Chapter 16
“Just a smidge to the left!” I call up to Mason, who’s balancing on a ladder outside Miller’s Bakery, adjusting the last of the autumn garland that will guide festival-goers from the main grounds into the heart of downtown.
“This good?” he shouts back, sweat already beading on his forehead despite the crisp morning air.
“Perfect!” The transformation of Main Street is breathtaking—every storefront draped in orange and burgundy bunting, hay bales positioned as impromptu seating areas, and carved pumpkins lining the sidewalks all the way from the Town Green to the old covered bridge.
What started as a festival contained to the commons has spilled throughout Autumn Ridge like something from a storybook.
Mason climbs down, wiping his hands on his pants. “That’s the last of it. Town looks like a postcard.”
“Thanks for getting up early to help with this.” I hand him a coffee from the thermos Mom packed for me. “I know Luke’s got you guys busy enough without festival prep.”
“Are you kidding? This beats sitting around the station playing cards.” He grins, accepting the coffee gratefully, then squints at something in the distance. “Speaking of Luke—what the hell happened to his face? Looks like he went ten rounds with an oak tree.”
I follow his gaze to see Luke coordinating with the sound crew near the gazebo, a spectacular bruise blooming across his left jaw in shades of purple and yellow.
“Oh, that.” I try to keep my expression neutral. “What did he tell you?”
“Something about walking into a door in the dark.” Mason snorts. “And Sam’s got a matching shiner. Claims he fell off his motorcycle. In the same night. What are the odds?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Maybe they’re both just clumsy.”
“Uh-huh.” Mason takes a sip of coffee, studying me with knowing eyes. “‘’course, nothing says ‘bonding experience’ like matching bruises.”
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Derek’s name flashes on the screen, and I decline the call, clenching my jaw. Ever since his call ruined dinner last night, he’s been relentless. At least now my family knows the truth.
“Work trouble?” Mason asks, noticing my grimace.
“Something like that.” I shove the phone back into my jacket pocket. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Mason heads back to the fire station, and I continue my rounds through town.
The festival has transformed Autumn Ridge into something magical—vendor booths line the Town Green where families are already setting up for the day, the corn maze towers behind the elementary school, and the famous pumpkin patch stretches across Miller’s back field like an orange carpet.
Food trucks cluster near the covered bridge, their generators humming to life, while the scent of apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts already drifts through the cold air.
“Looking good out here.” Sam’s voice makes me jump, and I turn to find him approaching with two steaming coffee cups from the shop. A spectacular bruise decorates his left cheekbone in brilliant shades of purple and blue.
“Thanks.” I accept the coffee gratefully, wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic. “I think we’re actually ready. The vendors start arriving at noon, entertainment check-in is at three, and we open the gates at six.”
“Mom’s been stress-baking since five this morning,” Sam says with a grin. “I think she’s made enough apple turnovers to feed half of Vermont.”
“How’s the eye feeling?” I ask, nodding toward his bruise.
“Like I got kicked by a mule.” Sam gingerly touches his cheek. “Mrs. Thompson asked if I was in a bar fight. Told her I tripped over Scout and hit the coffee table.”
“And she believed that?”
“Hell no. She suggested I get my vision checked.” Sam grins despite himself. “What story is Luke going with?”
“Mason said something about walking into a door.”
“Amateur. I’ve already told three different people three different stories. Mrs. Miller thinks I was attacked by a raccoon, Jake from the hardware store believes I fell off my motorcycle, and Sophie thinks I had an allergic reaction to something Mom cooked.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m creative,” Sam corrects. “Though I think people are starting to notice that Luke and I both look like we went through a meat grinder on the same night.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance at it quickly, then shove it back without answering.
“Popular this morning,” Sam observes casually.
“Just scam callers,” I lie easily.
We spend the next hour doing final checks—testing the sound system near the gazebo, making sure the craft booth tables are level along Main Street, confirming the hay ride route is clear from the elementary school to the covered bridge and back.
Luke joins us, and working alongside him and Sam feels natural, though their matching bruises are drawing curious stares from every volunteer who passes by.
