Chapter Ten
Raven arrived at the fundraiser planning meeting with exactly one goal: survive it with minimal participation and escape as quickly as humanly possible.
She'd agreed to help. That didn't mean she had to like it.
The meeting was at Blossom's Café, which at least meant decent coffee, she supposed. Raven pushed through the door to find the committee already assembled around the corner table, looking distressingly cheerful for five o’clock on a weekday afternoon, particularly with not a drop of alcohol in sight.
"Raven," Annabelle beamed at her like she'd just won the lottery. "You came. Oh, this is wonderful. Come sit, come sit. Would you like tea? Coffee? Blossom's got lovely biscuits today."
"Coffee. Black." Raven took the chair farthest from Gloria, who was wearing a velvet cape and looked like she was about to launch into a monologue.
"Now that we're all here," Annabelle said, consulting her stack of color-coded notes, "we can finalize the plans. I've been making a list of all our ideas, and I think we've got some really brilliant options."
"Before we begin," Gloria announced, sitting up straighter, "I'd like to propose that Raven take charge of the musical direction for our theatrical performance. She has experience with large audiences, creative vision, and—"
"No," Raven said flatly.
Gloria blinked. "I haven't finished."
"Don't need you to. The answer is no."
"But surely with your background…"
"I agreed to help. I didn't agree to musically direct your am-dram society's fever dream." Raven took a sip of her coffee. "Pick something else."
There was a beat of awkward silence.
"Right," Annabelle said brightly, making a note. "So, musical direction is still open. That's absolutely fine. We'll sort that out later. Now, let's talk about what we're actually going to do."
She flipped to a new page in her notebook, and Raven watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as Annabelle's face lit up with enthusiasm.
"I've been thinking," Annabelle continued, "we definitely need multiple events.
Variety, you know? So I've made a list of the best ideas we’ve had: bake sales, definitely plural because one won't raise enough.
Book donations, we could partner with Blossom for that.
A talent show, obviously, that's where the children can really shine.
Oh, and, a late addition to the list, what about a fun run?
I've never organized one before, but how hard can it be? "
"Very hard," Arty said dryly. "Insurance alone is a nightmare."
"Oh." Annabelle's smile didn't waver. "Well, we have plenty of other things. What else? So, there’s our raffle. And a sponsored read. The children will get pledges per book they finish."
"What about autographs?" Daisy piped up, looking at Raven with stars in her eyes. "Raven could sign things and people could donate for them."
"Absolutely not," Raven said.
"But people would love—"
"No."
"It's just that you're famous, and—"
"Which is why I'm here in the middle of nowhere trying not to be recognized," Raven said, her voice sharp. "I'm helping with the fundraiser. I'm not turning it into a bloody meet-and-greet."
Daisy looked crestfallen.
"What Raven means," Annabelle said quickly, ever the peacemaker, "is that we want to keep the focus on the children and the library. Which is absolutely right. This isn't about celebrity, it's about community."
Raven glanced at her, surprised. Annabelle met her gaze with a small, understanding smile that made Raven’s chest feel funny.
Christ. The woman really was far too nice. How could anyone be that nice?
"Moving on," Annabelle said, consulting her notes again. "The first bake sale is scheduled for this Saturday. I've already started baking, and several parents have volunteered to contribute as well. Now, Gloria, you mentioned you had some ideas for the talent show?"
Gloria launched into an elaborate vision involving period costumes, choreographed dance numbers, and at least three scene changes. Raven tuned her out after the first thirty seconds and watched Annabelle instead.
The teacher was frantically scribbling notes, nodding along to Gloria's increasingly unhinged suggestions, her face bright with concentration.
Every so often she'd interject with something practical like, "Do we have the budget for that?
" or, "The hall might not have enough space," but she never shot Gloria down completely.
Just gently redirected, like she was handling an overexcited toddler.
Which, Raven supposed, she essentially was.
"What do you think, Raven?" Annabelle asked suddenly.
Raven blinked. "About what?"
"About the talent show. Should we do one large performance or several smaller showcases?"
"I think you're all going to exhaust yourselves trying to do too much," Raven said bluntly. "Pick three things. Do them well. Stop trying to save the world in a weekend."
There was a pause.
"That's actually quite sensible," Arty said, looking impressed.
"I have my moments." Raven drained her coffee. "Are we done?"
"Almost," Annabelle said. "I just wanted to check, and this is completely optional, absolutely no pressure, but would you be willing to help with the talent show?
Not directing," she added quickly, seeing Raven's expression.
"Just… maybe teaching a song to the children? Something simple they could perform?"
Raven opened her mouth to refuse.
Then she made the mistake of actually looking at Annabelle.
