Page 40 of Fairground

A whole night dedicated to tasting pies. Of course. This is my life now.

“Five vendors? For pies?”

Cash smirks as Mrs. Mayberry smiles politely. “Well of course, my dear, the fairgrounds are massive, and we’ll need them positioned all around the perimeter. Pies are very important to the State Fair.”

Yes, I’m getting that now.

“But we’re only awarding a contract to four of them so you must eliminate one. Choose wisely.”

Her words sound more like a threat than instructions.

“Okay…” I say slowly, wondering where this is going.

Cash steps in with his trademark easy confidence. “So, you just need us to try out these five vendors’ pies and narrow it down to the top four who’ll be set up around the grounds.”

“You got it.” Mrs. Mayberry smiles brightly as she begins unloading pies, arranging what turns out to be a total of ten tins across the folding table. “We’ll leave you to it while we work on the entertainment arrangements. Once the pies are done, the rest of the food and goods should fall into place easily.”

Because pies are the marker of a well-run fair?

Oh…kay.

She starts to turn but pauses mid-step, pivoting back to face us. “Oh, and one last thing. We need to finalize the competition list. We’re using the same judges as last year, per tradition.”

She pulls a neatly folded sheet of paper from her pocket and hands it to me. “Here’s the list of competitions from last year. Give it a review and let us know if you approve.”

I take the paper and scan the list quickly:Best cookies, best pies, best overall cake, best birthday cake, best chocolate dessert…

The words blur together, exhaustion from the long day dulling my focus as my stomach churns. It’s been a grueling two weeks of nonstop planning, and while I can see the finish line approaching ahead, I can’t help but wish we could delegate some of this. Still, I plaster on a smile towards the older woman.

“Thank you so much. We’ll test the pies and email the committee shortly with our picks.”

“Thanks, dear!” Mrs. Mayberry calls over her shoulder as she bustles out of the tent, her grey hair bobbing as she moves.

The tent door swings shut behind her, sealing us back inside, and that’s when I realize it’s fully dark outside now. The sun’s long gone, replaced by the kind of deep blue evening that sinks into your bones. There’s a crispness to the air—a damp, end-of-day chill that makes me wish I were home, curled under a blanket with my heating pad, a glass of wine, and a predictable scary movie playing in the background.

My boots—practical, scuffed, and chosen per Cash’s oh-so-wise suggestion—feel heavier with every step, like I’ve been dragging the whole day behind me. The tank top I threw on this morning is no match for the cool that’s settled inside the tent, and a shiverslides down my spine as I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

Earlier, I’d actually thought about wearing something different—something brighter than my usual black go-to. I know what happens when I do. I’ve caught the way Cash looks at me when I mix things up, when I add even the smallest pop of color. But after a morning of wrangling Laken’s kids and downing too much beer last night, I didn’t have the energy to play that game. So, I defaulted to comfort, routine, and the safety of black.

When I glance back at Cash, he’s leaning against the white, plastic table, arms folded casually, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s been noticeably quieter this evening—quieter than his usual chatty self. He let me take the lead during the meeting with the committee, standing back while I presented the ideas that I came up with last night. He even stayed silent when I talked about Macie as our headliner.

His gaze meets mine, and there’s something unreadable in it, something softer than his usual teasing smirk. For a moment, the air between us feels heavier, quieter, like we’re on the verge of picking up right where we left off an hour ago.

"You alright?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah. I’m alright.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything more. Just watches me quietly.

So,” I say, breaking the silence and gesturing toward the table, “what’s the plan for these pies?"

Chapter 16: Rae

Cash grabs two plastic forks from next to the empty boxes and hands one to me.

“We just have to take a taste of all ten and then make a decision.”

“Okay…” I respond, but thinking about even a single bite of pie fills me with dread.

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