Chapter 13
The Founders Day Fair
Milly
The sun hadn’t been up long, but Everwood was already humming. The fairgrounds shimmered in a light haze of dust and dew, and for once, I was too excited to care about the dirt in my shoes.
I’d been waiting for this all week. The smell of fresh coffee hit my senses, and I ran downstairs with enthusiasm and no self-control.
“Coffee,” I said, like a homage to the coffee gods when I entered the kitchen.
“Your on-the-go fix in a cup.” Austin smiled and handed me a to-go cup full of heaven and dark sunshine. Our fingers met around the cup and lingered because neither of us moved quickly enough. It felt absurd to get flustered over coffee, but I was.
“Are you ready to go? We have a table to set up and fun to have?”
“I’m ready.” I saluted as he opened the door for me to exit first.
The smell of fresh hay, the clatter of pens, the buzz of early laughter—it was a special type of noise that wrapped itself around your heart and called it home.
The 4-H kids were already marching their animals toward the show ring, boots thudding in rhythm with stomping hooves.
Their faces were flushed, proud, nervous, and absolutely sure the fate of the world depended on a good brush-out and a shiny ribbon.
I’d given most of the fair animals their check-ups earlier in the week—offered some advice on clipped nails, cleaning ears, and handed out enough advice to fill a pamphlet.
It was nice, standing here now, seeing them parading past, healthy and cautiously smug.
There’s something special about watching creatures you’ve given the okay to struttin’ like champions.
The honey jars gleamed from my sale table at the end of the row, catching sunlight in slow amber.
I’d collected enough honey from Penny’s bees to feed an army that I decided to sell a few jars.
I was sharing a table with Luke Rollins, the towns music master.
Cassie had insisted we add gingham ribbons to the lids — “presentation matters,” she’d said.
The bees had done most of the work, but I still felt proud enough to stand there pretending I’d invented honey.
Austin was behind me, helping Levi and Mason haul coolers from the fire-department truck.
He looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in months—laughing, sleeves rolled, sun catching in his hair.
Every once in a while, I caught him looking my way, that quiet half-smile on his lips, and something inside me shifted a little closer to peace.
“Doc Thomas!” someone called. Mrs. Winslow bustled up in a straw hat large enough to provide shade for a small continent. “The rabbits’ water bottles are leaking please tell me you have a trick up your sleeve.”
“I’ll be right there,” I said, trying not to laugh.
Cassie sidled over with two lemonades and a smirk. “You realize she’s already adopted three of those rabbits.”
“I’m choosing ignorance.” I took the cup. The lemonade was too sweet, sticky on my tongue, and perfect.
The loudspeaker crackled to life. “Welcome to the Everwood Founders Day Festival and Barbecue!” Mayor Peterson’s voice boomed, cheerful as a carnival barker. “Rodeo starts at noon, animal auction at three, fireworks after dark. Don’t forget to stop by the vet booth for free check-ups.”
I raised my cup toward the sound.
Austin walked up, wiping his hands on a towel. “How’s morale?”
“High,” I said. “And possibly sugar-drunk.”
He grinned, handing me a folded napkin. Inside were two sugar cookies shaped like little cows. “Breakfast of champions.”
“Rations for the overworked.”
“For Everwood’s newest vet,” he said, eyes soft but teasing.
I tried to glare, failed, and laughed instead. “You’re laying it on thick.”
“It’s Founders Day,” he said, leaning closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “Thick is allowed.”
A cheer rose from the rodeo ring; a bull kicked up dust, and the crowd roared in approval. The air was alive with it—motion, noise, joy. For the first time since the brick through the window, I didn’t feel like the world was watching to see if I’d flinch.
Today, Everwood was mine too.
BBy noon, the fairgrounds pulsed like a living thing.
The sun had settled into its summer stride, high and hot, painting everyone’s shoulders the same shade of pink.
Smoke from the grills drifted over the field, curling around laughter, sizzling with the smell of ribs, chicken, and the world’s most competitive potato salad.
The rodeo announcer’s voice boomed from the loudspeakers, half-choked with enthusiasm and static.
Horses stamped, kids hollered, and the whole place smelled like hay, leather, and sugar. I loved it. Every bit of it.
