Chapter 24
Jake
“Say what you will about small towns, but they know how to celebrate Independence Day,” I said as I approached the farmers’ market booth designated for the Corner Market. Ali, Eric, and Misha were hard at work getting the tables and shelves arranged.
I was armed with wildflowers that I’d pruned from my secret field, which I’d come to think of as our field. Mine and Ali’s.
“You’ve nailed the farm-stand aesthetic!” Misha said, taking the flowers from me.
I removed my sunglasses and looked at Ali.
“Good morning,” I said, smiling before I planted a light kiss on her cheek.
“Good morning,” she said shyly.
We had moved into a different level in our relationship. Not quite a couple, but also definitely not just friends either. We never did get to be together like we said we would after sobering up. Not with everything that had happened in the light of the next day.
Not for a lack of thinking about it, though. It felt wrong in the immediate aftermath of losing Chic.
Plus, Ali was trying to keep the wildflower promotional campaign moving along and managing the store with Eric as Betsy continued to recover.
She was full of purpose and drive. I enjoyed seeing her in her element of liveliness and strength like this.
It was just as sexy as watching her make herself come.
Everything she did was arousing to me. Even when she wasn’t trying. Especially when she wasn’t trying. When she let her guard down and was purely herself.
I was learning the different sides of Ali.
A subject I couldn’t imagine ever getting sick of studying.
I could tell she sometimes reigned herself in.
Suppressed her bigger, bolder personality.
Those aspects of her were only on full display when she felt safe—like with Misha.
She had started to allow herself to be fully present with me too.
It wasn’t something we talked about. I could just tell.
She simply forgot to cap herself down. It felt like trust. Despite her worldly travels and experiences, I’d learned that Ali had very little space to actually be. Just be. Herself. Take up space.
We were more affectionate with each other. Something I didn’t want or need to question. Whatever was between us had taken root, and I believed we just needed to allow it to blossom. Naturally. Organically. And at every step, I wanted to prove to her that I could handle her.
“I also brought these,” I said, pulling out four drinks.
At this point, I knew everyone’s order: for Eric, a flat white; for Misha, an iced oat milk honey lavender latte with an extra shot of espresso; and of course for Ali, English breakfast tea, with almond milk and honey.
The tea bag tab blew around on the side of the cup in the light breeze.
“Vet McDreamy! Bless you!” Misha said. He kept up with the nicknames. Making me blush was his favorite thing to do.
It was early on July Fourth. The plan was to set up a morning farmers’ market, followed by a boat parade on the lake, a town square pageant, and the unveiling of a mural to represent the town—part of the rebranding campaign.
Then continue into the evening with a town-wide barbecue behind the Tavern and fireworks over the lake after dark.
“What can I do to help? Put me to work,” I said.
I was tasked with unloading and lining up the jars of honey. I made sure every label was evenly spaced and perfectly centered.
“How are you feeling?” Ali slipped in next to me, unboxing and lining up handmade soaps with wildflowers embedded into the bars.
“I’m good. Ready for today. I love the Fourth of July,” I admitted.
She laughed. “I can tell. You’re giddy.”
“Ugh. I am giddy. Such a dork,” I said and made a silly face.
“I love your dork side,” she said and let a beat settle between us.
“Can I buy you a drink later?”
“I think you already did.” She lifted the paper cup as evidence.
“That I did. Hmm . . . I’ll have to come up with a different excuse to secure your attention later, then.”
“You don’t need an excuse . . . you don’t even have to try.” She winked before working to collapse the now-emptied box she was holding.
Just then I received a text message and pulled out my phone.
“It’s Calvin. They need help getting the boat ready for the parade,” I mumbled.
“You should go. I think we’ve got this.”
I looked up at Ali and sighed. I didn’t want to leave her side. I wanted to stay next to her. It didn’t matter what we were doing—or not doing—I just wanted to be near her. But I let reality settle back in and nodded.
“Yeah. Okay. Later, then?” I asked, meaning more than just, See you later.
“Later,” she responded, and I was pretty sure she meant more too.
I leaned down to kiss her cheek again, but she turned her head toward me.
Her eyes told me to kiss her mouth. So I did.
I kept it PG, but it was something. I let our lips settle there—together—for a second or two but pulled away before I lost all control and made a public display of what was constantly running through my head.
When I pulled away and looked up, her eyes remained closed, sunk into the moment. I flashed her a grin and swiped my sunglasses back on.
“See ya later, guys. Text me if you need anything,” I said over my shoulder toward Misha and Eric.
