Chapter 21
Astrid
I stood up, my legs stiff from sitting on the floor for so long, and went to see if there were any records related to Maypole dance. At last, the ladder was mine.
Aeron had gone to talk with the manager about the volunteer meetup I'd mentioned would be our next step after the research.
One step at a time wasn't his style.
I finally found the record after way too much digging through the shelf, even though the register had pointed me directly to it.
Now I realized how impressive it was that Aeron had managed to pull out so many books with ease.
I flipped through the pages, yawning. After nearly six hours straight, my research was starting to feel close to bedtime reading when my eyes caught on a photo.
The same photo I'd seen earlier on the festival ground’s map—Maypole dance.
It's a traditional folk dance performed around a tall wooden pole decorated with flowers and colorful ribbons. Dancers form a circle around the pole, moving clockwise and then counterclockwise.
I snapped a few pictures, saving the details for later.
My brain wasn't up for processing any more information right now.
But I did catch the bit at the end mentioning the Ashbournes, who'd brought this tradition with them when they moved here from their hometown—Ashbourne in Derbyshire, between 1845 and 1848.
I put the record aside and leaned back against the rack, suddenly realizing how tired I was.
I considered calling Aeron to ask if we could head home, but quickly realized I didn't even have his number.
The sun was dipping lower, turning the already-dim room into something straight out of a ghost story, minus the ghosts—hopefully.
I could’ve sworn I felt something gently tug at my hair—a soft, barely-there touch. My eyes snapped open, my heart racing. It took me a second to realize I'd been leaning against a solid shoulder. I pulled back, breath hitching as I glanced sideways at Aeron.
He was calmly reading. “Done with the nap?”
“When did you come back?” The lights were on now. Exactly how long had I been asleep? I'd only meant to close my eyes for a minute. And when exactly had I turned his shoulder into my personal pillow?
He glanced up, face perfectly neutral. “Around the time you started snoring like a baby bear, mouth wide-open.”
“You don’t need to describe exactly how I sleep,” I glared at him. “And I don’t snore.”
For a second, his calm, skeptical look made me question myself. Again. Ever since I’d met this idiot , I’d started doubting basic facts about myself that I’d comfortably believed for twenty-five years.
“You want to include the Maypole dance?” Aeron asked, nodding toward the record I'd left open when I fell asleep.
“Don't you think it'd be great to bring back the authenticity the town lost forty years ago?” I said. “But the town square isn't going to cut it. It’s way too crowded.”
“The park's a good option.” He considered it for a moment. “But we'd have to sort out electricity, restrooms, basically everything from scratch. It won't be easy.” He paused, and for a second, I was convinced we'd have to drop the idea. “But it's too good an idea not to try.”
“Really?” I squeaked, caught off guard by my own enthusiasm. “Thank you!” But just as quickly, doubt crept back in. “How do we convince the people? They've been celebrating in the square for two generations. What if they're not interested in moving?”
“If we frame it right, highlight the history, and round up the right volunteers, we could create enough buzz to convince everyone,” Aeron suggested. “Think you could pull together a social media campaign?”
“Absolutely.” After five years of hyping up weddings on social media, I could handle this part even half-asleep.
“Good. I'll talk to Steve about getting approval for the park.” He paused, clearly debating something, then added casually, “And maybe involve that motormouth. She's got a pretty big network around town. Might as well put her chatter to some actual use for once.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re mean.”
“So was she,” he grumbled.
Oh god, was he seriously still salty about Kelly chasing him around the school for his autograph? “You ever wonder what she calls you behind your back?” Not that I’d tell him. He could go right on suffering, knowing a nickname existed but not what it was.
“Cranky? Moody?” he asked calmly as if he'd known about it forever.
My eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“I've known since school. She wasn't exactly quiet about it.” His eyes moved over the scattered mess around us. “Finished with your research yet?”
“Mostly.” I glanced down at the chaos on the floor. Orange Falls Pictures caught my eye, practically screaming pick me! from beneath the mess. I grabbed it, holding it up sheepishly.
“Except for this one.”
“It’s just pictures,” he remarked. “Nothing useful there.”
“I want to look at the faces,” I insisted.
“You barely know people here,” he pointed out.
“I know you. Maybe I'll find your photo here.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Good luck. You’ll have better chances spotting ghost.”
What a shame. A photographer who hates being photographed.
I flipped through dozens of photos, some old, some recent.
I spotted Aunt Dee, young Aunt Dee, looking like the villain from a vintage movie.
Eleanor and Mabel stood side by side at a pie-baking contest, somehow managing to look like best friends, though I suspected that closeness was strictly for the camera.
A picture of Kelly, probably around eight or nine, throwing water balloons at someone, and another picture of her picking her nose.
Aeron, unsurprisingly, didn't miss the chance to poke fun at that one.
These photos were supposed to help me understand about the town, but did they have to be this entertaining?
I paused at a picture of the Ashbourne family from 2001. A boy stared directly at the camera, familiar dark-brown eyes fixed somewhere between boredom and annoyance.
“Is this you?”
“This wasn't supposed to be here.” He reached for it , but I hid behind my back.
“Your eyes look exactly the same,” I teased, glancing between him and the photo. “How old were you here?”
“Five.”
I studied the photo closely. There were some faces I didn't recognize, but Mabel was easy to spot. She looked almost exactly the same now. Beside her sat a man who had to be Aeron's father. The resemblance was striking. Aeron was right in the center, with two slightly older girls beside him.
“Your sisters?”
“Yes.”
Something twisted painfully inside me at the sight of the picture, at the easy smiles and closeness.
Losing Mom in fourth grade had opened the first wound in my heart, and Dad’s death had made that emptiness permanent.
Seeing Aeron’s family together intensified that ache.
It wasn’t jealousy exactly, more like longing for something I'd wanted but could never get back.
I pushed away the sting. “You have such a big family.”
Aeron looked at me for a long moment, as if he was piecing together all the things I couldn’t bring myself to say. “Sometimes, even a big family can make you feel lonely, Astrid.” He gathered the files and folders from the floor and stood up. “Let’s go. It's getting late.”
Aeron was already a mystery. But now, I wanted more. I wanted to peel back those careful layers one by one, until I understood exactly who really was.