Chapter 38
By the next evening, the town square had transformed again under strings of lights and a rising hum of music.
Calliope tunes drifted from the midway, tinny and nostalgic, punctuated by the metallic clatter of rides starting and stopping and the burst of cheers from somewhere near the ring toss.
The air was thick with competing smells—fried dough and kettle corn, diesel from the generators, apples bruised and sweet beneath it all.
Backstage, under a scalloped tent that smelled faintly of hay and hot lights, Rebecca stood with Ms. Abrams, who had asked her to help present the vegetable contest ribbons with a sweet wink that had made Rebecca realize she must not have heard about the breakup.
“This is the most exciting part,” Ms. Abrams said. “The giant pumpkin weigh-in.”
Rebecca felt a flutter of nerves, thinking of Cort and Pip, hoping hard for them. She held a glossy stack of ribbons, blue, red, and yellow.
Outside the tent, the crowd hummed, filled with locals jockeying for a view, tourists with cider cups.
Beyond the tent flap she could see the contenders: enormous pumpkins squatting on pallets, names chalked on their slings.
Goliath, Sun King, Bramley Bruiser. Pip and Cort had named their pumpkin Gentle Giant, which Rebecca thought was sweet.
She could see them, standing off to the side, near the front, looking nervous but happy.
Rebecca knew it didn’t really matter if they won.
Pip’s face was incandescent, and Cort smiled down at his son.
She could see them doing this for years to come, a tradition that was better than any first-place ribbon.
Cort caught Rebecca’s eye through the bustle and lifted a hand. She lifted hers back, her heart doing a strange, happy flip.
“Welcome, friends and neighbors!” Crispin boomed into the microphone, as if announcing a coronation.
“It is time for Bramley Hollow’s Giant Pumpkin Weigh-In and Assessment.
Rules are simple: There is the official sling, official scale, official weight, no funny business with sandbags or secret fillings…
I’m looking at you, Pete.” Laughter rolled through the crowd.
“And then my wife, Nazreen, will examine each pumpkin for color, style, and general vibe.” Nazreen waved, and everyone cheered.
She was dressed as the fairy godmother from Cinderella, complete with wand.
A small forklift was used to hoist the pumpkins onto the scale.
Sun King came in at a breathtaking 1,138 pounds; the crowd oohed.
Goliath thudded onto the scale at 1,169; oohs became oh mans.
Rebecca checked the board and saw there was only one left before Cort and Pip’s: Bramley Bruiser, which posted 1,174.
A murmur of this might be it rustled the tent.
Then it was Cort and Pip’s turn.
They maneuvered their pumpkin with the help of two volunteers. Pip kept patting its side like a horse. “It’s okay,” he whispered to it. “You’re brave.”
Rebecca’s throat tightened. He was so sweet.
Cort glanced at her again, quick and shy. He had on a navy suit jacket over a black Henley, and it hit her all at once, how much she liked all versions of him.
“Hush, everyone,” Crispin intoned as the sling creaked and the pumpkin eased into place. The needle trembled, wavered, climbed.
Silence fell like autumn leaves.
And then Crispin said it: 1,182. And a perfect score from Nazreen, for style, color, and immaculate giant pumpkin vibes. Cheers and whistles broke out, and a grinning Cort lifted his son and spun him around in victory before setting him down again.
Ms. Abrams slipped the blue ribbon into Rebecca’s hands. “Go on,” she said softly. “Give it to them.”
“We did it!” Pip squeaked happily when he saw her approaching.
“You sure did,” she said, and pinned the ribbon to the sling’s webbing.
“And you helped, Becca. You kept the pumpkin safe from frost.” He gazed up at her with genuine affection in his eyes, and Rebecca pulled him in for a fast hug and hair tousle. Cort was watching them, smiling.
“Thank you,” he mouthed.
At the front, Crispin cleared his throat theatrically.
“First prize to Gentle Giant, grown by Misters Cort and Pip Adams!” He held up a silver-topped staff Nazreen must have made for him and tapped the pumpkin like he was tapping a knight on the shoulder.
“Long may she reign.” Soft laughter and applause.
They posed for a photo, Pip in the middle, Cort with a hand braced on the pumpkin, Rebecca at Pip’s other side. Click.
As the weigh-in broke into happy chaos and vendors began packing up so the evening could switch over for the dance, Melanie drifted in with Ryan, eyes shining with pride. She crouched down to speak to Pip. “Told you your math would help: perfect watering schedule.”
“It was science,” Pip said gravely, then launched into a breathless explanation involving soil temperature and coffee grounds. Melanie laughed, kissed his hair, and looked up at Rebecca. “Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said back, meaning it. Then she turned to Cort. “I have to go home and get ready for the dance.”