When I turned to look over at them, they were both staring and Misha was fanning himself with a small collection of paper.
The day continued as planned, with all the festive charm that I looked forward to every year.
The boat parade was a huge hit. Everyone embraced the wildflower theme and incorporated it in a big way.
In fact, signs of the campaign’s success appeared everywhere around town, including in my friends and neighbors.
The community was excited and united. It was all Ali’s doing.
It made me wonder—hope, even—if the town had imprinted a special place in her heart.
One that would be hard for her to let go of and leave.
I could see her here. Living here. Thriving here.
Maybe it was some of Libby’s spirit in her, but Ali was one of us.
I just didn’t know if she had realized it yet and what, if anything, she would do about it when she did.
A crowd had gathered around the west-facing side of the Corner Market building.
It was the side that greeted you as you entered the town.
The side of the building had the broken-up remnants of a mural there from long ago.
A few letters of the greeting and an image had ghosted over the years.
It had served as a billboard of sorts at different times in history.
Ali’s proposal for the mural promised to conserve those elements of the brick wall and serve up a striking image balancing local attributes, centered on wildflowers, of course.
I never did see the renderings of the mural since it took place while I was rebounding from the loss of Chic.
Ali and Misha had worked directly with the artist, and he did a good job of concealing his progress behind a giant tent.
As far as I could tell, most people had respected the process and didn’t pry.
The buzz of excitement was almost tangible.
A small soapbox-like platform was set up to the side of the sheet-covered wall. Asher stepped up to quiet the crowd.
“Good afternoon, beautiful humans.”
He paused to let the crowd settle.
“Thank you for gathering here today. What a beautiful day for celebration. I want to express gratitude to those who brought this small-town charm to life on such a joyous occasion. Over the past few weeks, we’ve found ourselves united under one identity—one that has lived quietly in our roots for decades but is now blooming proudly thanks to the efforts of our very own Ali Bennet and Jake Elliot. ”
The crowd erupted into applause. A few hoots and even a whistle rose above the clapping.
“And now . . . Ali is here to unveil a new symbol of that identity and pride. Please help me welcome her to the platform.”
More applause followed as Ali stepped forward.
“Thank you, Asher. And thank you, distinguished guests, friends, loved ones.” She paused between each group, scanning the crowd, locking eyes with those she recognized, each gaze a quiet thread of connection.
“I came to Lakeside not knowing what waited for me. I didn’t expect joy. Or purpose. Or love. I thought those things only existed here because of my grandmother, Libby Bennet. And while she showed me the highest level of those things—turns out she wasn’t the only source.
“It’s you. All of you.
“And it’s every single wildflower that is not only allowed to grow here—but is welcomed to thrive.”
She let the words breathe. I marveled at how she kept her voice steady but full of feeling.
“There is a line in the poem ‘Sunflower’ by Henri Cole that says, ‘Nature is always expressing something human.’ Nowhere is that truer than here in Lakeside. Let this mural stand as a symbol of our wildflower spirit—bold, compassionate, a little unruly, and full of humanity.”
She folded the paper she hadn’t once looked at. It was clear she’d spoken from the heart and every word had bloomed naturally.
“One more thing,” she said, her voice softening.
“This mural was envisioned to reflect the essence of Lakeside. You’ll see familiar elements.
But at its heart is the likeness of a dear friend.
One who, to anyone that met him, gave instant acceptance, warmth, and comfort.
His image will remain here as a sentry of love and kindness—for anyone crossing into our sanctuary of beautiful wildness. ”
With that, the curtain was released, sliding down one side and catching the light as it pulled away completely.
My breath caught.
It was Chicory.
My Chicory.
His profile was unmistakable—centered among an explosion of wildflowers painted in bold color and joyful, precise brushstrokes. It was a visual symphony: petals reaching in all directions, like music frozen in blooms.
Then came the hush. The collected stillness when everyone realized what they were seeing.
Chic was the symbol of love and kindness Ali had described.
I felt their eyes on me, but only one pair mattered.
I looked toward Ali. She was already looking back. Waiting.
I stepped through the crowd, now silent but charged with anticipation. It seemed everyone held their breath to see what I would say or do.
I climbed two steps up the platform. It was all I needed—just enough to meet her eye level. Still, I tilted her face to mine, like a sunflower reaching for the sun.
Then I kissed her.
Not just with passion, but with something more deliberate. My arms circled her waist as her arms wrapped around my neck.
This wasn’t just a kiss. It was an answer to a question we’d both been asking for weeks—maybe longer.
There was no denying what we were.
Not to ourselves.
Not to anyone.