Page 14 of Fairground

She grins and waves over the lone server who is working the lunch shift, a twenty-something woman with a friendly smile and soft blonde hair.

“Good afternoon. What can I get you two to drink?” she asks.

“Just a sweet tea for me,” I offer.

“And to eat?”

I glance at the menu, overwhelmed by the choices listed there. Lydia leans over, pointing. “Anything made with their eggs isamazing. Fresh from their farm just a few miles out from here. I swear you can taste the love that Cash pours into those hens.”

Because of course they’d use their own eggs, and everything would remind me of him.

Cash had acted like I’d personally offended him by suggesting a mid-level vodka last night. Can’t offend them by asking for eggs that are store bought and grain fed. Not that I’d want to. I’m curious to taste these eggs that Cash is apparently obsessed with perfecting.

“Eggs Benedict it is,” I decide, handing over the menu.

The server nods, collects the menus, and leaves us alone again.

“So, how’s your shift going?” I ask Lydia, settling into my seat.

She takes a sip of her water. “Busy. Colder weather always means more crime, unbelievably. I’ve been sorting through records, packing away cases that have aged past the holding period for disposal. We need to clear out space for all the new cases winter will bring.”

“Interesting,” I say. Though the thought of dealing with crime records all day sounds like torture, at least Lydia has a job. Something that I am seriously lacking right now.

She smiles, clearly enjoying herself. “I know it might sound menial to some people, but I love it. There’s a methodical rhythm to it—organizing, categorizing. It just makes sense to me. I’m pragmatic that way and appreciate structure and patterns. What about you? Do you have any plans to work while you’re living in town?”

I wince internally, trying not to let it show. Of course, she doesn’t know my lack of career is a sore spot for me considering I’m not working and have zero direction or plans regarding what I want to do next. I’ve also never gone this long without a job before.Even when I’ve switched jobs or been laid off, I always had another one lined up and ready almost immediately.

“Nothing at the moment. I’m trying to find something, though. You have anything in mind?”

Her eyes brighten with interest as she scoots forward in her chair. “Well, what did you do before moving to Whitewood Creek? Maybe I can help you find something?”

I blink, caught off guard by her kindness. Charlotte wasn’t exactly an unfriendly place to live, still holding onto some of its small town, southern charms, but it was still nothing like this. Where a woman I just met less than twenty-four hours before is willing to go job hunting with me and have lunch on a random day of the week for no reason other than to connect.

Frankly, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like Lydia—so generous with her time and friendship, always eager to help. I just hope she isn’t going to suggest a position as her church’s newest deacon.

“Well…” I start, hesitating. “I’ve held about eight different positions in local and state government so that’s where all of my experience has been.”

Her eyes widen as she chokes on a sip of water. “Eight?”

I cringe, that familiar heat crawling up the back of my neck—the one that shows up right on cue whenever someone starts doing the math and silently wonders what’s wrong with me. Why I’ve bounced around from job to job like a human pinball. “I sort of… get bored easily and move on,” I admit, trying to sound casual even though it never feels that way. “Or I get laid off. That’s politics, right? New candidate comes in, shifts the focus, restructures the team, and boom—your position disappears like it never mattered in the first place.”

I tack on a shrug for good measure, like it’s no big deal, but the truth is—it is. It’s been hard. It’s left a mark. I’ve always imagined I’d be one of those people who landed a solid job and stayed. Not forever, maybe, and not with some lifelong passion like Laken, who will probably retire in the exact same office she started in, but at least long enough to not feel like the new girl every damn time. Long enough to build something that looked like consistency. Long enough that my resume didn’t read like a list of failed experiments. But so far, that hasn’t been my story.

Lydia nods, her expression understanding but a little distant, like she can’t fully relate. After all, she’s spent her whole life working for the police department and her father’s church—roots firmly planted.

“Okay, well, if you could do anything what would it be?”

“My last job was my favorite,” I admit, leaning back. “I was the campaign manager for the mayor of Charlotte. Marketing, sales, crafting content to share a politician’s platform—I loved it. Plus, I actually believed in her policies and liked her as a person. I’d kill to do something like that again. Something where I get to tell a story with my words while still contributing to meaningful change.”

Before Lydia can respond, our server arrives with the food, placing the plates in front of us with a smile. “Here you ladies are. Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” we both say as she walks off.

Lydia cuts into a sausage in her dish while I slice into my egg, the dark orange, golden yolk spills out perfectly, coating my meal. I take a bite, my eyes widening.

“Whoa, that’s good.”

She grins. “GMO-free, organic, sustainable chickens. And get this—they’re from a no-kill farm. When the hens stop laying, they don’t cull them.”

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