Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
BELLA
A few days after Jackson’s horrible news, daily life has settled into something shy of pure bliss. We’ve managed to store Artie’s unsavory revelation somewhere in the background as we resume our honeymoon status. I’m certain Ethel has noticed that we spend breakfast each morning grinning at each other, but if she suspects anything, she doesn’t let on.
But it’s hard not to spend every possible second with Jackson, now that we’ve broken the dam. When he’s not making music or going for a run, I’m at his side. We send each other off with a kiss each morning, and check in with meaningful, sincere texts through the day when we’re apart.
When it comes time to head back to the municipal office with my updated proposal, Jackson is at my side, squeezing my shoulders, cheering me on. As soon as we cross the threshold into the office, Lucy bolts upright, stars practically shooting from her eyes.
“Hello there!” she says brightly, almost psychotically. I certainly didn’t get this level of enthusiasm when I came in by myself.
“Hey there.” Jackson’s voice is as smooth as butter. He takes his sunglasses off slowly, grinning at Lucy an extra second or two. He’s really working the charm, and the way her cheeks light up tell me it’s having its intended effect. “Lucy, right?”
“Yes! That’s me.” She laughs, pressing a hand to her chest as she floats from her desk to the counter. “So good to see you, Jackson! What brings you back to Fork Lick?”
Jackson struts up to the counter, his leather jacket crinkling as he leans against the surface. I almost want to let him handle this whole thing, based on the effect he’s having on Lucy.
“Did you hear? My big sister Colleen had twins.” His cool smile almost makes me giggle.
“That’s amazing! Congratulations!” Lucy turns to her brunette counterpart, who is still parked at her desk but watching everything closely. “Did you hear? Colleen Bedd just had twins!”
“Oh, I heard,” the brunette says with a quick smile. “So happy for your family.”
“I heard already too,” Lucy admits in a lower voice, “in fact I’m pretty sure everyone in Fork Lick knows by now.”
“I figured,” Jackson says. I open my mouth to slide into the conversation, but Lucy takes a hard detour. I roll my lips inward as I listen to her chatter about recent developments in town, followed by incessant gushing about his music, and then finally, a request for pictures. Jackson withstands about twenty selfies before I realize we’ve been standing here for over fifteen minutes.
Jackson must be able to sense my desire to get this show on the road, because he says, “Lucy, you know, I’m here with Bella today because we need to talk to Frank and Tall Paul about this thing we’re planning.”
I narrow my eyes. “Tall Paul?”
“He’s on a trivia team, that’s what he goes by,” Jackson informs me quietly.
Lucy’s eyes widen. “That’s right. You know, I’ve been talking to my uncle, trying to explain to him why this event is so necessary?—”
“That’s so sweet of you, Lucy. You didn’t have to do that,” Jackson murmurs, touching his chest.
“I believe in what you’re trying to do.” Lucy’s face looks so sincere I almost laugh.
“Whenever you get a moment to bring Paul and Frank out,” I pipe up, the sound of my own voice strange after being lost in their gush-a-thon for so long, “I’d love to show them the updated plans.”
Lucy nods at me, as though noticing me for the first time. “Absolutely. One second.”
She scampers into the back room. Jackson remains in his cool guy leaning posture, winking my way. A few moments later, Lucy comes out from the back hallway, with Paul and Frank in tow. She quietly resumes her position at her desk while Frank and Paul lumber our way.
“Been awhile since a Bedd’s been in to see us,” Paul says, sounding almost jovial.
“Just wanted to remind you all that we’re still here.”
A gruff noise emerges, something like a laugh, before Frank interjects. “So has there been an update?”
“Yes! I have the updated proposal here, along with what I sent to both your emails.” I open the folder I brought, and slide a copy of the proposal to each of them. One can never be too prepared or submit the same material in too many formats. “I understand your concerns about the head count, but I want you to know that I’ve spent the last week and a half collecting signatures from local businesses and residents attesting to their desire to see an event like this come through.”
Paul and Frank seem unfazed as they flip through the paperwork.
“Three hundred signatures,” I go on. “Which to me seems like a good portion of voters who would love to see a festival like this take place.”
“A petition doesn’t override government,” Frank grumbles.
“Now, with regard to the noise ordinance,” I press on, unwilling to let his attitude shake me, “I’m proposing that we alter the festival start and end time. The headlining act—which will be Jackson here—has agreed to stop performing at six p.m. on the dot. There won’t be any amplification issues after that time.”
Frank clears his throat but says nothing. Paul’s eyes have glazed over.
“The volume of bodies and traffic is still the main issue,” Frank says, pushing the packet back my way. I can tell he’s getting ready to dismiss me again, but Jackson steps in before I have a chance to.
“Frank, you know as well as I do that Fork Lick needs something like this.”
“Not at the expense of Fork Licker safety,” he says gruffly.
