Page 5 of Burning Hearts
The birthday girl laughed, the camera clicked, and the only thing burning was the frosting’s ego.
Miss Pearl winked at me as she drifted past. Around here she was known as Miss Pearl; “Ms.” was for insurance forms.
“No candles on my watch,” she said.
“Because of the Biscuit Fire?” I asked, low.
“Hush, sugar.” Her smile faded. “On Main Street we say, ‘the pastry incident.’ Especially when the ballroom mics are hot and your Aunt Tansy is on the mezzanine.”
House lights warmed.The Town Talklogo glowed on the screen. Beau floated onstage in a velvet jacket that could have hosted its own party. He did a tight, glittering welcome that made the room sparkle. Phones rose like tidewater.
Riverfield loved watching itself shine.
Beau leaned into the mic, smooth as a toast, and said, “Welcome to the Peach Blossom Ball, the kickoff to Residency Week. Local businesses and startups have thrown their hats in the ring for a chance to win the Langford Prize; one million dollars for their business, plus three years of free rent in a prime, downtown location.”
On a walnut pedestal near centerstage, the vintage peach basket waited with its engraved rim, heart-pine handle, and the wooden tokens already counted and logged.
Draw night in Riverfield was a good, old-fashioned raffle. Every qualified applicant got one engraved wooden token. By noon on the day of the drawing, Miss Pearl and a bank rep counted them, initialed a ledger, and tucked them into the peach basket.
“Tonight, we draw three finalists for the prize,” Beau added. “They’ll have a week to win over our hearts and show what they’ll bring to the town, then our five-member board will vote on Decision Night. As always, Tansy and Harlan Langford host the Ball, but they do not vote.”
The bank president stepped to the lectern with the expression of a man about to make friends and enemies.
“Good evening,” he said.
I glanced over at Cade, who was seated at a table with the Riverfield firefighters. There was a placard on their table that read: Brickyard Brewery.
From the wing, Aunt Tansy drifted into the light, palm up, an extra engraved token balanced like a favor.
“Just a little clerical correction, darlings,” she said, lights flashing on her face. “A token was… somehow left out.”
Miss Pearl moved before the room could inhale. Clipboard in one hand, authority in the other. She wrist-tapped Tansy.
“Bless your heart,” she said, as sweet as iced tea. “But we’re not doing that today.”
Then she took the stray disk, turned it to the entire room, and lifted it high enough for every phone in Riverfield.
SIGNAL HOUSE flashed across the rim.
For a half-second the ballroom went perfectly quiet, everyone suddenly pretending they hadn’t seen what they’d just seen. A slow heat flashed across my face. A camera shutter snapped, then another. Miss Pearl set the token back in Tansy’s palm and lowered her clipboard.
“The only thing we’re adding tonight,” Beau purred into the mic, not missing a beat, “is hairspray.”
Riverfield wrote that down like a law, chanting “Hairspray!”
A wave of laughter broke, then comments started stacking in the air.
A few people in the audience called out: “Count the tokens to make sure it’s fair!”
There was a new subtext in the room, and my last name was all over it. I glanced toward the west doors. Cade Briggs watched with that barely-there smile that read: rules matter. My chest steadied and tightened at the same time.
Perfect, I thought.Now the gorgeous firefighter thinks I’m a nepo baby with an extra token.
I was furious. Tansy had tried to manipulate the results of the drawing in my favor like the only thing that mattered was a Langford winning. I’d never been this embarrassed in my thirty-three years on earth.
Apparently, the town now had a new slogan:Count the tokens.
The bank president reset the mic, turned the basket with an audible wooden click, and reached in. Everyone in the crowd held their breath as he read the first name drawn.
