Chapter Two #3
“That was very fast.”
“I mean it.”
“You meant things before.”
There it was.
Not cruel.
Not unfair.
Just true.
Crew took the hit.
“I know.”
Mrs. Paxton had drifted a few steps away and was pretending not to listen while absolutely listening.
Talia leaned in slightly.
“Do you still love her?”
Crew’s answer was immediate.
That was the problem.
He did not say it.
That was also the problem.
Talia watched his face and let out a breath.
“Oh, that is inconvenient.”
Crew looked back at the kitchen door.
“Yes.”
“For everyone.”
“Yes.”
“For the bakery’s structural integrity.”
“Probably.”
Talia pointed at him. “Then here is free advice from a woman who has had to hear Marin pretend your name did not rearrange her nervous system for three years.”
Crew’s chest tightened.
“Do not use the fundraiser to get close to her.”
“I won’t.”
“Do not protect her in a way that makes decisions for her.”
“I know.”
“Do not quietly martyr yourself because it gives you the emotional posture of a sad lighthouse.”
Crew blinked.
“A sad lighthouse?”
“You heard me.”
Mrs. Paxton whispered, “That one may not fit on a shirt.”
Talia ignored her. “And do not, under any circumstances, look at her like that unless you are prepared to stay.”
Crew’s throat went tight.
Prepared to stay.
The phrase went through him like a blade.
He had spent his entire adult life preparing to leave.
Leave for juniors. Leave for college. Leave for road games. Leave for tournaments. Leave home before anyone saw how badly he wanted to stay. Leave before expectations cracked him in half. Leave before he failed at being the son, captain, teammate, man everyone seemed to need.
Leaving was simple.
Staying required a kind of courage he had pretended not to need.
The kitchen door swung open.
Marin stepped back out with her apron untied and her expression rearranged into business.
Crew hated business.
Business Marin was the one who could survive him.
“Here are the terms,” she said.
She slapped the receipt paper on the counter between them.
Crew looked down.
The heading read:
THE VIRAL DISASTER AGREEMENT
Under it:
One photo.
No touching unless explicitly approved.
No fake feelings.
No couple captions.
No livestreams.
No surprise content.
No hockey idiots.
No looking at me like that.
This is for Tom and the veterans center.
This ends after the Fourth.
Crew stared at number ten.
This ends after the Fourth.
He should have felt relieved.
Instead, the words landed in his stomach like a stone.
Marin slid the pen toward him.
“Sign it.”
Crew looked up.
“You want me to sign a receipt?”
“I want evidence.”
“This won’t hold up legally.”
“It will hold up emotionally.”
Talia nodded. “That’s stronger in Honeybrook.”
Mrs. Paxton peered at the list. “Could we maybe adjust number one?”
“No,” Marin said.
Mrs. Paxton smiled with the terror of a woman about to say something she knew would be unpopular.
Crew braced.
Marin saw that and braced too.
Mrs. Paxton’s phone chirped.
She looked down.
Her smile widened.
Marin closed her eyes. “I am asking God for patience and He is sending me committee members.”
Mrs. Paxton cleared her throat.
“So, wonderful news.”
“No,” Marin said.
“We have created a preliminary Hometown Hero Week engagement schedule.”
Crew felt something cold move down his spine.
Marin opened one eye. “Engagement?”
“Not that kind of engagement,” Mrs. Paxton said quickly.
Talia muttered, “Yet, says the tiny heart.”
Mrs. Paxton tapped her screen and sent something.
A second later, Crew’s phone buzzed.
So did Marin’s.
So did Talia’s.
Marin did not pick hers up.
Crew did.
A PDF opened.
Because of course Mrs. Paxton had made a PDF.
At the top, in red and blue block letters:
CREW + MARIN HOMETOWN HERO WEEK APPEARANCES
Crew read the list.
Gazebo kickoff photo.
Webb & Whisk veterans center cupcake fundraiser.
Parade rehearsal meet-and-greet.
Fireworks donor dinner.
Fourth of July livestream.
Post-fireworks thank-you reel.
He read it again.
Maybe it would improve.
It did not.
Crew looked at Mrs. Paxton.
“You made a schedule.”
“A draft.”
“With six appearances.”
“Six very small appearances.”
“One is a livestream.”
“A small livestream.”
Marin’s voice was dangerously calm.
“You said one photo.”
Mrs. Paxton pressed her lips together.
Then her phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
“Oh.”
Crew disliked that oh more than all previous sounds combined.
Marin’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Mrs. Paxton smiled weakly.
“Dotty posted the schedule.”
For one suspended second, nobody moved.
Then Marin picked up her phone.
Crew watched her face as she read.
The anger came first.
Then disbelief.
Then a smile so sharp it could cut glass.
She turned the phone toward him.
The festival account had posted the schedule with a fresh caption.
You asked, Honeybrook answered! Follow along all week as our hometown hero Crew Donnelly and Webb & Whisk’s Marin Webb help raise funds for the veterans center. The official theme is now #TheViralBet.
Crew stared at it.
Under the caption, in the first comment, the Honeybrook Fourth Committee had added three red hearts, two flags, and one cupcake emoji.
Marin looked at him.
Then at the receipt-paper agreement.
Then back at him.
“You said we could fix this.”
Crew exhaled slowly.
“I was optimistic.”
“You were delusional.”
“Also possible.”
Her phone buzzed again.
She looked down.
Her expression went completely blank.
Crew did not breathe.
“What?” he asked.
Marin turned the screen toward him.
A new text from Mrs. Paxton.
Even though Mrs. Paxton was standing six feet away.
Wonderful news! The fake couple angle is now the official fundraiser theme.
Crew read it once.
Twice.
Across the bakery, Talia whispered, “Oh, he is absolutely going to die.”
Crew looked at Marin.
Marin looked at the frosting knife.
Then she looked back at Crew like she had just found a second use for it.
And Crew realized with perfect clarity that surviving overtime had never been impressive at all.