Chapter 9 #2
The assumption hits like cold water. Stay through the festival. Six weeks. That's not just helping with a project, that's making a commitment. Putting down those terrifying roots, however temporary.
"I..." I start, then look around at expectant faces. At Lucas, whose expression has gone carefully neutral, like he's trying not to influence my decision. "Yes. Of course. I'll stay through the festival."
"Wonderful!" Mrs. Patterson makes a note. "I think this is going to be our best Harvest Festival yet."
She's probably right. But what she doesn't know is that by the time it's over, this festival might have completely changed my life.
Whether that's good or bad remains to be seen.
The meeting wraps with efficient small-town chaos. Assignments distributed, phone numbers exchanged, promises to "touch base soon" that everyone actually means. Lucas and I walk out together into the crisp late-morning air, the October sun bright overhead as we head down Main Street.
"That went well," he says, as he walks beside me. "You impressed them."
"I impressed myself. I haven't felt useful in months. It's... nice."
"Just nice?"
I glance at him sideways. In the bright sunlight, his profile is all sharp angles and shadows. Handsome in a way that makes butterflies take flight in my stomach despite my efforts to maintain emotional distance.
"Okay, it's more than nice. It feels like..." I struggle for words. "Like I could actually build something here."
"You could." His voice is quiet, careful. "If you wanted to."
Layers of meaning behind his words that have nothing to do with festival planning and everything to do with the choice I made to stay six weeks. The choice that feels less temporary every time someone assumes I belong.
We walk in silence for a block, footsteps echoing against storefronts. When Lucas steps closer to let someone pass, his shoulder brushes mine, and the contact sends shock waves through me.
"Maya." My name sounds different in his voice out here, intimate and questioning. "About last night—"
"Don't." I stop walking, turning to face him on the sidewalk. "Please. I know I said things, dramatic things, but I can't handle analyzing it right now."
"I'm not trying to analyze anything." He stops too, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "I just want you to know that whatever you're feeling, whatever's scaring you about this, you don't have to figure it out alone."
The gentleness in his voice is comforting. Because this is what I've been afraid of. Not just wanting him, but needing him. Not just physical attraction I can dismiss as chemistry, but the deeper pull toward partnership, toward having someone who sees me clearly and wants to help carry the weight.
"That's what makes it so scary," I whisper. "I've had to rely on myself for so long. I don't know how to let someone in again."
"Maybe you don't have to know how. Maybe you just have to want to try."
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing across my skin, and I lean into the touch before I can think better of it.
"I do want to try," I admit. "That's the problem."
"That's not a problem. That's the solution."
He's leaning closer, and I can see the intent in his eyes, the question. Before I know it, I find myself leaning in too.
That's when the car turns onto our street, and something cold settles in my stomach as the familiar vehicle slows to a crawl.
The black sedan moves past us slowly. Too slowly for someone who knows where they're going. Through tinted windows, I catch a glimpse of the driver's profile, and my blood turns to ice.
"Maya? What is it?"
I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but watch as the car reaches the end of the block, pauses at the stop sign longer than necessary, then turns around.
Coming back.
"That's him." The words come out barely a whisper. "That's Evan."
Lucas goes rigid beside me, his hand moving protectively to my back. "You're sure?"
The car is closer now, crawling down the street like a predator circling prey. As it approaches, I see him clearly. Pale skin, sharp features, that smirk I've come to hate.
Evan Pierce. Looking right at me.
"I'm sure." My voice sounds strange, distant.
The sedan slows as it approaches again, and I see Evan's window rolling down. He's going to stop. Say something, do something, and I'm frozen on this sidewalk like a deer in headlights.
Lucas steps in front of me, his body blocking Evan's view, his presence suddenly radiating danger in a way I've never seen before.
"Maya." His voice is deadly calm, controlled in a way somehow more terrifying than shouting. "I need you to walk to the bar. Now. Don't look back, don't stop. Just go."
But I can't move. Can't look away from the car that's stopped directly across from us, engine idling, window down, Evan's face visible wearing that same cold smile that's haunted my nightmares.
"Maya." Lucas's voice cuts through my panic. "Go. Now."
The car's engine revs once—the sound like a threat—before it slowly drives away, disappearing around the corner like it was never there.
But the fear remains, settling into my bones like winter cold.
He found me. Again. And this time, he wanted me to know it.