Page 74 of Fairground

Rae: Oh yeah? What’s it called?

Cash: Not telling you. I refuse to taste test it without you. I want the first taste of it to be off your lips.

Rae: How’s that going to work? Am I going to baby bird it to you? Take the shot and then spit it into your mouth?

Cash: I was talking about your other lips. The ones that are inside of those jeans.

Rae: Behave.

Cash: Don't know how to do that around you. Now bring some leftover pumpkin filling to my house so I can lick that off your tits and ass tonight.

Rae: Okay, pie fetish.

???

I laugh and shake my head, sliding my phone back into the snug pocket of my pants. When I glance up, I catch Lawson’s gaze from across the parade float we’ve been sweating over all afternoon. He grins but doesn’t say a word, turning his focus back to the power tools he’s hauled out to the city hall parking lot.

The buzz of the saw blends with the chatter and hammering from the other businesses working on their floats. Apparently, this parade istheevent of the year in Whitewood Creek—achance for the town to come together, celebrate local businesses, and rally around their end-of-year sales goals. More than that, it’s the prelude to the State Fair kicking off next weekend.

I’ll admit, I didn’t think much of it when Cash first brought it up, but seeing the twenty or so elaborate floats already parked here, primed and ready for tomorrow night, I get it. This isn’t just a parade; it’s a spectacle. It's small town life at its finest.

“Almost done,” Lawson calls out, his voice carrying over the hum of activity. He’s standing on the other side of our massive pumpkin float we created together, finishing the final touches on the wooden eagle centerpiece—a nod to the bird that played a crucial role in the founding of Whitewood Creek and one of the first things I remember noticing when I moved here.

The whine of his blade grows louder as I brush on the last strokes of orange paint, stepping back to admire the spectacle. It’s massive, perched securely on a trailer that Lawson will be pulling behind his truck. Inside, there’s a small couch we scavenged from the bar renovations—one Lawson and I lugged over after what I swear was way too much convincing on his part that it“adds character if you and Cash get tired of standing at the top and waving.”

And yes, we also rigged up a simple ladder system leading to the top opening of the pumpkin, where Cash and I will stand tomorrow night, waving to the crowd like some ridiculous pumpkin, Cinderella royalty. Across the back, in my not-so-perfect handwriting, I’ve painted the words:Welcome, Autumn, and Your Future Mayor of Whitewood Creek.

I’m proud of it, even if it’s a little over the top and something I would never have done at my last job. But let’s be honest, time hasn’t exactly been on my side. Between state fair planning, answering emails, taking care of my nephews, and, well…spending nearly every night wrapped up in Cash, brainstorming float ideas wasn’t at the top of my to-do list. Not that Cash helped much. His mind’s been occupied with other priorities—namely, me and finding new and creative ways to bring me to orgasm.

Every night since that moment in the egg barn, we’ve managed to steal a few hours for ourselves. Sometimes he swings by to pick me up. Other nights, I sneak over once Laken’s home, timing my arrival just after Mr. Marshall’s gone to bed. Or at least,supposedlygone to bed.

He’s caught me twice now—once slipping in, once slipping out. Both times, he just gave me a slow, knowing nod and a little wave, like I was some neighbor kid cutting through his yard. Meanwhile, I turned ten shades of red and practically sprinted to or from the truck.

Cash? He just smirked and muttered something about the old man needing to mind his damn business. Meanwhile, I’m still not sure what we’re doing and much of the time I spend away from Cash is spent wondering where this is headed. And where Iwantit to go.

“It looks good,” Lawson says, stepping around to admire the backside of the pumpkin float. His gaze lingers on the painted slogan, and a faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” I say, setting the paintbrush aside and wiping my hands on an old rag. “Really, Lawson. I can’t thank you enough for all your help.”

He shrugs as he leans against the trailer. “Just doing my part for the future mayor.”

I snort, shaking my head, but there’s a flicker of warmth in my chest. Lawson’s been a solid teammate through all this chaos. Between him and Cash—when he’s not too busy distracting me—I feel like I might have a chance at pulling this off and gaining the town’s trust.

Lawson is by far the quietest of the Marshall brothers. It’s surprising, considering he’s the Sales and Marketing Executive for the family businesses. Tall with light brown hair the same shade as Colt’s, but a little longer, and warm, hazel eyes that match Cash’s. He’s classically handsome, broad-shouldered, and easygoing—a really nice guy all around.

“So, what’s the plan for your family’s float?” I ask.

“We’ll resurrect the same one we did last year. Regan and Colt are managing it this year.”

“What’s that?”

His grin turns a little mischievous. “A massive egg with a chicken hatching out of it.”

“Sounds adorable,” I say, laughing.

He raises a brow. “I see Cash has already gotten to you with his love for those chicks.”

I blush, feeling warmth creep up my neck at the thought of Cash and his chicks. There’s no way Lawson could know about all the times that Cash and I have been hooking up in the barn, could he?

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