Chapter 10
Mitch
Valley Fair is one of the biggest weekends in Holland Valley.
Every summer, the whole town transforms for it.
Tourists roll in with campers, locals drag out lawn chairs and coolers, and the streets smell like kettle corn and funnel cake.
There’s live music every night, vendor tents lining Main Street, and families everywhere—kids with snow cones, teenagers hanging off the Ferris wheel, couples walking hand in hand down by the water.
But what makes our fair different from every other one around is the lake that’s at the center of it all.
They shoot fireworks off the dock, play lake games—like water polo and water blob—run boat races, and there’s the Marco Polo contest.
It’s chaotic. It’s hot. It’s home.
And this weekend, it feels bigger than ever.
“Mace, where you want this?” Brad calls, carrying a box like he’s done her the biggest favor in the world.
“Just on the table— Careful, it’s—”
He drops it with a thud.
“—glass,” she finishes flatly.
Brad flinches. “Oh. My bad.”
Macy lets out a slow breath, crouching to open the box. “You’ve got the listening skills of a toddler.”
“Hey, I got it over here, didn’t I?” He kneels beside her, peeling back the tape. “Hopefully in one piece.”
“Keyword: hopefully.” She checks the contents while he leans over her shoulder like he’s supervising. “You’re lucky nothing broke.”
“Because I’m good under pressure.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t throw something at you.”
Callie tries not to laugh as she arranges an assortment of amber-colored jars on the next table.
“Hey,” Brad says, lifting one of the glass jars. “See? Still perfect.”
“That’s because God protects idiots,” Macy mutters, grabbing it from him before he can test his luck again.
Brad just grins, proud of himself. “Guess I’m His favorite, then.”
“Keep talking and I’ll test that theory.”
He laughs and moves to grab another box, whistling like nothing ever happened. Callie shakes her head, smiling to herself. Chaos, both of them.
By noon, the fair’s in full swing.
The sun’s high, the air smells like hot dogs and barbecue smoke, and every square inch of Main Street is packed.
Vendors line both sides—lemonade stands, handmade jewelry, local honey, wood signs that say things like Gather and Bless This Mess.
The sound of a live band drifts down from the lakefront stage, country twang mixing with laughter and the hum of the crowd.
I already helped Macy finish setting up her table—her scrubs and body lotions lined neatly beside the candle booth—and then she shooed me off, insisting she had it handled.
Brad hung around her booth anyway—“just to make sure nothing breaks”—which I’m 99 percent sure was an excuse to bug her more.
She glared at me and I tugged him along, whether he liked it or not.
Now him and I are walking the main stretch, both of us weaving through the crowd, scanning faces for Luke and Maddie.
“Man, it’s hotter than last year,” Brad mutters, pulling at the collar of his T-shirt. “I swear I’m melting.”
“Should’ve worn something other than black,” I say, sipping from a plastic cup of lemonade.
He snorts. “Black’s slimming.”
“Yeah, that’s your biggest problem,” I say dryly.
We cut around a group of kids chasing each other with plastic water guns. I spot Luke first—standing by the ring toss booth, arms crossed, expression tight. Maddie’s beside him, clearly annoyed, her arms folded and her ponytail whipping as she turns to walk away.
“Uh-oh,” Brad says. “Trouble in paradise.”
“Again.”
Maddie spots something across the way and makes a beeline for it, muttering something under her breath as she goes. Luke sighs when we reach him, still watching her disappear into the crowd.
“What’d you do?” Brad asks, half teasing, half genuinely curious.
Luke drags a hand down his face. “Apparently, I fell asleep too early last night.”
Brad snorts. “The crime of the century.”
“I told her I was tired,” Luke says, defensive. “We were watching a movie, and the next thing I know, I’m on her couch by myself and it’s morning. You’d think I cheated on her the way she’s acting.”
“Eh, she’ll get over it,” Brad adds, fishing a corndog from a paper tray he picked up somewhere along the way.
Luke looks unconvinced. “You haven’t dated Maddie.”
“Thank God,” Brad says around a mouthful of food.
That earns a small laugh out of me and Luke, which seems to help.
“You seen Callie?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Yeah, over by the baked goods, helping Wrenley and Mallory,” Luke says, nodding that direction and starting that way. I follow. Brad says something about wanting funnel cake and goes another way.