Those ridiculous blue eyes were so full of hope and optimism it was almost offensive. Like she genuinely believed Raven was going to say yes. Like she had complete faith that underneath the grumpy exterior, Raven was secretly a good person who wanted to help children.
Which was absurd.
And yet.
"Fine," Raven heard herself say. "One song. Simple. Nothing fancy."
Annabelle's entire face lit up. "Oh, that's wonderful. Thank you so much. The children are going to be absolutely thrilled."
"Don't make a big deal about it," Raven muttered.
"I wouldn't dream of it."
The meeting finally wrapped up twenty minutes later, after Gloria had been talked down from staging a full production of Les Mis and Daisy had been gently discouraged from hand-delivering flyers to every house in a ten-mile radius.
As everyone started gathering their things, Raven found herself lingering near the table, watching Annabelle stack her notes into neat piles.
"Can I ask you something?" Raven said, keeping her voice low enough that the others wouldn't hear.
Annabelle looked up, surprised. "Of course."
"The video. The one from the livestream." Raven shifted her weight, uncomfortable. "All the comments online, the attention. How are you… dealing with it?"
She'd been feeling guilty about it for days.
The invasive comments, the speculation, the way complete strangers had dissected every second of their interaction.
Raven was used to that kind of scrutiny, hated it, but was used to it.
Annabelle, though? She was just a primary school teacher who'd knocked on a door in dinosaur pajamas.
She didn't deserve to be turned into a meme.
But Annabelle just laughed. Actually laughed, bright and genuine.
"Oh, I'm not dealing with it at all," she said cheerfully. "I mean, I'm aware it happened, the children certainly made sure of that, but I don't really go online much. No social media accounts, no scrolling through comments. So it doesn't really affect my actual life, you know?"
Raven stared at her. "You're… not online?"
"Well, I check my email," Annabelle said, as if this were completely obvious. "And I use the school website. But Twitter, Instagram, all that? Never really saw the point." She tilted her head, curious. "Why? Is it very bad?"
"No, I just…" Raven couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "That's it? You just… don't look at it?"
"Pretty much." Annabelle smiled. "Is that strange?"
It was the simplest solution to a problem that had been plaguing Raven for years. Just don't engage. Don't look. Don't let it into your life.
Why had that never occurred to her?
"No," Raven said finally. "Not strange. Actually, it's probably the smartest thing I've heard in a long time."
Annabelle's smile widened, pleased. "Well, thank you. Though I can't really take credit for wisdom when it's mostly just technophobia."
Despite herself, Raven felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "Still counts."
They stood there for a moment, and Raven realized with some alarm that she was actually enjoying this conversation. That she'd sought it out, even. That some part of her had wanted to make sure Annabelle was okay.
Which was ridiculous. And dangerous. And absolutely not why she'd come to this village.
"Right," Raven said abruptly. "I should go."
"Of course," Annabelle said warmly. "Thank you again for agreeing to help with the song. It really means the world."
Raven just nodded and headed for the door, trying to ignore the uncomfortable warmth spreading through her chest.
She escaped into the cool afternoon air with relief, only to find Arty falling into step beside her.
"You held up well in there," he said conversationally.
"I contemplated faking a heart attack to get out early."
Arty laughed. "Fair enough. They're an enthusiastic bunch."
"That's one word for it."
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Arty said, "Annabelle means well, you know."
"I'm aware."
"She's exhausting, but she genuinely cares. About the library, about the kids, about making sure everyone's taken care of." He paused. "Even grumpy rockstars who just want to be left alone."
Raven shot him a look. "What's your point?"
"No point. Just an observation." Arty grinned. "She's alright, though, isn't she, Annabelle?"
Raven's jaw tightened. She thought about Annabelle's relentless optimism, her cheerful notes and homemade biscuits, the way she'd stood on Raven's doorstep at midnight in those ridiculous dinosaur pajamas and apologized for asking Raven to be considerate.
She thought about how Annabelle had defended her in the meeting just now, redirecting Daisy's autograph suggestion without making Raven feel like an asshole for refusing.
"She's fine," Raven said grudgingly. "I suppose."
Arty's grin widened into something far too knowing. "High praise indeed."
"Don't start."
"Wouldn't dream of it." He clapped her on the shoulder. "See you at the bake sale on Saturday, then?"
"If I must."
"You must. You agreed to help, remember?"
"Unfortunately," Raven muttered.
But as she walked back to her cottage, she couldn't quite shake the memory of Annabelle's smile when Raven had agreed to teach the children a song.
Or the uncomfortable realization that she'd actually meant it when she said yes, she’d help.
Christ. This village was going to be the death of her.