Chapter 38
thirty-eight
Twenty minutes later, they were in downtown Solace, where the fall festival had completely taken over the town square and down Main Street.
Stalls lined the streets, offering everything from local honey to hand-carved wooden toys, while the scent of roasting corn, caramel apples, and wood smoke filled the air.
Children darted between the booths, their laughter rising above the steady thrum of guitar music coming from the stage set up near the courthouse steps.
Owen clearly considered it all a security nightmare. His shoulders were like rocks under his jacket, his jaw set in a hard line.
She reached for his hand, entwining their fingers. "It'll be fine. No one's going to try anything with hundreds of witnesses around."
"You'd be surprised what people will try," he replied darkly. "Crowds create confusion. Distractions. Opportunities."
She squeezed his hand. "And that's why I have you with me. My very own guardian angel."
He snorted. "Angel isn't exactly what most people call me."
"No," she agreed, her voice softening. "But you're mine. My fierce warrior angel, always ready to save me." She meant it as a joke, but the words caught in her throat as his gaze met hers.
He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Always.”
Hands still joined, they made their way toward the far corner of the square, where Naomi could already see her grandmother’s booth—a riot of color against the muted fall palette of the festival.
Ava Charlo was a force of nature, and her booth perfectly reflected her personality.
Bright beadwork caught the light, dream catchers hung from the stall’s frame, and fry bread sizzled on a portable griddle, sending up tendrils of fragrant steam.
Ava spotted them before they reached her, her face lighting up with a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.
She wore her silver hair in two thick braids wrapped with vibrant ribbons, and enough turquoise jewelry to sink a small boat.
But the star of the outfit was her beaded, fringed bell-bottoms, which had been turning heads since the 1970s.
“There’s my girl!” Ava waved them over with a beaded wooden spoon. “And you brought your shadow! Good. He can reach the high hooks.”
Ghost raised an eyebrow at being referred to as Naomi’s “shadow,” but didn’t contradict Ava. Smart man. No one contradicted Ava Charlo. Not unless they wanted to face a creative form of retribution.
“Hi, Grandma,” Naomi said, accepting Ava’s fierce hug. Her grandmother smelled like fry bread and sage, a combination that instantly transported Naomi back to childhood summers spent in Ava’s kitchen.
“Let me look at you.” Ava set her back at arm’s length and examining her with a critical eye. “Still too thin. But at least you’ve got some color back.” Her gaze slid to Ghost, standing silently behind Naomi. “And you. Are you feeding her properly?”
“She eats what she wants,” Ghost replied, his voice neutral but his eyes wary.
Ava snorted. “Men. Useless in a kitchen.” She turned back to her griddle and flipped up a piece of fry bread onto a napkin.
She shoved it at Naomi. “Eat.” Then she pinned Ghost with a scowl.
“Well, don’t just stand there looking pretty.
Put those muscles to work and hang these dreamcatchers on the top hooks while I finish this batch. ”
To Naomi’s surprise, Ghost complied without argument, taking the delicate dreamcatchers from Ava’s worktable and hanging them from hooks along the top of the booth as if handling live explosives instead of beaded handicrafts.
“He’s not so scary once you get him working,” Ava observed in a stage whisper loud enough for Ghost to hear.
He shot her a look that would have made lesser women faint, but Ava just cackled and handed him another dreamcatcher.
“Don’t scowl at me, young man. You don’t scare me. I was intimidating men before you were even a tickle in your father’s balls. Now hang that one in the center, it’s my best work.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Ghost’s mouth—so brief Naomi might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching. “Yes, ma’am.”
Naomi felt something loosen in her chest as she watched the exchange. This was why she needed to be here, in the heart of her community. To remember that life continued, that joy existed, that connections mattered. Even for someone like Ghost, who guarded himself as fiercely as he guarded her.
For the next hour, they worked at Ava’s booth together.
Ghost positioned himself at the corner, a silent sentinel, while Naomi helped customers, made change, and explained the symbolism behind different dreamcatcher designs.
She felt eyes on her—curious glances, whispered conversations just out of earshot.
The abducted woman, back among them. The girl who’d escaped whatever fate had claimed so many others.
Let them look, she thought, straightening her spine. Let them wonder. Let them start asking questions. That’s what she wanted.