Callie’s standing there with her hair pulled into a low ponytail, wearing cutoff shorts and a white tank with her sunglasses hooked on the neckline. She’s laughing at something Wrenley or her aunt are saying.
We all stand around and talk a couple minutes. It’s wild how just seeing her does something to me. I want to kiss her quick, as a greeting, or grab her hand, not caring who sees. But I can’t. Not yet.
Luke and I are heading back to find Brad and Maddie when he elbows me. “You got that face again.”
“What face?”
“The Callie face.”
I glare at him. “There’s no Callie face.”
“Oh, there’s definitely a Callie face,” he says, grinning. “You’ve been wearing it since last weekend.”
“Shut up.”
He laughs. “Whatever, man. But if you’re not telling her you’re in love with her soon, I might.”
“And I’ll push you in the lake.”
Luke snorts. “What are you, twelve?”
I shrug and we laugh, but my mind’s already drifting back to her. To tonight. Because when the fireworks go off over the lake, I already know where I want to be—with her. Not in a crowd. Not surrounded by everyone. Just us.
Brads voice pulls me from my thoughts, “Yeahhhh, baby,”
“Oh jeez,” I say when I see what he’s eyeing.
Luke squints at the machine—a tall metal box with flashing lights and a digital screen that reads Knockout! A red punching bag hangs from the top,
“No,” I say immediately. “I’m not doing that.”
Brad’s already stepping closer. “Why? Afraid you’re gonna break a nail?”
“No.” I laugh. “Afraid I’ll break my hand.”
Brad brushes it off and mutters, “You’ll be fine.”
Luke squints at the sign taped crookedly to the side of the machine. “Three bucks per punch.”
Brad’s mouth curls into a grin. “Cheap entertainment.” He’s already pulling his wallet out.
Luke flicks his eyes to me. “Ten bucks says he scores higher than you.”
That does it. Something competitive sparks in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I’m reaching for my wallet too. “You’re on.”
Brad feeds his money into the slot and the machine beeps, lights flashing.
He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck like he’s about to step into a boxing ring. “Step aside, ladies,” he says, waving us off.
He backs up a couple feet, eyes the bag, then takes a few pacing steps to hype himself up. With a sharp exhale, he winds back and throws a solid punch that rattles the machine.
It whirs loudly, numbers climbing fast, five hundred. Six. Seven. We all watch as it slows, then finally lands.
853.
Brad turns around with both arms raised like he just won a title belt. “Yeah,” he says smugly. “Beat that.”
“Not bad,” Luke says, already stepping up. He throws a few slow practice punches into the air, rolling his shoulders like he’s warming up for something serious. Then he goes for it.
The machine whirs, numbers racing—six hundred, seven, eight—before it finally locks in at 920.
“Well, hot damn,” Luke says, grinning as he looks around. “Where’s Maddie? She needs to see this.”
“Cocky much?” I joke.
He steps aside and jerks his chin at me. “Alright, tough guy. Your turn.”
I move forward, suddenly very aware of the small crowd forming behind us. “I swear, if I break my hand, I’m blaming both of you.”
“Don’t embarrass yourself,” Brad says.
I draw my arm back and punch the bag harder than I thought I had in me. The machine rattles, lights flashing as the numbers climb and climb—eight hundred, nine…
955.
I grin and turn to Luke, holding my hand out. “Ten bucks.”
He stares at the screen, then at me, shaking his head as he digs through his wallet. “I’m impressed.”
“No way,” Brad says, already feeding more money into the slot. “This thing’s rigged.”
He squares up again, throwing everything he’s got into the punch. The numbers jump fast, teasing—nine hundred, nine-thirty…
940.
“Damn it,” he curses.
Luke and I bust out laughing, and Brad just stands there, hands on his hips, glaring at the machine like it personally wronged him. He drags a hand down his face, then digs his wallet back out.
“One more time,” he insists. “One more time.”
Luke shakes his head, already walking off. “You’re chasing a loss, man.”
I follow, still laughing, while Brad stays behind feeding the machine like it owes him money.
The sun’s gone down, but the fair’s still alive—music thumping faintly from the main stage, laughter spilling out of the ring toss booth, the smell of soft pretzels and hot dogs thick in the air. Strings of lights wind up the poles of the rides, glowing soft and golden against the darkening sky.
