14. Everett
Everett
APRIL
When I was a kid, Saturdays meant early mornings at the ranch, dusty boots, and my dad barking orders before the sun had even climbed into the sky. Back then I hated it. Thought the whole town felt too small, too predictable.
But standing on Main Street now, watching the farmers’ market slowly come to life, I realized something.
Predictability wasn’t always bad. Predictable meant familiar. It meant community.
And judging by the way half the town is already setting up tables, stringing little banners between stalls, and hauling boxes of produce onto wooden displays, Lavender Creek has perfected the art of Saturday mornings.
Right in the middle of the chaos is Violet.
Her stand sits directly in front of the café, decorated in soft neutral linens, mason jars filled with flowers, and baskets overflowing with pastries. She moves behind the table with practiced ease, clipping half of her hair in a clip while laughing at something Mrs. Calloway is saying.
I leaned against the lamppost across the street for a moment longer than necessary, watching.
Something about her pulls me in every time. Not just the way she looks, though that alone could knock the wind out of me, but the way she carries herself. Calm. Confident. Like she belongs exactly where she is and knows it.
Like the world makes sense around her.
And maybe that is why I can’t look away.
“I think you’re staring.” Henry’s voice comes from behind me.
I don’t turn around; I can’t hide it. “I’m observing.”
He snorts. “Go say hi before the town notices you are staring. You already know all eyes are on you since you’ve been back, and now you’re just giving them more to talk about.”
I glance around, it’s too late. People are already watching.
Mrs. Calloway pretends to arrange flowers while clearly tracking my movements. Two teenage girls whisper behind a lemonade stand, and even Mr. Brooks gives me a knowing smirk.
I ignore everyone and cross the street. The moment Violet notices me approaching, her entire expression softens.
“Well, look who finally showed up,” she says, setting down a tray of muffins.
“Had to make an entrance,” I say.
“You were leaning against a lamppost for five minutes,” she says, laughing.
God, I love that laugh.
“You want a coffee, or were you planning to just admire me from across the street all morning?”
“Both, ideally,” I respond.
She raises an eyebrow, like she didn’t expect me to say that, but reaches for a cup anyway.
Our fingers brush as she hands it to me. The contact is small, barely there. But neither of us moves away immediately.
And I can feel the shift, where the air changes slightly.
Someone bumps into me accidently and that quickly takes us out of the little world we were just in.
Violet turns toward Mrs. Calloway, who was very obviously pretending not to listen. She smiles and Mrs. Calloway winks back at her.
“Give it an hour and half the town will think we are secretly engaged,” I say, joking.
“Efficient gossip,” I add.
Violet smirks.
“Hey, Vi, hey Everett!” Maddie says, approaching the table. “How has it been so far? It seems busy here already!”
“Maddie, thanks for helping out. It’s been busy, but it seems to be in a lull right now. Are you okay if I go browse for a bit?” I ask.
“Of course, I can handle it here. I’ll see you in a bit. Have fun,” she says, giving me a wink.
She turns to face me. “Walk with me?” she asks. I don’t even hesitate.
We leave the stand in Maddie’s capable hands and step into the slow-moving crowd. Vendors are lined up, someone is playing acoustic guitar near the flower stall, and the smell of grilled sausages fills the air.
“So,” Violet says as we pass a table stacked with honey jars. “Fundraiser update.”
“Ah, yes,” I say. “The terrifying world of event planning.”
“You’re doing great,” she says.
I glance at her.
“You sound confident,” I respond.
“I am.”
I huff a quiet laugh.
“That makes one of us,” I say.
She nudges my arm. “You had the courage to buy an entire theater and rebuild it from scratch. I think you can handle a fundraiser.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thinking that gets people into trouble,” I say. “Usually, when I feel overwhelmed or like I have too much piled on my plate, I tend to pull back and go silent. Not because anything is wrong, mostly because I need time to figure things out and process everything.
“I haven’t noticed you pulling away,” she mentions.
“I haven’t, this whole theater thing has felt natural and not overwhelming. It also helps that this is the only thing for me to focus on. Plus, I have your help.”
She stops walking, turns toward me, and her expression shifts into something serious.
“You know what I think? I think you are a lot braver than you give yourself credit for.”
I don’t answer right away. Because the truth is, she has been the one pushing me. Encouraging me.
Every time I doubted an idea, she told me to try it anyway.
Every time I hesitate about the renovations, she reminds me that people love places with character.
She has this quiet way of believing in things before they exist. And somehow, she believes in me, too.
I think about how she has challenged me to step out of my comfort zone in the theater, made me believe in myself, and shown me that I can do anything.
I reach for her hand. Goosebumps race up my arms, I feel my heartbeat faster, I feel alive. “Thank you, Violet.” I don’t know what else to say. Her telling me I am brave is what you want to hear from someone you like, someone you can see a future with.
She smiles at me, her smile is different, like maybe, just maybe, she feels whatever is happening between us, and doesn’t know what it means yet either.
I let go of her hand, wanting to hold on longer, but I don’t want to scare her away. We resume walking, slower now. More aware of each other.
We pass the stand from Brooks farm, selling beef jerky and different cuts of beef. We pass by the stand with homemade jewelry, and what seems to be Violet’s favorite stand, the one with homemade candles. I take note of the ones she smells a little longer than others.
“Your theater is going to be good for the town,” she says.
“You think so?” I ask.
“I know so.”
She gestures around us.
“You see this? People showing up. Talking. Supporting each other.”
I look around, nodding.
“And you are going to give them another place to do that,” she says.
The thought settles in my chest. Dreaming of what this place could mean to others, filled with memories for them.
First dates, family movie nights, kids seeing their first film on a big screen. And selfishly, maybe a few memories with Violet, too.
We reach the edge of the market where the old theater sits. She glances at it.
“Can we go in? Walk around? I want to see what you’ve done.”
“Your wish is my command,” I say.
Inside, the theater smells like sawdust and old velvet seats. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, catching floating dust particles.
I think about her eyes when I see the ocean, her hair when I see the sunset. She’s perfect in every way, not just on the outside but inside too. Her heart is so big, she is always looking out for others, wanting to help when she can.
We wander into one of the movie rooms. Rows of seats, covered with tarps. Ladders leaned against the walls where fresh paint is drying.
Violet spins in a circle. “It’s going to be beautiful.”
“I hope so,” I say.
She steps closer. “It will be.”
And suddenly the space between us felt very small.
“People don’t want a reason to leave anymore. They want a reason to stay,” I say, talking about creating this new space but I also mean it in my own personal life too. She is my reason to stay.
Her smile grows. “You’re going to give that to them with this theater.”
For a second, neither of us speak, standing there in the half-finished theater. The future sitting all around us.
She clears her throat. “So, fundraiser.”
I chuckle, “Right, work.”
“Petting zoo is confirmed. Food trucks are confirmed as well. I have some live music and some lawn games for people to play. I have one movie room that can be ready to go for people to come and go as they please,” I explain.
“That’s amazing, I have all the silent auction items ready to go as well, a lot of businesses wanted to help, it’s going to be a great event,” she adds.
“I am really excited for you, Everett. I know I have said it before, but I’ll say it again: you’re doing something amazing here, and you should be really proud of yourself. ”
The words hit hard. Because people don’t say those things to me.