a dig directed at the newbie. Who knew pies could carry this much weight at a fair? What did Cash do, participate in a pie eating competition in the past?

“Sure, what do you need us to do?” Cash asks.

Mrs. Mayberry gestures toward the back of the tent, where two very large white cardboard boxes have been deposited on the folding table.

“We have five vendors for you to test out today.”

Pies.

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