Chapter 10
Logan
The Pelican Point Artisan Market is in full swing by ten AM, and the turnout is even better than we'd hoped.
The fairgrounds are packed with families, and the air is filled with the scent of kettle corn, grilled food, and autumn spices.
Booths stretch in neat rows across the field, everything from handmade jewelry to local honey to carved wooden furniture is available.
Our setup is right in the heart of it all with two adjacent booths that Heather brilliantly suggested we combine into one large space.
On the left side, the library's display features book donation bins, information about library programs, and a cozy reading corner with beanbags and picture books. On the right, The Rockets have team merchandise, season ticket information, and a massive banner advertising our upcoming youth baseball camp. Melody and Henry are coordinating the booth so well that I’m only needed for the occasional fan pictures.
But the real genius is how Heather tied it all together. Baseball-themed bookmarks featuring our players. ‘Read Like a Champion’ posters. A photo op area where kids can pose with both a giant baseball glove and a stack of oversized books. It's seamless, professional, and is drawing a steady crowd.
“Uncle Logan, look!” Violet tugs on my shirt, pointing to where she and Cookie are stationed at what Heather dubbed the ‘Reading Buddies’ table.
I have to bite back a laugh. Violet is wearing a brown tweed jacket that's three sizes too big, rolled up at the sleeves, with a magnifying glass hanging from a cord around her neck.
She looks like a tiny detective. And Cookie—god, Cookie is wearing a pair of reading glasses perched on her snout, held in place by an elastic band and a little doll-sized tweed hat.
The corgi looks deeply offended by this indignity, but she's tolerating it for Violet's sake.
“You two look very official,” I tell them.
“Aunt Heather says we're Book Detectives,” Violet explains seriously. “We help kids find the perfect book. Right, Cookie?”
Cookie chuffs dramatically but stays put as a little boy approaches, clutching his mother's hand.
“Can I pet the puppy?” he asks shyly.
“Only if Cookie approves,” Violet says with the authority of someone much older than four. She holds up a book. “Do you like dinosaurs?”
The boy nods eagerly.
“Cookie, what do you think?” Violet presents the book to the corgi like she's offering evidence in court.
Cookie sniffs the book, then licks the cover.
“She approves!” Violet announces, handing the book to the delighted child. “You can pet her now.”
This routine plays out a dozen times in the next half hour, and each time, people pull out their phones to take photos. Cookie and Violet are becoming the main attraction, and judging from the line forming at their table, we're going to be here a while.
“They're naturals,” Heather says, appearing at my elbow with two bottles of water. She's wearing jeans and a library t-shirt that somehow makes her look both adorable and incredibly sexy. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she's got a clipboard tucked under one arm.
“Cookie's going to be insufferable after this,” I warn, accepting the water. “All this attention is going straight to her head.”
“She's earned it. Look at that line.”
Heather’s right. At least twenty kids are waiting for their turn with the Book Detectives, and their parents are browsing our combined displays while they wait. It's exactly the kind of community engagement my marketing team dreams about.
“You nailed it with this,” I tell Heather, sliding an arm around her waist. “Combining our booths was perfect.”
She leans into me, and I don't miss the approving looks from several people passing by. Small-town life means everyone knows about us now, thanks to Mrs. Henderson's surveillance activities. But I meant what I told Heather—I don't care who knows. I'm proud to be with her.
“Mr. Maddox!” Melody appears, slightly breathless. “The pie-eating contest starts in fifteen minutes. Are you ready?”
I groan. I'd almost forgotten about that particular commitment.
“Yay! You decided to do the pie-eating contest?” Heather's eyes light up with barely contained glee.
“Against one of my ballplayers and Mayor Snyder,” I confirm. “This is going to be a disaster.”
“This is going to be amazing,” she corrects, grinning. “I'm getting front row seats for this.”
Fifteen minutes later, I'm seated at a long table on a raised platform, a whole cherry pie in front of me.
To my left is Tommy Martinez, our twenty-year-old pitcher, who probably weighs a hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet but apparently can eat his weight in food.
To my right is Mayor Snyder, who's already loosening his belt and looking like he regrets ever signing up for this gig.
A huge crowd has gathered, easily a hundred people, maybe more. I spot Heather in the front with Julie and Amy, all three of them holding up their phones to record this humiliation. Violet and Cookie are by their side, having abandoned their detective post to watch.
