Chapter 34
Evie
It was hot and sticky, but Vincent was enthralled by the sights and sounds of the Founder’s Festival. The event, part small-town fair, part historical reenactment, and part wild summer party, was set up on the village green and down Main Street.
It was our town’s largest summer event, typically filled with tourists and locals alike.
Mainly because of the historical bent. The Revolutionary War reenactors were in their glory, the elementary school was putting on the annual summer production of Love Never Falls, directed by Bitsy Bramble, and the vendors were selling Cora and Nathaniel–themed merch, including mugs, signature cocktails, and dish towels.
The smell of maple kettle corn and fried dough permeated the air as kids ran wild, faces painted and hopped up on maple candy and snow cones.
“My nieces are here somewhere,” Jasper said, “They really want to take Vincent on the carousel.”
Hand in hand, we walked toward the gazebo, where the band was warming up.
“And Opal’s doing a pop-up with Nate and Reed,” he went on. “Told them I’d stop by and say hello.”
The line of tourists waiting to take selfies in front of the Welcome to Maplewood sign was promising. The preceding weeks had been full of hand-wringing and stress about tourism revenue, but this place was packed.
My heart warmed as I took Jasper in. Vincent was once again strapped to his chest, and the man wouldn’t even let me carry the diaper backpack.
As he waved and smiled at everyone we passed, one muscled, tattooed arm wrapped around our son, he was the picture-perfect dad.
And when he stopped to speak to people, gently swaying to keep Vincent happy, I nearly melted.
He was gorgeous and so damn sweet. Always.
Going out like this, at an event catered to families, would have alarmed me even a month ago. Now it felt right. Comforting. This was our community. Vincent would grow up coming to the festival summer after summer.
I’d been fighting this. The domestic ease. The pull of Jasper’s steadiness. But surrounded by laughter, music and sunshine, the last vestiges of that urge faded.
Just inside the beer tent, Frankie waved at us, so we pivoted and headed that way. Basil and Etienne were there too, along with Gabe, who looked particularly mayorly in his wayfarers, and Josh, who immediately jumped up to greet us.
“Evie,” he teased, “I can’t believe you got my little brother to trade in his turnout gear for a diaper bag.”
Jasper stuck his tongue out. “I’m on shift later, so we’re soaking up all the fun now. I’ll get a couple of lemonades,” he said, kissing my forehead. With practiced ease, he unclipped the baby carrier and passed Vincent to me. “Wait here.” With that, he wandered off, Josh at his side.
I sank into an empty seat, and as I sighed, thankful for the shade, I found Frankie, Basil, and Etienne staring at me.
“He did it,” Basil said. “The firefighter made a move.”
My face burned.
“We need details. But”—he looked at his watch—“we’ve got to get back to our booth. Break’s over. Tonight. Bonfire. You’re gonna tell us everything.”
I crossed my arms. “Only if you promise not to make it weird.”
He scoffed. “Darling, you know me better than that. Gotta go. The Brie does not sell itself,” he declared, looping his arm through his husband’s and wandering toward their booth.
No more than twenty feet from us, Louisa stood. She was impeccably dressed in white linen and heels that managed to not sink into the grass while she chatted with Simon Hatch, who ran the chamber of commerce.
“What is she doing here?” Nora sneered as she plopped down next to me.
“Sugar Moon is a major sponsor of this event,” I explained, trying to keep the irritation from my voice.
I felt for Louisa. Maplewood had adopted me the moment I’d moved here. No matter how hard I tried, I hadn’t been able to escape the warm embrace of this town. Louisa had not been so lucky.
“Maybe she’s trying to look innocent,” Frankie scoffed.
Standing, I shot her a glare.
Wincing, she mouthed, “Sorry.”
With a shake of my head, I wandered toward my boss.
Although she looked out of place among the sticky-fingered kids and men in beer logo tees, Louisa’s face lit up when she saw me. “Evie,” she said as I approached, her tone measured but friendly. “I didn’t expect to find you amid the chaos.”
I bounced Vincent on my hip. “Baby’s first festival.”
“He’s beautiful,” she gushed, squeezing his little foot. “Congratulations.” Her face softened as she took him in, the cool detachment gone.
She took a step to the side, closer to another table, and picked up a paper plate weighed down by a hunk of powdered sugar–covered fried dough. The kind that left greasy fingerprints on everything it touched. “Don’t tell anyone,” she teased, “but I’ve waited all year for this.”
“You eat fried dough?” The question came out a little too loud and a little too disbelieving.
“Once a year,” she replied dryly. “I consider it character building.”
I chuckled. “I think that makes you an honorary local.”
She shook her head. “Hardly. But it’s a beautiful day to indulge. Enjoy the festival.”
At her parting words, I headed back toward our table. Jasper had returned with lemonades and the group was talking about the events planned for the day.
“The Maple Street Mafia is in charge of the dunk tank this year,” Nora explained, “I took a photo of the posted schedule.” She slid her phone across the table, and Frankie jumped to her feet.
“Gotta go.” She reached into the pocket of her jean shorts and pulled out a wad of cash. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”
As she stalked off, Nora shook her head. “I hope she doesn’t get arrested.”
We followed along, Jasper joining us, to enjoy the show over at the dunk tank.
The elderly ladies had taken this from an afterthought to the highlight of the Founder’s Festival, and all the money raised went toward funding after-school programs. They had filed a motion at a town meeting last winter to include it in the Maple Festival, but the hypothermia risk was too high in April around here.
