Page 63 of Fairground

Cash: Mrs. Mayberry's looking at me weird. Gotta go!

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Rae’s been busy the past three days—or at least that’s the excuse she keeps giving me. Between running errands for her sister and wrangling her nephews, she’s had plenty on her plate. But it still feels like she’s avoiding me. Avoidingus.

So here I am, playing the good boy, waiting patiently until Wednesday for our meeting with Macie—the entertainment that Rae’s booked for the fair that’s next weekend. And now, Rae’s late. I glance at my watch, then extend a hand to the man I assume is Macie’s tour manager who’s just entered the field.

“Cash Marshall, one of the mayoral candidates for Whitewood Creek.”

He shakes firmly. “Rex Green. Nice to meet you, Cash.”

“So, Macie’s a big deal, huh?” I ask, my eyes flicking to the artist who’s moving across the stage we set up last weekend.

She’s inspecting every detail like someone who knows exactly what she wants, her blonde ponytail bouncing with every step. I know only a little about her—haven’t even bothered listening to her music despite Rae suggesting I should. Didn’t have the time, didn’t care, and I trust Rae’s judgment.

“We’re working on it,” Rex replies with a hint of pride. “She’s got a country music nomination, which is a big step in the right direction. Performing at the North Carolina state fair could give her some solid exposure with her audience. She grew up in the state, just south of here about three hours so this will be good.”

“Sounds good. We’re excited to have her perform. Will y’all be staying in town until then?”

“She’s got a last-minute concert booked in Charlotte this week, but we’ll be back after that. Give her a chance to rest her vocals and settle in before the big day.”

“Good deal. If there’s anything I can help with while you’re here, just holler. My family’s farm is a few miles from town, and my sister, Regan, gives a great tour of the facilities. We’ve got some prime social media-worthy views of the Blue Ridge Mountains right along the creek. Could make for some good content if she’s interested.”

Rex nods. “Sounds promising.”

Macie hops off the stage and heads toward us, her excitement practically radiating through her smile. Her bright blonde ponytail swings behind her, and her big smile is infectious. With each step, she seems to bounce more, like she’s buzzing with energy. It’s nice to see she’s as hyped about this as Rae is. And though they seem like total opposites, I get the feeling they’ll still get along just fine. Now that I think about it, does Rae even listen to country music?

“Hi!” Macie gushes, her blue eyes sparkling as she stops in front of us.

I extend my hand with a smile. “Cash Marshall.”

She grabs it eagerly, her grip surprisingly strong, and pumps it a few times before giving it a firm squeeze.

“Whoa, you’re strong!” she says with a giggle, her gaze darting to my biceps.

I laugh lightly. “Farm life will do that to you.”

Macie beams. "I grew up on a farm too. Love being back in a small town that feels like home."

Her manager smirks, his gaze darting between Macie and me like he’s stumbled into some kind of private moment. I drop her hand, not wanting to give the wrong impression, but keep my easy smile.

“Cash’s family owns a chicken farm,” Rex says, clearly amused.

“Egg farm,” I correct, raising a finger. “And the town’s distillery.Whitewood Creek Farmstead and Distillery.”

Macie’s eyes light up, and she snaps her fingers excitedly. “Oh my God, I thinkI’ve seen that farm on social media!”

“Apparently it’s all the rage,” I say with a small shrug. “I don’t have any socials, but that’s what my sister keeps telling me. I know she comes in and films the hens when they’re sleeping sometimes.”

Macie grins, her head bobbing as if the idea delights her. “And you’re running for mayor, too?”

“I sure am.” I throw in a grin as she steps closer and gives my bicep a little squeeze and a bat of her lashes.

“Well, you’d definitely get my vote.”

And, of course, that’s when Rae decides to show up. Her throat clears behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin like a guilty teenager caught in the act. Not that I’m doing anything wrong but I’m sure that would look back from an outside perspective. It doesn’t help that she looks… off.

Her usual tan complexion is a shade paler, and faint bags linger beneath her pretty green eyes. Her light brown hair is twisted up into some haphazard claw clip, and the irritation she’s feeling practically radiates from her. She’s in her usual ripped black jeans and an oversized black T-shirt, but something about her energy feels heavier.

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