Chapter Eight
Patriotism in Fire Lake was something to behold. Red, white, and blue were everywhere. Even Sprinkles and Cream offered donuts with white butter frosting and red and blue candies as toppers. There were flags. Signs. Blow-up Uncle Sams seemed to be particularly popular for front yards.
But as important as the Fourth of July was, the night before was equally so.
A street dance was held each year, with proceeds going to the Fire Lake Beautification Reserve.
It was one of the main reasons the town looked so quaint and put together.
There was a donation bin for the foodbank, as well as booths selling hotdogs, chilidogs, burgers, and fries.
Refreshments, drinks, buttons, and hats were also sold, with the money going back to the community.
Everyone got involved, and everyone, it seemed, came out for the fun.
Faith had worked the afternoon shift at The Dock, and in keeping with tradition, Hal and Samantha closed up the place because they spent the night downtown in the square with a good number of folks over the age of twenty-one.
Faith had planned on an early night, thought maybe she’d read a book that she’d borrowed from Samantha, but Cassidy wore her down, and now she found herself among a crowd of at least five hundred.
The two of them had come straight from work, both wearing white jean shorts and a cute T-shirt that said, On Fire for the Fourth across the front, while the back said The Dock.
The shirt was a bit snug, but that couldn’t be helped.
At least her feet would be comfortable in her sneakers.
Cassidy had changed into fire engine red four-inch patent leather pumps.
The blonde had procured a couple of drinks, and the two of them stood near the edge of the stage, which was set up for live music. The band was local — they’d played at The Dock the week before — and Cassidy was now seeing the singer, Jack.
“Do you think your mysterious neighbor is going to show?”
Faith glanced at her co-worker and hid a grin. The woman was relentless when she wanted something, and the sting of Gus’s rejection hadn’t sat well.
“I don’t know,” she replied lightly.
“I hear he’s hired a new crew to work out at the Boone estate, on those cottages, and one of them is hot as hell.”
Ah. Walker. This wasn’t about Gus. “Isn’t Jack working the same crew?”
Cassidy nodded.
“Why don’t you ask him?” She was teasing, but Cassidy surprised her and winked.
“He’s the one who told me.”
Faith opened her mouth but then closed it, not really sure how to respond.
“It’s totally fine,” Cassidy said, gaze sweeping the entire area like a predator. “He’s like that guy from the TV show. You know the rich ones who lost everything, and the dad bought some weirdo town in the middle of nowhere? Jack likes the wine, not label.”
“That’s not a bad way to live life.”
“It certainly makes things more interesting.” Cassidy pointed. “Shoot, there he is.”
“Walker?”
“Who’s Walker?” Cassidy frowned.
“The hot new hire.”
“Oh. Right.” She smoothed her top and asked Faith to hold her drink, which she barely grabbed hold of before the blonde pranced her over to Jack, who’d just arrived, lugging two guitar cases.
He handed one to Cassidy, and she happily followed in his wake.
The two of them disappeared near the other side of the stage, leaving Faith alone until she spied Ford Boone walking toward her, accompanied by a slender redhead. Was this his wife?
“Hey,” he said with a smile. “I was wondering if I’d see you down here.”
There it was. That sense of familiarity she couldn’t shake. Was it the way he spoke? The sound of his voice?
“Apparently it’s the place to be.”
He grinned. “They’ve been telling me that for years, but the truth is a lot simpler. It’s the only place to be because there’s nothing else going on.”
“You sound so cynical,” the woman beside him said, her blue eyes wide and welcoming. She held out her hand. “I’m Sunday, Ford’s sister.”
Oh. Right. Of course. Sunday Boone — she’d heard whispers about the woman but hadn’t met her until now.
The whispers were correct. She was beautiful, almost ethereal. Tall and slender with perfectly aligned features. She was striking.
“That’s some genetics you have in your family. I’m Faith.”
“I don’t know about that,” Sunday laughed and pointed to Faith’s T-shirt.
“I see you work at The Dock. Are you a student here for the summer?” The woman seemed genuinely interested.
She had an easy way about her, and Faith found herself replying before she could formulate the correct response, which would have been to keep things generic.
