Page 30 of Fairground

But there’s something hanging between us now. Unspoken, heavy, and electric. And it’s messing with my head more than I’d like to admit. Because the truth is, I’m painfully single, emotionally starved, and way too aware of the fact that he looks entirely too good for someone who’s using a massive, wooden oar to stir God knows what in this heat.

I swallow hard, fighting the urge to keep staring and wondering what the hell this is turning into. I need to change the subject. Fast. Before I say—or do—something I can’t take back.

“What about the egg farm?” I ask, clinging at something that will tamp down his comments because I’ve always struggled to take a compliment and somewhere within that statement, I feel like one was hidden. “Do you ever bring anyone there to see the chickens?”

He pauses his stirring and raises an eyebrow. “Anyone?”

“I mean… friends. Women. You know, forpleasure.”

I'm joking but also... kind of serious? Because it seems like Cash really loves his hens, and now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know if he has a girlfriend, or if he’s dating anyone. Fuck, why do I even care? It’s not like I want that to be me.

His dark gaze locks on mine as he pauses before responding. “Never.”

The single word hangs in the air, heavy and deliberate. My breath catches as his expression turns serious.

“I’d never take a woman to the barn,” he says quietly. “It’s sacred. I don’t introduce the chicks to just anyone.”

“Oh.”

It’s all I manage, because really—what the hell am I supposed to say to that? The chickens aren’t going to care who he brings to visit them, and meanwhile I’m still trying to figurehimout. Cash Marshall. This golden boy with a fun-loving reputation, a smile that makes people soften, and just enough mystery to make you lean in without realizing it. He’s sunshine wrapped in a well-worn flannel, a total flirt who somehow manages to feel solid like I can count on him.

Those pieces shouldn’t make sense together—not in one person. But they do. And it’s maddeningly, distractingly attractive.

He gives the bubbling batch one last stir, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he leans in to look in the cylinder again, then sets the wooden paddle aside. The scent of charred oak and sweet mash lingers in the air as he steps off the ladder, moving with ease. He rinses the oar beneath a steady stream of water, hands sure and unhurried, before hanging it overhead on a wall hook.

And all I can do is stand there, heart racing, wondering if the distillery’s heat is really to blame for the flush in my cheeks and sweat on my palms.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asks, turning to me as he wipes his hands on a dirty rag.

“Uh, well…” I hesitate, already feeling the heat creeping up my neck—not from the distillery this time, but from the quiet, loaded way he’s looking at me. Because spending more time alone with Cash feels like both the worst and best idea I could have right now. Between the actual heat in this place and the low simmer of tension between us, I’m a flustered mess. “No, but I think I’ll just grab something at home. Got an early morning.”

If he’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it. That easy, unreadable smile stays firmly in place. But something in his eye’s flickers—like maybe he knew all along I was going to say no. Like maybe he asked more for my sake than his. A test I failed. Or maybe passed, depending on what answer he was hoping for. And I can’t help but wonder if that was the point. Probably to see if I was just as much of a chicken as the animals that he loves.

“Yeah,” he rasps, “gotta get your nephews up for school and all.” Then he leans down slightly, his hand finding that same spot on my lower back, and guides me toward the door of the distillery. The touch sends a shiver through me, far too natural, far too intimate for our current relationship.

When we reach my car, I let him open the door this time. It’s clear he wants to, and honestly, I don’t have the energy to fight it. He winks as I settle into the driver’s seat.

“Had a feeling you’d turn me down. I’ll see you Wednesday—entertainment’s up next.”

And then he shuts the door with a confident slam and strides back into the distillery, still shirtless, still sweaty, leaving me an embarrassing, horny and overheated mess.

Chapter 13: Rae

My eyes burn as I blink at the screen, caught in the endless scroll of yet another performer’s social media page. Hour three. That’s how long I’ve been glued to this laptop, hunting for someone—anyone—who might actually wow our planning committee with my skills. Someone who might convince Cash I’m serious about this. About doing my part. About proving I deserve to be elected as the new Whitewood Creek mayor.

“Do you know anything about an artist named Macie Jenkins?” I call out to my sister Laken, who just got home from work and is changing in her bedroom with the door wide open.

“Yeah, I think she’s from a small town in Georgia,” she replies, her voice muffled as she pulls a shirt over her head. “I’ve only heard a couple of her songs on the radio, but they’re pretty good. She’s a new country music artist, right?”

“Mhm…” I hum, absentmindedly scrolling through a few more of her social media pages for clues and then clicking on one of her live videos that shows her singing in a pink cowgirl hat and staring into the camera.

I have no clue who Macie Jenkins is but she's cute, sings well, and looks like an up and coming star in the country music scene which is exactly what I need. Not too popular, but not so unknown that no one will turn out to listen to her. Right on the cusp of greatness.

My stomach growls on cue, a sharp reminder that I haven’t eaten yet today—or last night, for that matter. Somehow, it’s been almost twenty-four hours since I last saw Cash and I’ve been running on coffee and confusion while over-analyzing every single interaction we had.

After Cash’s little show-off session at his family’s distillery, I went home hungry but couldn’t bring myself to eat. Instead, I laid in bed, tossing and turning, trying—and failing—to sleep because I knew I’d have an early morning with my nephews. When I woke up, the oatmeal, cereal, and banana I set out for the boys looked completely unappetizing. So, I busied myself with working out, scrubbing the three bathrooms in my sister’s home with a toothbrush and bleach, and then set to scroll the internet, searching for our state fair’s entertainment.

But mostly, I’ve spent this day being distracted and confused.

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