Page 34 of Soulmates and Slapshots
“You look sparkly,” I tell her, grinning.
She does a dramatic twirl, ending in a delicate curtsey. “Why, thank you, ma’am.”
“So, where should I start?” I ask, glancing around at the bustling festival.
“Anywhere and everywhere,” she replies as we start walking toward the heart of town. “You don’t want to miss a thing. We’ve got food trucks, games, dancing, crafts, hayrides…and a haunted house.”
“Sounds like my kind of day,” I say, already trying to take it all in.
We stop to grab some famous Maple Fest hot apple cider from a wooden booth decorated with garlands of leaves and tiny pumpkins. I love cider. It’s like fall in a cup. The air is thick with delicious scents, and my stomach lets out a loud growl.
“Okay, I want to eateverything,” I admit.
Aunt Dee laughs. “That’s the spirit.”
As we walk, she clears her throat. “So I stopped by the Ice Breakers table earlier.”
My brain immediately goes to Weston. I haven’t seen him since the night of our impromptu pizza date—when I may or may not have forced him into a casual hangout. Although, in my defense, he didn’t protest.
“You should go over and say hi,” she adds, “get some autographs for your collection.”
“I don’t have a collection,” I reply.
She sighs. “Well, you need to start one. It’s the perfect time.”
“Uh, sure. But first I need food.”
As much as I want to see Weston, I need something more substantial than cider.
Aunt Dee leads me from booth to booth like a seasoned pro, pointing out her favorites. We sample a smoky chili that smells divine, roasted corn, and split a gooey maple-glazed donut. Every bite is better than the last.
As we wander, I admire the town's decorating. There are cornstalks wrapped around lampposts, piles of pumpkins lining the sidewalks, and orange and gold banners draped across storefronts. The trees themselves add to the ambiance, their leaves a blend of red, amber, and gold.
“There it is,” Aunt Dee sings suddenly, pointing across the square. “The Ice Breakers table.”
I follow her gaze and spot Weston immediately. He’s mid conversation with a family, kneeling to high-five a little boy who looks starstruck. Weston laughs, and my heart does a backflip. Seeing him talk to excited fans adds a whole other layer to what he does.
I must be staring, because Aunt Dee leans in and murmurs, “You might want to wipe the drool off your chin. I know it’s hard not to stare.”
“I wasn’t staring,” I say a little too quickly.
She snorts. “Uh-huh. Sure you weren’t.”
The table is busy. It’s obvious that Weston and the team are a big hit, so I join at the end of the line without hesitation.
“What are you doing? You don’t need to wait in line,”Aunt Dee tells me. “Just walk up there. You have special privileges since you and Weston arefriends.”
“I’m not cutting in line,” I say, eyeing at least a dozen people ahead of me. “These people were here first.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll be back in a bit. There’s a pumpkin painting contest I need to win.”
I watch her disappear into the crowd. Meanwhile, I inch forward slowly, enjoying the buzz of chatter around the booth. It’s sweet to see how excited people are to meet the players. Their enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself smiling just being part of it.
As I near the front, Weston glances up, and the moment he spots me, his whole face lights up. His smile and those dimples make my pulse kick up a notch.
“Hey,” he calls out, waving me over like we’re old friends.
“Hey yourself,” I say, stepping closer. “This is very exciting. Has it been this crazy all morning?”