“I haven’t been a student in more years than I’d like to admit to, but thanks.” She thought she’d sidestepped the question, but Sunday wasn’t so easily swayed.
“Do you have a connection to Fire Lake? Family?”
“No. I ended up here by accident.”
“We’re so out of the way I can’t imagine how that happened.”
“Easy to do when you trust a fifteen-year-old hunk of junk car to go from San Francisco to Maine.”
Shit. She kept a smile pasted on her face, but inside she was pissed at herself.
Rule number one — keep details close to the chest. The more information she gave, the higher the chances were of people finding out who she was.
If word got out that Michael Brooks’s stepdaughter was living in Fire Lake, the press would be all over this place asking questions she didn’t want to answer.
Answers she didn’t want to think about. So far, she’d been lucky.
She’d never had much of an online presence, but all it would take was for one person to catch a news segment that featured an old photo, and her anonymity would end.
The three of them made small talk for a bit; Sunday asked questions that Faith managed to dodge.
“Where are you from?”
“Everywhere it seems.” Faith winced at that one.
“Do you plan on staying in Fire Lake?”
“Maybe.”
“Any siblings?”
She shook her head and remained silent.
“Your dog is sweet.”
“Taco’s the best.”
“What’s your last name?”
“Jesus, Sunday. What’s with the inquisition?” Ford gave his sister a look that spoke volumes. Back off. Then turned to Faith. “Sorry. She’s a sucker for the details.”
Sunday ignored her brother, and there was a subtle shift in her expression. “Isn’t that the new hire for the cottage restorations?”
Faith spied Walker chatting up none other than Cassidy, and her heart spiked. If Walker was here, it meant that Gus was probably close by.
“I believe so,” Ford murmured, following his sister’s gaze. “He kind of reminds me of—”
“He sure does,” Sunday whispered fiercely. She turned back to Faith, her smile no longer fresh but plastic. “It was nice to meet you, Faith, but Ford and I have this thing, and we’ve got to, um, get to it.”
Faith saw concern on her brother’s face. She had a feeling this ‘thing’ was a code word for ‘escape.’
“It was nice to meet you as well.” She waved at Ford. “I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.”
He held her gaze a beat longer than was necessary, and she felt her cheeks heat up. “I look forward to it.”
The siblings disappeared, and Faith realized she was clutching at the drinks in her hands so tightly, her knuckles ached. Cassidy and Walker headed her way at about the same time the band took to the stage. It was close to nine-thirty, and the crowd was getting antsy.
The band leaned into a rollicking version of “American Woman,” and with Cassidy taking up all of Walker’s attention, she was able to scan the crowd unobserved.
“He’s not here,” Walker whispered in her ear with a wry grin. “Yet.”
“Excuse me?”
Walker chuckled. “God, you two are made for each other.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you do.”
She didn’t get a chance to respond because Walker winked and turned his attention to the band.
Faith decided to do the same. No sense in wondering about Gus’s whereabouts.
For all she knew, he was paying a visit to Jackie Davenport’s place, celebrating a more intimate Fourth of July Eve. And she didn’t care about that.
At least, she shouldn’t.
As midnight approached, the crowds seemed to have gotten bigger.
The band was well into their third and final set, and the dance floor was full.
Faith stood at the edge of the party, feeling like an outsider.
She should leave. Her eyes were on the moon that hung over the lake.
By tomorrow night, it would be full, and there was magic in that. Or at least there used to be.
“Can you touch the moon, Mommy?”
“No sweetheart,” her mother replied. “Only Superman can.”
Her mother had been kind and loving at one point, hadn’t she? The memory snuck in, and, along with it, the kind of sadness that could cut her off at the knees if she let it. She pushed it away.
To her right, a young couple danced in the shadows, arms and mouths entangled as they slowly melted away.
Had she ever been that free? That in love?
Did she even miss Declan, or was it more the idea of him she missed?
The sting of his rejection had hurt, but if she’d truly loved him, she suspected it would have hurt a hell of a lot more.
“What’s the point in wondering?” she whispered to herself. She was here, and Declan was in San Francisco, most likely spending the holiday at the country club with the people she used to consider friends.