Chapter 12
GUNTHER
Saturday morning. Seven AM. The plaza looks like a parade colliding with a craft fair.
I stand in front of our booth, our booth, because apparently that's my life now, holding a box of brochures while Colum directs a teenager with a balloon arch.
"Higher. Higher. Gunther, tell him higher."
"I think it's fine," I say.
"Fine is the enemy of memorable."
The kid adjusts the arch. One balloon pops. Colum doesn't flinch.
Cecie arrives pushing Orry's stroller, her apron already glittering in the early light. She's wearing a bandana printed with tiny lipstick tubes. Completely impractical. Somehow perfect.
"Morning," she says.
"Morning."
"Colum's already manic, I see."
"Been here since six."
"Of course he has." She parks the stroller. Orry's awake, gnawing a teething ring shaped like a calculator. I bought it yesterday. Cecie rolled her eyes but she let him keep it.
"Ready for this?" she asks.
"Absolutely not."
"Same."
We start setting up. Cecie arranges sample palettes on one side of the table. I organize pamphlets about tax-advantaged savings accounts on the other. The contrast is absurd. Glitter next to spreadsheets. But it works. Somehow it works.
"You brought Clarence," Cecie observes.
I glance at my vintage calculator sitting beside the brochures. Cracked screen and all. "For authenticity."
"Or because you're a nerd."
"That too."
She grins. Starts unpacking face paint. "Colum says we're supposed to do a demo at noon."
"What kind of demo?"
"I do someone's makeup. You. I don't know. Calculate something impressive."
"That's not how finance works."
"Make it work. You're the genius."
Orry babbles. Reaches for a palette. Cecie redirects him with a clean brush. He waves it like a wand.
"He's going to be covered in glitter by the end of today," I say.
"He was born covered in glitter. It's his natural state."
The plaza fills up fast. By nine the pathways are crowded with families, tourists, people I recognize from the coffee shop and the grocer. Colum's set up a small stage near the fountain. There's a banner that says Poplar Springs: Where Community Shines.
Subtle as a brick.
Our first visitor is Mrs. Lee from the herb shop. She peers at Orry with open delight.
"This the baby everyone's talking about?"
Cecie tenses. I feel it. "This is Orry."
"Gorgeous boy. Look at those eyes." Mrs. Lee leans in. "And that dimple. Just like his daddy."
Silence. Cecie's smile goes tight. I clear my throat.
"We're very proud," I say. Carefully.
"As you should be. It's wonderful. A modern family." She picks up a brochure. "Now tell me about these retirement accounts."
The next hour blurs. People stop. Ask questions. Compliment Orry. A few give us looks of curiosity, judgment, the usual mix, but most are genuinely warm. Cecie does a face-painting demo on a little girl who wants to be a butterfly. I help an older man calculate compound interest on a napkin.
Orry sits in his playpen between us, perfectly content.
"You're good with kids," Cecie murmurs during a lull.
"I've had practice."
"You've had a week."
"Fast learner."
She laughs. Quiet. The sound does something to my chest.
Colum appears at ten-thirty, megaphone in hand.
"Attention Poplar Springs. The parade starts in fifteen minutes. Line up at the north end. Floats. Costumes. Enthusiasm mandatory."
"We're not in the parade," Cecie says flatly.
"You absolutely are. I signed you up."
"Colum—"
"Third float. Right behind the fire brigade. You'll love it."
He vanishes before we can argue.
"I'm going to kill him," Cecie says.
"Get in line."
We abandon the booth. Colum's already stationed a volunteer to watch it. The float turns out to be a flatbed truck decorated with streamers and a hand-painted sign reading Sparkle Beauty & Fishborn Financial: Building Futures Together.
"I hate everything about this," Cecie mutters.
"It's very. Pink."
"He used my entire glitter stock."
Orry, however, is delighted. He claps when we lift him onto the float. I steady Cecie as she climbs up. Her hand grips mine longer than necessary.
The parade route winds through downtown. People line the streets. Waving. Cheering. A group of kids shouts for the fire truck. Another group shouts for us.
"Wave," Cecie hisses.
"I am waving."
"Wave like you mean it."
I wave harder. Orry mimics me, flapping both hands. The crowd loves it.
Cecie starts tossing sample lipsticks. They arc through the air, little tubes of glitter catching the sun. Someone catches one and shrieks with joy.
"You're a natural," I say.
"Shut up and smile."
I smile. She smiles. Orry beams between us, dimple on full display.
Cameras flash.
Colum jogs alongside the float, megaphone blaring. "That's right folks. Family values. Financial stability. Sparkle."
"I'm definitely killing him," Cecie says.
But she's laughing.
The demo at noon is somehow worse and better than expected.
