Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
MARC
I’d helped build things before. The farmhouse, mostly—the walls, the floor, and the kitchen I’d redesigned three times before I got it right, each version slightly better than the last. I understood the satisfaction of standing in front of something finished and knowing your hands had been part of making it.
This was different, but the same feeling lived inside it.
We’d pulled the Ruby River Animal Shelter, “Fur a Good Paws Fair,” together in only eight days, and I hoped it was enough to get the attention of the grant committee.
The Ruby River Commons had been transformed practically overnight—not by just me or my family—but by the town.
By the collective energy of a community that had decided the animal shelter mattered.
They’d shown up with tables, string lights, extension cords, opinions about where the band should be set up, and whether the animals’ pens needed more shade.
The answer to the shade question was “yes,” and it was already being handled.
Grace created a marketing plan. Glamma called in favors.
My parents and Ellie contracted local vendors to sell, and most were donating a portion of their sales.
My brothers handled permits, music, raffle donations, and probably a whole host of things I was forgetting.
Delaney had made calls this week and helped set up the space for today.
Ruby River had done the rest, the way it always did when one of its own needed it.
It was done cheerfully—for the most part—and with fifty percent more opinions than were necessary.
I stood at the edge of the Commons at eight in the morning, watching the fair come together and felt something I didn’t have an immediate word for.
Not relief—the grant call hadn’t happened yet, and it might not have the positive outcome we needed.
Yet I was feeling better about the entire situation either way.
It wasn’t pride exactly, although that was there.
It was joy and happiness. And oddly, enough evidence.
Evidence that everything that I’d been fighting for was going to happen.
That it had always been the future, waiting to happen.
That Theo’s five years of relentless work, my name on a grant application that had made it further than any of the others we applied for, and a yoga class of animals with no concept of professional composure had been, all along, pointing toward this exact moment.
Delaney appeared at my elbow with two coffees and the keyed-up energy of someone who had been awake since five a.m. She handed me mine without looking at me, already tracking three things simultaneously—the vendor set up on the left, an animal pen situation on the right, and whatever Grace was doing with the sound system that had just produced a God-awful sound that required investigation.
“How do you think it’s looking?” she asked.
I slipped my arm around her waist. “Like something great we built together.”
She smiled at me and cuddled in closer, her head finding that spot that felt like it was made just for her. We had maybe two minutes before we both had to run off to take care of our various responsibilities.
By ten o’clock, the Commons was full in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
The social media push that Grace had engineered over the past week had reached beyond our town limits—there were cars in the parking lot with out-of-state plates belonging to people who had driven an hour or more because they had seen something online and wanted to be a part of it.
Theo moved through the crowd with an expression I recognized—gratitude and hope in equal measures, neither one quite winning. I understood it completely.
The vendor tables lined the perimeter—local businesses and artisans.
Ellie had gotten most to say “yes” with a few phone calls and spades of her considerable charm.
Alice and Maddox had called on their food truck friends, and the vehicles were all positioned at the north entrance with lines that had been building for two hours.
Maddox had left his cousin managing traffic and working the crowd when things got bottlenecked, and needed to be sorted out.
The animals’ pens were right in the center of everything, exactly where Theo had designed them to be.
He’d set it up like he could see three steps ahead—pathways that flowed naturally, sight lines from multiple angles, the shelter volunteers stationed to facilitate introductions, and enough room for the animals to move around.
Noble was already holding court near the fence, launching himself toward anyone who came close enough, with enthusiasm and butt shaking.
A family crouched in front of him, their kid gripping both of his ears and telling him something with intense seriousness.
Noble held perfectly still and listened as though it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.
I snapped a picture and sent it to Grace. She’d have it posted on our social media platforms before I could lock my phone. She was a big reason why we had so many people in attendance today.
To the right, the yoga demonstration had drawn a small crowd. Mats were arranged in a wide semi-circle, and Cheryl stood at the center, grounded and steady, her movements unhurried as she guided the group into position.
Delaney moved through the space, adjusting a shoulder here, nudging a stance there, checking posture, and offering quiet encouragement that made people stand taller.
She and Cheryl had a running commentary that kept earning laughs from the group.
They worked well together with the efficiency of two people who had developed a shorthand and instinctively knew what the other needed.
The current class just finished wrapping up when Delaney caught Cheryl’s eye.
They stepped close, speaking in low tones, and I watched Delaney gesture at their makeshift space.
Whatever she said next made Cheryl go still for half a second before her face lit up.
She wiped tears from her face as Delaney hugged her.
Cheryl had made her final decision. They both had.
I checked my phone out of habit. Still nothing from the grant committee. Not surprising since it was Saturday—I hadn’t expected anything today, but the checking was involuntary at this point.
I looked back up, and my attention shifted to the pen. The damn gate was open.
Chaos stood inside, staring straight at me. Calculating and offended. He was angry that he was being penned up like a common pet.
I took a cautious step forward. He leapt instantly, angling himself closer to the opening. I stopped. He froze. We held eye contact across the distance, both of us pretending he wasn’t about to make a very bad decision.
Then I tried to inch forward again, which was clearly my mistake.
The devilish gleam in his eyes exuded pure confidence as he lowered his head and took off running, shooting through the gap like he’d been waiting his entire life for that moment, hooves hitting the ground in rapid-fire succession as he made a break for it.
“Shit—Chaos!”
He veered left, straight into the vendor row, locking onto Alice’s food truck as a point of interest, and attempted to access it. He made a bold attempt to enter her side door before Alice popped her head out the window and clapped her hands sharply. “Absolutely not. Not today,” she snapped.
Chaos let out an indignant “baaaah” and pivoted.
I took off after him.
He darted through the artisan market section, skidding slightly as he zeroed in on the Lewis twins’ display of handmade scarves. Before either of them could react, he snagged three pieces in his teeth and yanked them free like he was curating his own collection.
“I’ll pay for them,” I called over my shoulder, not slowing down.
“You better!” One of them yelled back.
Theo came in from the right, timing his move perfectly, and had just about intercepted him too, if Chaos hadn’t swerved at the last second and gone right through his legs.
Theo stumbled. Chaos did not.
And then—of course—he found the yoga demonstration.
Which was likely his original destination since it brought him to Delaney.
Cheryl was mid-flow, one arm lifted as she guided the group through a transition, when Chaos trotted into the center of it wearing two of the three scarves, and with what I could only describe as supreme confidence, as he pranced around and shook his head.
He moved through the space like he belonged there, stepping over mats, hopping lightly when someone got in his way, and headbutting a guy who’d bent forward at the exact wrong moment.
The entire class froze.
Cheryl did not. “Okay,” she said calmly, like this was all part of the lesson. “We are going to acknowledge the goat and return to our breathwork.”
Delaney had both hands pressed to her mouth, laughter barely contained, her shoulder shaking as she tried—and failed—to maintain any kind of authority.
Chaos exited on the far side, mission apparently complete, and reentered the main crowd like a conquering hero.
Two toddlers spotted him right away. “Doggy!”
Chaos accepted their overt affection with surprising grace, soaking up the attention for a full three seconds before his head lifted.
He stopped, gaze locked with that annoying lift of his lips like he was actually smirking at me. The little jerk. I stood near the donation table, refusing to take my eyes off the escape artist. Refusing to make a move and provoke him.
With a little hop-strut, he crossed the Commons toward me. I stayed where I was, waiting to see what he’d do next.
He closed the distance without breaking eye contact, stopping directly in front of me. For a second, neither of us moved. Then he tipped his head forward and gently nudged my knee.