Page 20 of Fairground

He’s dressed in a beat-up white T-shirt with a quarter sized hole over his ribcage, light-washed jeans smeared with what Ihopeis dirt and not chicken shit, and scuffed work boots that haveclearly seen better days. Meanwhile, I’m in the crowd, standing stiffly in my power-red suit dress, complete with a tacky USA pin Laken insisted that I wear, radiating all the “first female president” vibes.

I feel ridiculous. Cash, on the other hand? He looks like he’s already won the whole damn thing without even trying.

I know I shouldn't have listened to my sister.

Though she's lived here for the past twelve years of her life, she doesn't get as involved in the small town happenings as the other town’s folks.

“Cash Marshall is the third of the five Marshall children. A true middle child,” Craig announces with a grin that’s far from unbiased. “He’s run the family’s thriving egg farm—a business we’re all so proud of, supporting our town’s economy for over a decade. And let’s just say, he knows a thing or two about planning and executing a vision.”

I feel my jaw tighten. I’m one misplaced clench away from cracking a tooth.

“Now, Cash here says he may not have Rae’s extensive background in politics,” Craig continues, “but he doesn’t need it to be mayor of Whitewood Creek. This man earned the nicknameMr. Whitewood Creekyears ago. He’s got the town spirit, a state fair vision that’ll knock your socks clean off, and—ladies—he just so happens to be the most eligible bachelor in all of Whitewood Creek.”

Cash’s grin falters for a fraction of a second at the comment about his bachelor status before he’s back to winking and charming the crowd like the walking rom com lead that he is. I can’t decide if his nomination speech was written by someone else or if he’s genuinely that full of himself.

“Are you kidding me?” I hiss to Lydia, who looks decidedly less sure about my chances of winning now.

She giggles nervously from next to me, staring straight ahead. “I mean, on paper you’re definitely more qualified.”

I roll my eyes because even I know that’s bullshit. How do you compare to the town’s mascot?

The crowd erupts. Catcalls, whistles, hoots, and hollers fill the air, and I swear someone just threw a hat up in the air. No direction just tossed it vertical like we were at a college graduation.

A woman who must be pushing eighty stands beside me, fanning herself like she’s watching a live reenactment ofMagic Mike. “He looks just like my late husband Arnold,” she says with a wistful sigh. “What a handsome boy. He has my vote. Handsome men are always trustworthy.”

Um... what?

That’s the exact opposite of what handsome men tend to be like. Clearly, she’s never listened to any of the hundreds of true crime podcasts that show just how untrustworthy these types of guys are.

To an outsider, Cash Marshall was the town’s hero.

Until he wasn’t.

Dun, dun, dun.

Cue the dramatic crime scene music.

“Well,” I say, squaring my shoulders and forcing my voice to stay steady, “I’m not about to let him just waltz away with this. This isn’t over.”

“You go get ‘em,” Lydia whispers, nudging me forward though her voice doesn't hold any of the excitement that it did before as I stalk toward the podium like it’s a battlefield.

Cash’s eyes catch mine as I move, and for a split second, I feel a rush of heat surge through me when his hazel eyes soften. If I thought he was attractive before, well, he still is—but now he is my opponent. An opponent I plan to crush on my way to become mayor of this small town because I am more qualified than he is. I’ve planned everything from campaigns to rallies. I can handle a state fair. The most Cash has probably ever planned is a date night.

I climb the steps, smoothing down my too-proper dress, and take my spot beside him, pasting on my most dazzling,future-mayorsmile. From the corner of my eye, I catch his smirk. He leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“That was good,” he murmurs, his grin growing wider. “You’re really getting better at smiling and making it look natural,Eeyore.”

“What are you even wearing? Did you roll in chicken shit before you got here?” I shoot back, doing my best not to move my lips. I’ve perfected this move after years in politics—never underestimate who might be filming or reading lips. Cash, on the other hand, couldn’t care less who’s watching.

“The people love to see a down home boy in his element. Not a buttoned up princess who looks like she’s running for most uncomfortable outfit of the year award.”

I let out a soft gasp. “You’re telling me you intentionally put that shit on?”

He smirks and shrugs. “I was in a suit before this but decided this was a better look.”

“You’re a psycho.”

“Mhm... I like to think that I’m just excellent at planning and optics. Something that a good mayor would need if they're going to run this town effectively.”

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