As the evening deepened and the festival lights brightened against the darkening sky, Ava shooed them away. “Go enjoy yourselves. I can handle the late crowd. They’re just here for fry bread anyway, not my artwork.”
Naomi hesitated, nerves spiking. It was one thing to interact with the townspeople from behind the booth’s tables, but another to walk freely among them.
“You don’t have to,” Owen said next to her ear.
“No, it’s okay.” She squeezed his hand. “Let’s walk around. I want to see what Nessie and Mariah have set up.”
They wound through the festival, past booths selling hand-knitted scarves, local honey, and carved wooden ornaments. Owen stayed close, his body a warm, solid presence at her side, his eyes constantly sweeping the crowd.
Near the center of the square, a crowd had gathered around one of the larger booths.
Even from a distance, she could see why—a stunning archway of woven grapevines, dried grasses, and late-season blooms created a natural entryway to the space.
Sunflowers nodded their heavy heads beside deep purple dahlias, while stalks of thistle and trailing hops added texture and movement.
Tiny fairy lights woven through the arrangement made the whole thing shimmer in the evening light.
“The Edible Garden,” she read from the sign. “Nessie’s Place and Pine & Bloom collaboration.”
They drew closer, and Naomi caught her breath at the sight beneath the archway.
Tiered stands displayed what could only be described as edible art—maple pecan tarts arranged in spiral patterns, apple-rose galettes that resembled blooming flowers, and sugar cookies shaped and decorated to look like pressed leaves and blossoms.
At the center stood a towering vanilla sponge cake that seemed to defy gravity. Four tiers rose in a gentle spiral, each layer frosted with honey-buttercream the color of warm ivory.
But what made the cake extraordinary wasn’t the structure itself, but how Mariah had transformed it into something alive.
Real flowers cascaded down the sides—delicate purple asters, tiny yellow chamomile blooms, and deep blue bachelor’s buttons—all carefully preserved in a clear sugar glaze that made them shimmer like stained glass caught in sunlight.
“Wow, it’s absolutely gorgeous.”
Mariah looked up from where she was arranging a tray of cookies, her elegant hands pausing mid-motion. Her dark red hair was swept up in a loose twist that somehow managed to look both effortless and perfect.
“Thank you,” she said. “It took three days to prepare all the flowers. Had to preserve them at exactly the right moment—too early and they wilt, too late and they brown.”
Owen stood at Naomi’s shoulder, his hand grazing the small of her back. “The herbs are a nice touch.”
Mariah nodded, clearly pleased he’d noticed. “Thyme, rosemary, and sage tucked between the tiers. I wanted it to smell like a living thing, not just sugar and butter.” She gestured for Naomi to come closer. “Lean in. Close your eyes.”
Naomi did as instructed, bending toward the cake and inhaling deeply.
The scent that filled her lungs was unlike any dessert she’d experienced—sweet, yes, but layered with something wild and green, like a meadow after rain.
The herbs grounded the sweetness, adding depth and complexity, making the cake feel like something that had grown rather than been made.
“It smells like summer holding hands with fall,” Naomi said when she straightened, then felt self-conscious at the poetic observation.
Mariah’s eyes warmed. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”
A small blur of motion shot past them, accompanied by a peal of laughter. Two boys, one with unruly dark hair and the other with a head full of tight copper-red curls, darted under the table and emerged on the other side, clutching cookies shaped like maple leaves.
“Oliver! Tate!” Nessie called from where she was boxing up an order. “Those are for customers, not little cookie thieves.”
Oliver grinned unrepentantly. “We’re taste-testing, Mom! Quality control!”
Tate, the quieter boy with the copper curls and a face full of freckles, nodded solemnly beside Oliver, already nibbling the edge of his purloined treat.
Mariah raised a manicured eyebrow at her son, and Tate flushed red, muttering, “Sorry, Mom. We can put them back.”
She shook her head. “That’s okay, but no more. You’ve had enough sugar today.”
“Why don’t you go check on the animals at the petting zoo?” Nessie suggested. “Make sure they’re still there.”
“Can we bring them cookies too?” Oliver asked.
“Absolutely not,” Nessie and Mariah said in unison.
The boys exchanged a glance that suggested they’d be revisiting this plan later, then took off across the square toward the temporary petting zoo. Naomi watched them go, struck by the easy friendship between them—one exuberant and talkative, the other more reserved but equally mischievous.