Page 32 of Fairground

Snap out of it.

“What are you wearing?” I ask, finally noticing that my sister’s rocking a silk dress and knee-high boots like she’s about to hit some downtown hotspot which I know isn't possible since there is nodowntown in Whitewood Creek. Just the town square off main street that she lives around with its cute shops and character.

“The boys are at their friends’ house for a sleepover tonight,” she says, grabbing her lipstick off the countertop and painting a red swipe across the bottom before smacking them together loudly.

I glance out the window at the quiet street outside. “It’s a Tuesday.”

She grins. “I’m aware. But I haven’t had a night off during a weekday in months.”

“Okay...”

“So, we’re going out!” she shrieks so loud it causes me to jump.

“Uh, what?” I blink at her, then around the room for clarification. “Who’s we? And to where? Pretty sure there’s literally nowhere to go in this town unless you’re craving gas station nachos or a trip to the feed store.”

She smirks and grabs a throw pillow off the couch, chucking it straight at my head. “Just put on something warm and cute—it’s cooled off. We’re checking out that new brewery. And maybe you’ll see yourboyfriendthere.”

“Um—” But before I can defend myself or point out that Cash is most definitelynotmy boyfriend, and that she's acting like we're in middle school, she’s already heading toward the door, slinging her purse over her shoulder with zero room for debate.

“Get your ass moving. Now.”

I sigh, already trying to think up excuses. I get it—she never gets a night out between work and the boys, and yeah, I’m not exactly lining up to take over babysitting duty during my off hours. But after yesterday,stepping foot into that brewery feels like a massive mistake waiting to happen. Will Cash be there tonight?

“Are you sure you want me to come?” I try one last time.

“You’re coming,” she snaps, her tone leaving no wiggle room. And just like that, I shrink back, muttering under my breath as I shuffle to my bedroom to get ready. When she’s inthatmood, it’s easier to just go with it.

Ten minutes later, we’re walking across the dark town square toward the only bar within stumbling distance of her house and the one place I know I shouldn’t be right now.

Should I lie and say I didn’t plan this outfit with Cash in mind? Pretend like this shimmery, off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved black top, paired with my tight leather pants, wasn’t meant to scream “I didn’t try this hard for you?”

Sure, Icould.But let’s keep it real: I dressed like some hybrid of Sandy-from-Greaseand Catwoman just in caseCash is working here tonight. Because if I amgoing to crash and burn in front of him again, openly gawk like the sex deprived woman that I am, then I’m at least doing it looking good.

Thankfully, Laken doesn’t seem to notice that my usual sweatpants-and-sweatshirt vibe is MIA tonight. Or if she does notice, she keeps those comments to herself in favor of getting drunk.

The second we step inside, the bar hits me with a wave of warmth, laughter, and way more people than I expected for a Tuesday night. The place is packed with at least fifty more peoplehere than the last time I visited. There’s a live band playing on the stage in the corner, string lights twinkling overhead, and Halloween decorations everywhere. The smell of beer, pumpkin and good food warms my senses and immediately puts me at ease.

“For a Tuesday?” I mutter, eyes scanning the room. But what else do people do in a small town besides drink and gossip on a random weeknight?

And then my eyes start looking for him. Because let’s be honest,of coursethey do.

“Aye!” Someone yells from off in the corner and holds up a beer causing the whole bar to go quiet.

“Oh my God, are they looking at us?” I whisper shout to Laken when I realize everyone has turned our direction.

And sure as shit, they are.

“It’s our possible mayor-to-be!” someone calls out, and for a split second, I brace myself for boos. Maybe a few thrown drinks. Hell, anything that indicates they don’t want me coming intohisbar.

But then I realize it's Darren from the planning committee—the guy Cash told me to forward all those food vendor options to last night—and instead of kicking us out of my rivals' bar, the entire place erupts into cheers. People pound their glasses on the tabletops and stomp their feet like it’s the same celebration they gave Cash when he got nominated for the ballot. I even hear a whistle and a hoot.

A fucking hoot.

“What’s happening?” I hiss, leaning toward Laken, who just grins and waves like she’s running for office too.

“No clue. Small-town shit,” she replies with a shrug.

When the noise dies down, we dart toward an empty table near the back. A waitress—one I recognize from the last time Lydia, and I were here—comes over to take our orders.

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