Every major town figure took a turn, and as we approached we discovered why Frankie was so excited.
Sitting on the platform, in full uniform and a pair of aviator sunglasses that were frankly a little too sexy, was Police Chief Nolan Foster.
Jasper squeezed my hand as Frankie rolled her shoulders, a dangerous glint in her eye.
“Does she have a good arm?” he asked.
“She has a good everything when hurting Nolan is involved,” Nora said, navigating to her phone’s camera so she could capture this on video.
Her hatred of our police chief was legendary.
And that sentiment was mutual. Straitlaced Nolan, who was nothing but kind and helpful to the rest of us, could barely tolerate her.
No one spoke of how this happened or why, but the whole town understood how dangerous it was for the two to be in the same room.
“Sure you can see the target from down there, Dunne?” he taunted, crossing his muscular arms.
Nolan was the size of an oak tree, and Frankie was tiny. Not that her size had ever stopped her from doing what she wanted.
“Want it lowered to the child height?” he asked.
Frankie tossed the ball up and caught it, smiling sweetly. “Save your pity, Foster. I’ve been hitting jerks my whole life.”
She missed her first shot, earning a chorus of groans.
Nolan chuckled, only fueling Frankie more.
She rolled her shoulders, then shook out her arms. “I forgot to adjust for the size of your ego.”
Her next throw hit the mark, and Nolan plunged into the water. The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering as Frankie blew kisses and posed for photos.
Nolan climbed back up, dripping but still smirking, readjusting his sunglasses. “That all you’ve got? Grandma Olive throws harder.”
Olive, who was collecting money for the dunk tank, turned to Frankie. “Soak him, dear. You get an extra throw for free.”
She held out two more balls to my friend.
“I’m just getting started.” Frankie wound up and hit the target square on. “Consider this community service.” As Nolan went down, she yelled, “The badge doesn’t make you waterproof.”
He stood up and shook his hair out like a guy in a cologne commercial. “Still not afraid of you, Dunne.”
“You should be,” she hissed. “I’ve got a pocketful of dollar bills and a heart full of rage.”
The second he was settled on the platform, she hit the target again, sending him plunging in for a third time.
While the crowd was laughing and taking photos, the two of them glared at each other, tension sparking between them. Whatever history they shared, it was a hell of a lot more than just gossip.
Eventually, Jasper and I met up with his family and stuffed ourselves with junk food.
I’d been attending town festivals since I moved to Maplewood, since as a citizen, it was required, but I’d never had quite this much fun.
And I’d never chatted with so many people or stayed for so long.
I’d been content here for two years, but only now did I really feel like I belonged.
Vincent loved the carousel, and I snapped photos of him in Jasper’s arms. They were sitting atop a sparkly pink horse, in one of the fancy seats, and my sweet boy was smiling with his cousins.
In the last four months, I’d taken an embarrassing number of photos. I had basically become a paparazzo.
After the carousel, we sat at the back of the audience, watching the pie eating competition while I fed Vincent. He conked out in his stroller immediately after, and we wandered toward the gazebo, where the live music was set up.
As we listened, Jasper tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear and moved in close.
“He’s got your smile,” he said. “I’ve thought it for a while, but these seven hundred photos confirm it.”
“Poor kid,” I replied.
With a shake of his head, he kissed me, then draped his arm around my shoulder. While we watched the band, I waved to Callie, who was standing with Josh and Jess, scanning the crowd, probably looking for her twins, who very well could have run off and hijacked a parade float by now.
It hit me then, how many of my friends were here. How this place had really become my home.
And I was happy. Ridiculously so. The kind of happy that puts down roots in a person’s bones and blossoms.
With Jasper at my side, our baby asleep in his stroller in front of me, and a mild evening summer breeze wafting over us, I was at peace.
My mind wandered, so between that and the noise of the band, I didn’t hear the sirens or notice the uniformed officers walking across the green until Chief Nolan Foster strode toward us in a clean, dry uniform, his hand on his gun at his hip and wearing a grim look on his face.
My breath caught and my mind whirled with confusion as he stopped in front of Louisa, who was standing with Marigold Shaw and Bitsy Bramble, a cloth tote bursting at the seams with purchases hanging from her arm.
From here, I couldn’t make out his words or see what was printed on the paper he showed her, but the way she stiffened was obvious.
Once I confirmed that Jasper had a hand on Vincent’s stroller, I strode toward them, my heart rate picking up.
“Nolan,” she said, her tone sharp, “this is an overreach.”
As he took her by the elbow, the murmur of the crowd became a buzz, then a roar. People all over had pulled their phones out and were recording the encounter.
With dread growing in my stomach, I moved closer, but quickly, a hand grasped my elbow, stopping me.
I whirled around, finding Jasper, along with the stroller. He pulled me behind him, then stepped in front of Vincent, instinctively protecting us.
Just as I opened my mouth to shout, to demand to know what was going on, Vincent cried out.
Heart lurching, I scooped him up, shushing him. The sirens and crowd noise must have woken him.
When I turned back, Louisa, icy and composed as always, was being led into a waiting police cruiser.
I gasped. “Are they arresting her?”
Josh, who’d suddenly appeared at his brother’s side, tapped furiously at his phone’s screen. “I’m texting Gabe. What the hell could she have done?”