CHAPTER 17 FOUNDERS’ DAY
Founders’ Day turned Honeysuckle into a parade route, craft market, food court, and traffic problem.
Clara loved it.
This surprised everyone, including Clara.
The Book Nook set up three tables outside: children’s books, local authors, and used paperbacks. Maggie sold hand pies next door. Eli’s company displayed a restored nineteenth-century cabinet for the historical society.
At ten, the parade began.
Noah marched with his school carrying a paper honeysuckle flower larger than his head.
At eleven, Reverend Hale lost his hat to a gust of wind and three children chased it into the courthouse lawn.
At noon, Clara sold out of the regional-history title Mr. Soto had recommended.
At one, Preston Vale appeared in jeans and a casual jacket.
Maggie narrowed her eyes.
“He owns jeans?”
“Apparently.”
Preston approached the book table.
“I come in peace.”
“Dangerous opening,” Clara said.
He laughed.
The revised development plan had passed the commission the previous week with reduced height, preserved brick frontage, and a local-business advisory group.
Clara had agreed to serve.
“You were right about pedestrian access,” Preston said.
“I plan to frame that sentence.”
“Please don’t.”
He bought a local-history book.
Maggie watched the transaction.
“You charged him full price?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
At two, Eli disappeared.
Clara noticed after ten minutes.
Then twenty.
At thirty, she became annoyed with herself for noticing.
At forty, Anna came to the table.
“Come with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“That is not persuasive.”
“Eli needs you.”
Clara left Beth in charge.
Anna led her behind the courthouse to the historical society tent.
Eli stood beside the restored cabinet.
An elderly woman sat in a folding chair crying.
Clara slowed.
“This is Mrs. Lawson,” Eli said. “The cabinet belonged to her grandparents.”
Mrs. Lawson wiped her eyes.
“I thought it was gone.”
The cabinet had been donated years earlier after a family estate sale. Eli had restored it for display without knowing the history.
Mrs. Lawson recognized a carved mark inside the door.
Clara sat beside her.
For twenty minutes, she listened to stories about a farmhouse, Sunday dinners, preserves stored in the cabinet, and a grandfather who whistled while cooking breakfast.
When Mrs. Lawson finished, Clara asked the historical society director whether they could record the story.
By three, Mr. Soto had arrived with a phone and microphone.
The impromptu recording drew a small audience.
That evening, Clara wrote in the Book Nook ledger:
Founders’ Day. Mrs. Lawson found her family cabinet. Stories belong to objects, but people have to tell them.
Eli read over her shoulder.
“You’re turning into June.”
Clara looked horrified.
“Take that back.”
He laughed.
They stood behind the counter after closing.
The street outside was still busy with festival lights.
“Dance starts at eight,” Eli said.
“I don’t dance.”
“You used to.”
“I used to be twenty-two.”
“Your knees still work.”
“Barely after today.”
He held out his hand.
“Come on.”
The town dance took place under strings of lights on the courthouse square.
A local band played country standards and old hymns arranged as instrumentals between sets.
Clara danced badly.
Eli danced worse.
This pleased her.
“You lied,” she said.
“About what?”
“You made it sound like you knew how.”
“I know the principle.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Stay close and avoid stepping on you.”
“Your success rate is mixed.”
He smiled.
During a slower song, Clara rested her hand on his shoulder.
The courthouse lights glowed behind him.
People moved around them—neighbors, customers, friends, children darting between adults.
Clara felt no urge to leave.
The realization arrived quietly.
She looked at Eli.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“That face means something.”
“My face is untrustworthy.”
“Not to me.”
She smiled.
Then she said it.
“I love you.”
Eli stopped moving.
Clara’s heart hammered.
She had not planned it.
There was no list.
No deadline.
No controlled setting.
Just truth.
Eli looked at her as if the entire square had disappeared.
“I love you too.”
Clara laughed and cried at once.
“That was less frightening than I expected.”
“Give it a minute.”
She hit his shoulder lightly.
He pulled her closer.
They finished the dance beneath the lights.
For once, Clara did not ask what came next.