Colum's built us a small stage. There's a chair for Cecie's makeover station. A table for my "financial corner." Orry's playpen sits between them, positioned for maximum visibility.
A crowd gathers. Easily fifty people.
"No pressure," Cecie mutters.
"None at all."
Colum introduces us with the energy of a game show host. "Cecie Newman, owner of Sparkle Beauty. Gunther Ridgeway, financial wizard. Together they're proving that family and business can mix beautifully. Let's see them in action."
Cecie's volunteer is a teenager who wants "something bold." Cecie works quickly, confidently, transforming the girl's face with sharp wings and jewel-toned shadow. She narrates as she goes, explaining techniques, recommending products.
She's magnetic. The crowd leans in.
I'm supposed to calculate something impressive.
I pull out Clarence. Set up a whiteboard. A man from the audience volunteers his salary and savings goals.
"Let's talk compound interest," I say.
It should be boring. Spreadsheets and percentages. But I make it a story. Show him the numbers. Chart the growth. Break down how small changes now create security later.
People actually nod along.
"You make math sexy," someone calls.
Cecie snorts.
Orry chooses that exact moment to grab a lipstick from Cecie's kit and wave it overhead like a trophy.
The crowd melts.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Colum announces. "The next generation of Poplar Springs excellence."
We finish to applause. Actual applause. Cecie looks stunned. I probably do too.
Afterward, people linger. Ask questions. A few want financial consultations. More want makeup tips. Several just want to coo at Orry.
One woman wearing a sharp suit, kind eyes, approaches while Cecie's packing up.
"I run the women's business network," she says. "We'd love to feature you both. Maybe a panel on work-life balance?"
Cecie blinks. "Me?"
"You're exactly the kind of story we want to highlight."
"I. I'll think about it."
The woman hands her a card. Moves on.
Cecie stares at the card like it might bite.
"You okay?" I ask.
"People keep being. Nice."
"Is that surprising?"
"Yes." She tucks the card in her apron. "I thought. I don't know. Judgment. Gossip. The usual small-town stuff."
"There's been some of that."
"But mostly just. Warmth."
"You're easy to be warm toward."
She looks at me. Really looks. "You too."
Orry fusses. Hungry. Cecie lifts him from the playpen, settles him on her hip. I hand her the prepared bottle from the cooler.
We've got this rhythm now. Unspoken coordination. She shifts, I adjust. I hold, she prepares. Simple logistics that feel like choreography.
"We're doing okay," she says quietly.
"Yeah," I say. "We are."
The afternoon winds down. Colum's hauled a local band onto the stage. Families sprawl on picnic blankets. Kids chase each other through the fountain spray.
Cecie and I sit on the edge of our booth's platform, Orry drowsing between us.
"Your tie's crooked," she says.
"Your bandana's slipping."
She adjusts it. I straighten my tie. We're both disasters. Covered in glitter, exhausted, riding the adrenaline crash.
"Thank you," Cecie says.
"For what?"
"Showing up. Being. Present. I know this wasn't easy."
"You showed up too."
"I didn't have a choice. You did."
"Cecie." I turn. Meet her eyes. "I want to be here."
"I know. But still. Thank you."
Orry stirs. Reaches for my glasses. I let him. He holds them up to his face, squinting. Cecie laughs.
"He's got your nerd gene."
"Could've had worse."
"Could've had my disaster gene."
"You're not a disaster."
"I'm a single mom who fell for a fake biker and opened a glitter shop."
"You're a business owner who made a brave choice and built something beautiful."
She goes quiet. Then. Soft. "You're very good at reframing."
"It's my job."
"It's more than that."
Colum appears, grinning like he's won the lottery. "Phenomenal. Absolutely phenomenal. Did you see the turnout? The engagement?"
"We saw," Cecie says.
"This is just the beginning. I'm thinking quarterly events. Maybe a family fun run. Ooh. A talent show."
"Colum—"
"Thank you both. Seriously. You made this." He claps my shoulder. Squeezes Cecie's hand. Jogs off toward the next crisis.
"He's exhausting," Cecie says.
"He's Colum."
The sun dips lower. Orange light paints the plaza. The band plays something slow. A few couples dance near the fountain.
Orry's fully asleep now. Cecie shifts him carefully, settling him in the stroller.
"We should pack up," she says.
"Probably."
Neither of us moves.
"Hey Gunther?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you opened the envelope."
"Me too."
She bumps my shoulder. Light. "Even though I'm a disaster?"
"Especially because you're a disaster."
She grins. Starts folding the table banner. I gather pamphlets. We work in comfortable silence, the plaza bustling around us, our tiny corner of it settling into something that feels like home.
Six months after the festival, I buy a ring.
Not buy, exactly. Make.