“Doc Thomas!” Levi shouted from the grill pit, holding a set of tongs like a microphone. “You here to judge the rib contest or eat your way through it?”
“Neither. I’m here to observe and make unhelpful comments,” I called back.
He laughed, flipping a rack of ribs the size of a toddler. Mason stood beside him, fanning the smoke toward the line forming at the sauce table. Carl Hendrix from the feed store wandered by with a plate stacked high. “Best ribs in five counties,” he declared. “Don’t tell my wife I said that.”
“Too late,” Mason said. “She’s running the pie booth.”
Cassie looped her arm through mine. “You’re supposed to be relaxing, remember? Founders Day tradition. We eat until we question our life choices.”
“I don’t know if my stomach can handle that,” I said, but I let her drag me along anyway.
“You’ll change your tune after a churro, monkey bread, pie, a snow cone or two, cotton candy,” the more Cassie listed, the more my mind fell into a sugar coma.
We made our way down food row. Booths leaned against each other like old friends—cornbread, pies, roasted corn, lemonade so sweet it practically hummed.
From inside the 4-H buildings and livestock barns, the animals were still buzzing from the morning shows.
A few of my patients preened at me from behind their fences, tails wagging, feathers puffed.
I stopped to pick up a second-place ribbon and handed it to a little girl with pigtails holding a rogue turkey I’d vaccinated two days ago.
“You did great,” I said.
“She only attacked one judge this year,” the girl said proudly.
“Improvement!”
Near the auction ring, Justin Keller—the leather-repair guy who smelled permanently of saddle oil and coffee—was setting up his booth. He waved with a strip of polished reins. “Still need a halter fixed, Doc?”
“Can I bring it on Thursday?” I asked.
“Anytime,” he called back.
I caught sight of Austin across the ring, talking with Carl. His sleeves were rolled up, sunglasses pushed up on his head, and the easy way he moved through the crowd made me smile before I realized I was doing it.
“Stop staring,” Cassie said.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“You were. Like, capital-S Staring.”
“Professional observation,” I muttered, but my ears were burning.
When Austin spotted us, he started walking over—then a cluster of kids ran between us, waving corndogs like sparklers, and I lost sight of him.
Mrs. Winslow appeared next, clipboard in hand, her hat still large enough to shade a small county but at least holding steady this time. “Milly! Quick question. Would you rather judge the pie-eating contest or the piglet costume parade?”
I blinked. “Those are my only options?”
“It was either that or the three-legged race. Choose your destiny.”
Cassie nudged me. “Pigs in costumes, obviously.”
“Fine,” I said. “But if I get yelled at for not picking Mrs. Anderson’s pig, I’m leaving.”
Mrs. Winslow cackled and bustled off, muttering about sequins.
The afternoon unfolded like a patchwork quilt—bright squares of chaos and color stitched together by music and the smell of barbecue.
I tasted everything I shouldn’t have, hugged everyone I meant to wave at, and kept catching glimpses of Austin across the grounds.
Every time our eyes met, the noise seemed to dip, just for a second, like the fair was giving us a moment alone.
When the sun started sliding down, painting everything gold, Levi’s voice boomed from the stage. “The Everwood Volunteer Fire Department proudly presents...” He tried to do a drumroll on the mic with his fingers, then laughed when it failed. “Dinner’s up! Come get it before Mason eats it all!”
“Hey!” I heard Mason yell from the grill. Cassie and I laughed long and hard at that.
We gathered at long tables strung with lights. Paper plates were filled to their breaking point, kids laughed, and the world was full. I sat between Cassie and Austin, trying to remember the last time I’d felt this at ease.
Austin handed me a plate—ribs, potatoes, a little of everything. “You’re going to need a nap after this.”
“Just one?” I asked, grinning.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Perhaps you should sleep in.”
I raised a rib like a toast. “To Founders Day festivities and more food than should be legal.”
A few students from the high school made themselves into an old-school band and struck up an easy country tune that made people sway more than dance. Lanterns swayed overhead, their light catching in Austin’s hair as he looked at me. “You want to walk?” he asked.
I nodded, and we slipped away from the tables after Cassie made her way to the grill to help cook.
The air was cooler near the fence line. Fireflies blinked between the tall grass, and the noise of the crowd faded into something softer—just laughter and the low hum of music.