He nodded, tilted his head, smiled that smile of his, the one that got her every time. The one she felt all the way down to her toes, every time it was directed at her. “I’ll see you there,” he said.
“See you there,” she echoed.
As she walked away, she heard a voice calling her name.
“Rebecca.”
She turned. “Crispin.”
He stood at the edge of the midway, clipboard tucked under his arm, the Ferris wheel rising slowly behind him, its lights blinking on and off as it crested and dipped.
The music from the rides drifted up around them, tinny and cheerful, and for a moment, they both paused, watching one of the cars reach the top.
From there, Rebecca knew what the view was: The whole town lay spread out below, the square glowing, the tents like small white sails, Main Street stitched together with light.
“I heard a rumor you might be staying in town,” Crispin said, clearing his throat. “Turning the diner into a bookstore café.”
Rebecca laughed. “Seriously? Honestly, the rumor mill in this town…”
“Could power the Ferris wheel, if not an entire continent,” Crispin said, smiling. He checked something on his clipboard, then looked back up at her. “It’s good news. If you’re planning to reopen the diner in some way, that can only benefit Main Street. The diner has been missed.”
She glanced once more at the Ferris wheel as it turned, slow and steady.
“I’m relieved you feel that way. I’m not exactly sure what it’s going to look like yet, but I know it will be special, and fit in perfectly with Bramley Hollow.
I know this town.” She smiled as she said this, and Crispin did, too, then allowed the smile to fade and exhaled.
“Nasreen has mentioned a few times that perhaps I apply the regulations with…a touch too much zeal.” He adjusted his glasses. “I like to think Bramley Hollow benefits from this attention to detail, but…maybe not always.”
Rebecca managed to keep a straight face, wondering—as she often did—what Nasreen saw in Crispin, even as the affection for her beneath his words made it obvious. “I think that’s a very wise realization, Crispin,” she said.
“However,” Crispin said, straightening, “if you are indeed remaining and opening a legitimate establishment, I will require sign compliance.”
“Sign compliance?”
“A sign in tasteful dimensions. Participation in the seasonal scheme to a reasonable degree.” He hesitated, then surprised them both. “In return, I will waive your outstanding BIA fees.”
“Really, Crispin? That would be great. I could use that extra money for whatever comes next for the building.”
He thrust out his hand. “Then we have a deal. And order the sign early. Serif font preferred. Whimsical script is really only good in theory.”
He sailed off, clipboard in hand, disappearing into the glow of the fair. Rebecca watched him go, then turned to look up at the Ferris wheel rotating steadily above and felt happiness and certainty settle in her chest. Staying in one place did not have to mean standing still. She knew that now.
—
Sabrina and Rebecca got ready at the diner, and it was just like they were teenagers again.
As Rebecca pinned up Sabrina’s hair and Sabrina did her makeup, they were both so full of excited chatter about all the possibilities for Blackbird hers found his shoulder; the music carried them out onto the dance floor, a slow song.
“This probably goes without saying, but I can’t let it: You look absolutely gorgeous.”
She felt herself blush at the compliment as they swayed slowly to the music, and he looked down at her like it was impossible for him to look away.
“I thought I’d stop being scared, after you said you were staying,” he said. “But my heart is still racing like crazy. How bad I want this, how bad I’ve always wanted it—that’s still scary to me. And I messed it up. I’m so sorry.”
She shook her head. “We both let our fear get in the way,” she said. “This feels…” She trailed off. “Almost too big. Bigger than that prizewinning pumpkin of yours.”
He chuckled softly. “It does, I agree. But I think I can handle it. How about you?”
She breathed him in, the cedar soap smell of him, the way he smelled exactly like all the best things about September.
And all the while her mother’s words glowed steady inside her: Go meet your life.
He pulled her closer and she didn’t resist, tilted her head up toward him. The smile that broke across Cort’s face like an autumn dawn made her knees go weak, and she was grateful for his body to lean against.
A long breath left him, like he’d been holding it for years. “It feels so good to have you in my arms again,” he said. “And I want to kiss you so badly.” He hesitated.
“Are you still scared?”
He laughed softly. “It’s not that.” His lips brushed her ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver through her. “If I kiss you right now,” he said quietly, his hands coming up to frame her face, “in front of this whole town…there will be no going back.”
Rebecca smiled. “I don’t want to go back. I just want to go forward. With you.”
She looked up into Cort’s eyes—storm-cloud gray, eyes she had known for so long and had probably always loved. One day soon, she knew she’d have the courage to say those words to him.
“I’m ready if you are,” she whispered.
Then she closed her eyes, and his lips on hers were the perfect ending.