“This festival is first and foremost to save the family farm,” Jackson says. “You know that right? I’m sure everyone in this room is aware of the debt my grandad left behind, with the way news travels here. We’re trying to get Gran set up for a safe and comfortable retirement, because she deserves that. And the best way I know how to get people here is to play music. But that won’t just benefit my family. It’s going to benefit every entrepreneurial family in this entire county. That’s not nothing, Frank.”
“I understand the economic benefits,” he says, starting to back away from the counter, “but with the current layout of downtown and the arrangement of egress points, a festival of this size poses a threat, pure and simple. We don’t have the public safety manpower to manage that kind of crowd.”
Jackson deflates, but only briefly. “Fine. But what if I promise you to keep the head count in check? You can trust me. You’ve known me forever, Frank. Come on.”
Frank huffs, peering over his bifocals at Jackson. “I do know you, son. And I know you promised me you hadn’t toilet papered my house your junior year of high school, but I caught you on video red-handed. Your promises don’t mean much. Now I’d like to see this festival happen, but I just don’t think it’s going to work. Sorry.”
He turns and heads back into this office, Paul close behind. We say a quick goodbye to Lucy and the other receptionist before heading out into the early May afternoon. Spring is springing, and when the sunlight hits it almost feels like summer.
“Fuck,” Jackson says once we’ve walked a few paces away. “I really didn’t think he’d throw that in my face after all these years.”
“The joys of coming from a small town,” I tell him.
He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “Hey, you hungry? Maybe we can go brainstorm while we eat.”
We head to Lick Your Fork, which is just across the street. Instead of the back patio, we opt for a booth in the middle of the chaos. Sometimes Fork Lick seems like an abandoned town if you’re just walking through, but this diner is always hopping, at all hours of the day. Once we’ve been served waters and ordered our food, Jackson leans forward conspiratorially.
“What if we host the festival at the farm?” His brows arch, and I get lost in the amber flecks of his eyes as the idea sinks into me.
“Bedd Fellows?”
“Yeah. We’ve got tons of acres. Like, five hundred. You’ve been living there—you know how enormous it is. Don’t you think some part of it might work for a festival like this?”
I turn the idea over in my head. My vision had always included the quaint downtown of Fork Lick, not barns and soybean fields and tractor equipment. I wanted boho backdrops along the brick buildings of downtown, classic Main Street vibes.
But after so much resistance from Frank, I don’t know if that vision will ever become a reality.
Maybe Jackson is right. It might be time to shift to a new vision.
“My brothers and I could build the stage,” Jackson goes on. “That way, we can make sure the land is protected. I know Ethan especially will pitch a fit about that. And to make sure my Grandad doesn’t turn over in his grave.”
The more he talks, the more I grin. While it wasn’t my original vision, I do love the idea. This has Woodstock vibes all over it…and I like that direction a lot . Possibly even more than my original plan.
“I think this sounds wonderful,” I tell him. “As long as your family agrees. But I have a sneaking suspicion they will. Plus, it seems like a nice chance for you and your brothers to come together on something. And for them to learn more about you.”
Jackson eyes me, twirling his napkin-wrapped silverware on its end. “I suppose. I’m touched you even care about our relationship.”
“You might even go as far as telling them more about the deal you signed,” I suggest. His face darkens, and I hurry to add more, even though the idea just leapt out of my mouth. “I only say that because it seems like something major that they don’t understand about you.”
“Why do they need to?” Jackson asks.
“Because telling the truth about it might set you free.”
It sounds cliché, but it could be the most solid path forward for him. I can’t help but think about his predicament and imagine ways for him to escape it. I can’t even say how he’d be set free from it this way, but he might find out if he explored it a little more.
“And just imagine, if you told the world about it, you might be able to mobilize your fan base,” I go on. Maybe this is a little idealistic, but it’s making sense in my head. “They love you. They’re so protective of you. If anyone has a shot at scaring your label into walking something back, it’s your fans.”
Jackson doesn’t look convinced. And I think I know why. Because my suggestion is based on him admitting something shameful, and who wants to do that?
Our food arrives—a southwest bean wrap for Jackson, and a chicken Caesar salad for me—and we dig in, our previous conversation fading away.
As we munch on our food and share sweet smiles, I realize something unsettling.
Everything feels perfect.
Despite the uncertainty of the festival and the shitshow of Jackson’s deal…there’s something steady and warm between us that exists beyond the stress and the anxiety.
I don’t know how I ended up in Fork Lick sharing lunch with Jackson Bedd, but I’m too scared to question it.
I don’t want this to go away.
But I know better than anyone that this sweet union between us has a ticking clock attached to it. Once the Strawberry Jam happens, all the sweetness we found here in Fork Lick will only live on as memories.
My promotion and the next chapter of my life far away from LA and Fork Lick will make sure of that.