“I used to think places like this only existed in postcards,” I said.
He looked out over the fairgrounds. “Sometimes they do. Until someone like you moves in and proves they can be real.”
My throat tightened. “That’s a lot of faith for someone who organizes his wrenches.”
“Faith needs order,” he said, smiling.
I was about to answer when a wave of teenagers barreled past, chasing each other with sparklers. Someone bumped my shoulder hard enough to knock me off balance.
Austin caught me before I could stumble, his hands firm around my arms.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped—the sound, the lights, the world itself.
“Got you,” he said quietly.
I looked up at him, pulse thudding, and before I could talk myself out of it, I rose on my toes and kissed his cheek, my lips lingering a little, feeling the warmth of his skin.
A moment so perfect. We’d been playing a game, and I’d just changed the rules.
My cheeks flushed, hoping he felt something in return.
Austin’s eyes glinted, and I felt butterflies in my stomach. His hands found my waist for balance.
His breath caught, barely audible, and a small, genuine smile tugged at his mouth.
“Happy Founders Day,” I whispered against his shoulder as he pulled me in close. He took a deep breath.
He didn’t answer right away. He just took my hand in his, kissed my knuckles softly, and whispered, “Best one yet,” in my ear.
He kept my hand in his as he guided me through the crowd.
The sky was already dipping into violet when the fireflies rose high enough and blinked over the fairgrounds. Their light shimmered against the lanterns strung between the tents, soft and lazy, like the town itself had decided to sigh.
Cassie waved from the dessert table, holding up what was left of a pie tin. “Your honey won the contest!” she shouted. “Forty bucks!”
I grinned. “That’s a lot of sticky fingers.”
“Everwood loves you. Even Penny only ever got second place.”
Laughter rolled across the grounds. The rodeo lights flickered out one by one, and the crowd began drifting toward the open field near the bleachers, where everyone was gathering for the fireworks.
Austin fanned out our picnic blanket. Janet passed me a jug of sweet tea that tasted like summer trying to last forever.
Austin patted the spot next to him just as I was folding myself onto the grass. “You picked the perfect spot?”
“I was hoping you’d bring snacks.”
He opened a cooler next to us and pulled out a paper bag. “Kettle corn, funnel cake, and whatever this is.”
I peeked inside. “Looks like regret covered in powdered sugar.”
“Exactly.”
We shared the food, sticky fingers brushing, laughter soft and familiar. When the first firework burst overhead—silver, red, then gold—the crowd oohed like they’d never seen light before.
It wasn’t the fireworks that caught me, though. It was the reflection of them in Austin’s eyes—bright, fleeting, beautiful.
“You ever think about how quick they fade?” I asked.
“Everything beautiful does,” he said quietly. “That’s what makes it worth watching.”
The words rested between us, gentle and heavy.
Another explosion painted the sky pink. Kids shrieked, dogs barked, Mrs. Winslow declared loudly that she could feel the percussion in her teeth. I leaned against Austin’s shoulder, casual, necessary contact.
For a few long minutes, there was nothing but color and sound and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside mine.
Then, between fireworks, the silence shifted. A low engine rumble crawled in from beyond the fairgrounds—slow, distant. My body went still.
Austin heard it too. His posture changed, and he glanced toward the tree line, eyes narrowing.
“Probably someone leaving early,” I said, trying to believe it.
“Probably,” he echoed, but his arm worked its way around my shoulder.
The next round of fireworks erased the sound completely, filling the night with a burst of gold that rained down like falling stars.
When the finale ended and the applause faded, the crowd began to scatter—families gathering coolers, teenagers throwing poppers at each other’s feet. I stood, brushing grass from my jeans.
“Ready to call it a night?” Austin asked.
“Yeah,” I said, glancing back once at the emptying field. The last of the lanterns swung in the breeze, their light catching the dust in tiny halos.
We walked side by side toward the trucks. The chatter dimmed behind us until it was just the crunch of gravel and the chirp of crickets. Somewhere in the distance, a motor turned over, low and lingering, then faded into the dark.
Austin slid his arm around me—warm, steady. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Perfect.”
The word felt true—fragile, but true.
By the time we reached the truck, the fairgrounds were almost dark, and the quiet was comfortable. It felt like peace daring to stay.