I walk beside Callie with my hands shoved into my pockets, our shoulders brushing every few steps like gravity keeps pulling us together.
We’ve spent the whole day tangled up in the group—Luke and Maddie fighting, Brad flirting with every girl who looks eighteen and unattached, Macy convincing strangers they need her sugar scrubs—but somehow, we managed to slip away. It’s just the two of us now.
The Ferris wheel lights flicker ahead—white and gold and blue, spinning slowly.
“Let’s go up,” I say, nodding toward it.
She smiles, soft and a little hesitant, and before she can overthink it, I reach for her hand. Our fingers lace together easily, like they’ve done this a hundred times already. Her palm’s warm, steady. That simple touch hits me harder than it should.
The line moves fast, and soon we’re stepping into one of the metal seats. The operator swings the gate shut, and the Ferris wheel jerks forward with a low creak.
The higher we go, the quieter everything gets. The noise of the fair fades into a distant hum. Below us, the lights stretch farther than they ever seem from the ground. The lake catches the last of the sunset.
I glance over at her. She’s watching the horizon, face relaxed, eyes sparkling.
“It’s pretty,” she whispers.
That unguarded feeling hits me square in the chest. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “It is.”
The wheel pauses at the top. The seat sways just enough to make my stomach dip.
For a second, neither of us says anything. Until I lean in and lift a hand, cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing warm skin like I’m asking permission without words. She doesn’t pull away.
My lips find hers, soft at first—careful. The kiss deepens slowly, unhurried, the chaos of the fair below fading until it’s just her and me and the steady thump of my heartbeat. Her hand slides to the back of my neck. Mine settles at her waist, grounding me.
When we part, we stay close. I can still feel the imprint of her lips, the warmth.
The wheel creaks again and starts its descent. We watch the lights below in silence, my hand still wrapped around hers, my thumb tracing slow circles like I’m afraid to let go.
At the bottom, I help her out, my hand lingering at her waist for half a second longer than necessary. The fair’s glowing brighter now, the sky fully dark. Music drifts from the lakefront where people are already gathering for fireworks.
I glance toward the noise, then back at her.
“Come on,” I say, already reaching for her hand again.
She laughs as I lead her through the crowd, all the way back to my truck parked along a quiet side street.
I drive us around to the far side of the lake, where it’s empty and still, but the fair is visible in the distance. The first firework explodes just over the trees—red and gold bursting open the sky, scattering across the water.
From out here, the fair looks far away—tiny lights, faint music, laughter carried by the wind. Just noise. None of it touches this moment.
Callie sits beside me, cross-legged at first, then stretches her legs out, bare knees brushing mine. The dock shifts beneath us, wood groaning softly with the weight of every breath.
“Better view from here anyway,” I say, nodding toward the reflection of the fireworks dancing on the water.
“Better smell too,” she says. “No fried food and sweat.”
I laugh under my breath. Her voice carries over the water, low and warm, and my chest feels tight.
She leans back on her palms, head tilted up to the sky. The light flickers across her face, each burst painting her in gold, then shadow, then gold again. It hits me hard how pretty she is, how easy it would be to forget where we are.
“You think anyone noticed we disappeared?” she asks.
“Nah.” I glance over at her.
Another firework bursts white above us, but I can’t help staring at her, thinking about how addicting she is to kiss.
Before I can act on it, she reaches for my arm, pulling me in like she’s tired of beating around the bush.
Her hand slides up to my shoulder, and my palm finds her hip, fingers grazing skin where her shirt’s riding up. She melts against me.
The next firework bursts, and her breath catches, so I pull her closer. The world tilts, just enough to make me forget the dock under us, the lake, the fair, everything.
Her hand slips into my hair, tugging me down on top of her, and I feel her heartbeat against mine—fast, frantic. The kiss deepens as the fireworks continue to go off in the background.
I pull away for just a second to rest my forehead against hers, both of us breathing hard, uneven, trying to remember how to think. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.”
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Probably not.”
But she doesn’t move, and neither do I.
Another firework bursts and we lean into each other again. Her legs wrapping up around my waist, the kiss growing hungrier. Whatever this is, whatever it’s becoming, it feels big. Bigger than either of us envisioned it to be. But right now, it’s ours.