“Sophie’s got the photo booth set up by the library with props,” Luke says, checking items off his clipboard while trying to angle his face away from a group of elderly women who keep pointing and whispering. “And Molly’s art display looks incredible in the park pavilion.”
“The apple bobbing station needs more towels,” I add, watching a group of volunteers arrange the wooden barrels near the fountain.
“I’ll grab some from the fire station,” Sam offers, then pauses as Declan approaches with a concerned expression.
“Jesus, Sam, what happened to your face?” Declan asks, taking in the spectacular bruise. “And Luke—you look like you got hit by a truck.”
“Funny story,” Luke says smoothly. “I was chasing a raccoon out of my cabin last night and ran straight into a low-hanging branch.”
“At the same time Sam fell off his motorcycle,” Declan says skeptically.
“It was a very eventful evening for both of us,” Sam says solemnly. “Completely unrelated incidents.”
Declan looks between them, then at me, clearly not buying a word of it. “Right. Well, try not to run into any more trees before the festival starts. You’re scaring the tourists.”
After Declan leaves, shaking his head in disbelief, I can’t help but grin. “You two are going to have to get your stories straight if you want anyone to believe you.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Sam asks. “I’m thinking of telling the next person I got mauled by a particularly aggressive turkey.”
“Make it a wild boar,” Luke suggests. “More believable.”
I shake my head, amused. “You two are ridiculous.”
By the time I head home to shower and change, the morning mist has burned off and the day promises to be perfect festival weather. I’m pulling into my parents’ driveway when the perfect morning crashes to a halt.
I notice the sleek black sedan parked across the street. It looks like a rental, expensive and out of place among the sensible SUVs and pickup trucks that populate this neighborhood. I’ve just gotten out of the car when a familiar figure emerges from the driver’s side of the sedan.
My blood curdles.
Derek.
He’s dressed in what he probably considers “casual”—pressed khakis, a polo shirt, and leather loafers that probably cost more than most people’s rent.
His dark hair is perfectly styled despite the supposed cross-country drive, and his smile is the same practiced charm he uses in board meetings.
The sight of him here, in this place that’s become my sanctuary, makes my skin crawl.
“Hazel!” He calls out, striding across the street like he owns it. “Finally. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”
All the warmth from this morning crystallizes into cold, hard anger. I slam my car door and face him, my jaw already clenched. “What are you doing here, Derek?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?” He gestures broadly, his smile faltering slightly. “I came to bring you home. You hung up on me last night, so I had to fly here myself. This little tantrum of yours has gone on long enough.”
The passenger door of his car opens, and my stomach plummets further.
Jessica steps out, all flowing blonde hair and innocent doe eyes, wearing a white sundress that makes her look like she stepped out of a country music video.
She gives me a little wave, her expression perfectly calibrated to look concerned and sympathetic.
“Hi, Hazel,” she says in that soft, breathy voice that makes men trip over themselves to help her. “I hope you don’t mind that I came. Derek was so worried about you.”
I look between them, incredulous. “You brought her with you? To what—gang up on me?”
Derek’s expression hardens. “I brought Jessica because she understands how important this is. She knows what’s at stake.”
“What’s at stake?” I cross my arms, feeling my temper rise.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Derek takes a step closer, and I notice the tension around his eyes, the way his jaw is tight with barely controlled anger. “This is about us. About fixing what went wrong.”
“Nothing went wrong, Derek. You showed your true colors, and I finally saw them clearly.”
His fake concern evaporates entirely, replaced by the cold calculation I know all too well. “Look, I don’t have time for this back-and-forth. You’re coming with me.” He reaches for my hand. “We have a flight to catch.”
I jerk my arm away from his grasp, fury blazing through me. The sound of children laughing in a nearby yard, the distant hum of festival preparations, the autumn leaves drifting down around us—all of it makes his presence here feel like a contamination. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” he snaps, his mask slipping completely. “You’re acting like a child, Hazel. It’s time to grow up and come home.”
“This is my home.”
Derek laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “This?” He gestures dismissively at the quiet street, the old houses, the maple trees dropping their golden leaves. “This is nowhere. You’re better than this place.”
“No,” I say quietly, “I’m better than you.”