Page 22 of Summer Showdown
"So you're not dating the beautiful Chicago lawyer?" She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "The photos look pretty convincing."
"It's... complicated." I wasn't about to explain our arrangement to Vanessa of all people.
"She's gorgeous," Vanessa admitted, though her tone suggested she was evaluating a competitor. "Very polished. Not the type I pictured for you."
"And what type is that exactly?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.
"Oh, you know. Outdoorsy. Down-to-earth." She waved a hand dismissively. "Someone who appreciates the simple life you enjoy so much."
The way she said "simple" made it sound like a limitation rather than a choice. It was the same subtle condescension that had gradually revealed itself during our relationship—her growing disdain for what I valued most.
"Lark appreciates plenty of things about Wintervale," I found myself saying, surprising myself with the immediate defensiveness I felt. "She's just getting to know the place."
Vanessa's eyes widened slightly at my tone. "Seems like you're quite taken with her."
I turned away, returning to my inventory. "We're enjoying each other's company."
"Be careful, Wade." Her voice softened with false concern. "She's just using you, you know. Probably using the good publicity to snag more legal clients and rake in the money. That's what lawyers do—they're hungry for blood, always looking for the next big payday."
Anger flared hot and unexpected. "You don't know her at all," I said, my voice low but firm. "She's not like that."
"Really?" Vanessa looked genuinely surprised by my vehemence. "You're defending her like she's more than just a summer fling. What happens when she goes back to Chicago? It's not like someone like her would ever stay in this boring town." She gestured around us. "I only came back to regroup until I figure out my next move."
Her words hit uncomfortably close to my own fears, but hearing them from her mouth made me want to dispute them. "Maybe you're projecting, Vanessa. Not everyone measures success by how quickly they can leave Wintervale behind."
She slid off the workbench, moving closer to me. "I'm just looking out for you. We have history, Wade. I know how deeply you feel things, how much you invest in relationships." Her hand came to rest on my forearm, perfectly manicured nails gleaming against my skin. "When this lawyer leaves—and she will leave—I'll still be here. For a while, anyway."
I stepped back, breaking the contact. "I appreciate your concern, but it's misplaced. I'm doing just fine."
Hurt flashed across her face, quickly masked by a tight smile. "Clearly. Well, I should get going. I have a virtual meeting in an hour." She headed for the door, then paused, looking back over her shoulder. "For what it's worth, I did miss you, Wade. More than I expected to."
After she left, I stood motionless in the center of the workshop, her expensive perfume lingering in the air. Eighteen months ago, I would have given almost anything to hear those words from her. Now they felt hollow, manipulative even.
What unsettled me most wasn't Vanessa's unexpected return—it was how quickly and instinctively I'd defended Lark. In that moment, it hadn't felt like part of our charade. It had felt real, vital, necessary.
I checked my watch. The Artisan Market would be opening soon, and I'd promised to meet Lark there at eleven. Our first public appearance since the kiss that had complicated everything.
As I locked up the workshop and headed to my truck, I couldn't shake the realization that somewhere along the way, my feelings for Lark had crossed the line from pretend to genuine. The question now was whether I had the courage to admit it to her—and whether she'd run even faster once I did.
***
The Artisan Market transformed Wintervale's town square into a vibrant showcase of local creativity. White canvas tents lined the perimeter, each displaying handmade treasures from artisans across Montana: hand-carved wooden bowls with grain patterns that told stories of the ancient trees they came from, blown glass ornaments catching the sunlight in prisms of blue and green, quilts stitched with patterns passed down through generations, jewelry fashioned from local stones, artisanal soaps scented with wild Montana sage, and much more. The scent of freshly baked bread and pastries from Greta Hoffman's bakery tent mingled with the earthy aroma of pottery from Clay Creations.
I spotted Lark immediately. She stood near the central fountain, wearing a sundress the color of ripe peaches, herblonde hair loose around her shoulders. Even from a distance, I could see the tension in her posture as she checked her phone, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
Last night's kiss hung between us like an unspoken question as I approached. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment neither of us spoke.
"Hi," she finally said, tucking her phone into her small purse.
"Hi yourself," I replied, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. "You look nice."
"Thank you." A hint of color touched her cheeks. "Wade, about last night—"
"Wade! Lark! Just the couple I've been looking for!" Mayor Snowcroft's booming voice interrupted whatever she'd been about to say as he strode toward us, beaming with satisfaction. "The plan is going swimmingly! Festival ticket sales up thirty-five percent from last year at this time. The Summer Splash is shaping up to be our best event in years!" He clapped me on the shoulder. "Keep up the good work, you two."
Lark's expression shifted smoothly into professional pleasantness. "We're happy to help, Mayor."
"Enjoy the market. Be seen. Let Zoe take those charming photos she's so good at." He winked broadly. "Edna's at the Cat Rescue Outreach booth near the gazebo if you want to stop by." With another hearty shoulder clap, he continued on his rounds.