“On your mark,” the announcer calls out. “Get set... EAT!”
I dive in face-first, literally, because apparently that's the technique. Cherry filling explodes everywhere. It's in my hair, on my shirt, possibly in my ears. I can hear the crowd roaring with laughter.
Tommy is a machine, mechanically shoveling pie into his mouth with the efficiency of someone who's done this before. The mayor is struggling, red-faced and clearly wishing he was anywhere but here. I'm somewhere in the middle, trying to balance speed with not choking.
“Come on, Uncle Logan!” Violet's voice cuts through the noise. “You can do it!”
That's all the motivation I need. I ignore the sweetness overload and the ache in my jaw. With one final massive bite, I slam my hands on the table. “Done!”
The judge rushes over to verify my plate is clean. Tommy finishes three seconds later, and the mayor is still working on his third slice when time is called.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner—Logan Maddox!”
The crowd erupts. I stand up, cherry pie dripping from my chin, and raise my arms in victory. It's ridiculous and messy and probably not dignified for the general manager of a baseball team, but the joy on Violet's face makes it worth every sticky, uncomfortable second.
Heather approaches with a stack of napkins and wet wipes, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You look like you murdered a cherry pie.”
“I decimated it.” I take the napkins and try to clean up, but it's hopeless. “This is going to be in my hair for days.”
“Totally worth it though.” She stands on her toes and kisses my cheek, getting cherry filling on her lips in the process. “My hero.”
“You're just saying that because I'm covered in pie.”
“I'm saying that because you just made that little girl's day.” She nods toward Violet, who's jumping up and down and telling anyone who will listen all about how her uncle won. “And yeah, also because you're covered in pie. It's a good look for you.”
The afternoon continues in a blur of activity. I clean up as best I can and change into the spare Rockets shirt I'd thankfully brought. Around three o'clock, I notice a small group approaching our booth. Ryan and Candice Murphy lead the way.
“Logan, Heather,” Ryan greets us warmly. “Great event. The community turnout is impressive.”
“It's been incredible,” Heather agrees. Her hands flutter to her hair, smoothing strands already in place, before clasping them at her waist.
“You both remember my wife, Candice,” Ryan continues, gesturing to the beautiful blonde standing to his right.
Candice reaches for Heather’s hand, a huge smile on her face. “We don’t normally deliver the news in person, but I couldn’t wait.”
Heather's face goes pale. “Okay.” Her voice wavers and my hand finds her back, offering silent support.
“The board reviewed your proposal for the interactive children's library,” Candice begins.
Drawing in a deep breath, Heather nods, her teeth digging into her bottom lip.
“We were impressed. Very impressed. The scope of your vision, the detail in your planning, the clear community need is outstanding.
It's exactly the kind of project Sapphire Development wants to support.” Candice pauses.
“I'm pleased to say that your grant has been approved.
Full funding for the interactive children's library with the chance to renew each year.”
For a moment, nobody in the tent moves. Then Heather makes a choking sound that's half-laugh, half-sob, her hand covering her mouth.
“Are you serious?” she whispers. “That’s so much more than I asked for.”
“Completely serious,” Ryan confirms. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, pending final paperwork and timeline agreements. Congratulations, Heather.”
Heather's knees buckle and I pull her against me. She's shaking now, tears streaming down her face.
“You did it,” I murmur into her hair. “You actually did it.”
Amy lets out a whoop and pulls Heather into a fierce hug. Word spreads quickly—Heather got her grant and the library is expanding again—and suddenly we're surrounded by well-wishers.
My smile won't quit as Heather floats through the crowd, collecting hugs and congratulations with such grace, all while swiping at the happy tears she can't quite contain. This is her moment and I'm bursting with pride for this remarkable woman who never stopped fighting for what she believed in.
Finally the initial excitement dies down and people drift back to the market, and I guide Heather to a quieter spot.
“You okay?” I ask softly, studying her face.
“More than okay.” Those beautiful hazel eyes meet mine, still glistening.
I brush my lips against her forehead. “Listen, I need to slip out a little early. Jake Martinez and his girlfriend are coming at five to watch Violet. They said they could stay the night with her if we needed it.”