Chapter 6
Ethan
The room broke into whispers the second she finished.
Some people leaned forward, clearly hooked by her pitch.
Others shifted in their seats, not sure what to make of it.
From the front row, I spotted Mom with her hands folded neatly in her lap, nodding along like she already agreed with half of what Lily said.
Beside her, Carol whispered something that made her smile.
A few rows back, Maggie was grinning like she’d already called dibs on which band t-shirt she was going to buy.
Next to her sat Ian, her eight-year-old son, watching the room with wide, curious eyes that missed nothing.
I sat there, arms folded, trying not to scowl harder than I already was. She was slick, I’d give her that. Confident, polished—probably practiced that speech in front of the mirror a dozen times before strutting in here on those heels.
And despite myself, my eyes snagged on the loose strand of hair brushing her cheek when she turned, softening her whole look.
Then the rest followed—the clean line of her blazer at her waist, the long legs that made those heels look more dangerous than professional.
One second of looking, one second too long, and something hot twisted in my chest. I tore my gaze away immediately.
The worst part was watching the room respond to her. People leaned in, their murmurs rising with interest, possibility flickering in faces that had been skeptical five minutes ago. It rattled me more than it should have.
Unease twisted low in my gut. If they bought into this, everything would change. Maybe too fast. Maybe too much.
With a deep breath, I raised my hand, feeling the weight of every eye in the room shift toward me.
“Hello. I’m Ethan Calloway, owner of Calloway’s Books.
I appreciate your energy, Miss Harper,” I began, my voice steady even though my pulse kicked harder.
“But the fair isn’t just an event we throw together every summer.
It’s tradition. It’s families who’ve run the same booths for decades.
It’s kids who wait all year to show their animals, neighbors who spend months quilting or canning just to be part of it.
When you overhaul something like that, you don’t just risk change—you risk losing the people who built it. ”
Murmurs rippled through the room. I pushed on.
“And bringing in big sponsors sounds great on paper, but what happens when Coke or Snapple want their logos plastered everywhere? When corporate money starts calling the shots, the local stuff gets pushed to the edges. This fair is supposed to feel like Willowbrook, not a marketing tent.”
I let that sink in before adding the practical side.
“And if we’re talking bigger crowds, where are they all going to park? Folks already complain about backing up past the Grandstand. Add concerts, add out-of-towners, and suddenly we’re dealing with safety issues, traffic problems, and costs we haven’t even begun to budget for.”
A few heads nodded.
“I’m not against new ideas,” I said finally, quieter. “But the fair was created to bring this community together. If we chase something too big, too fast… we could lose the very thing that makes it ours.”
She met my gaze, a flicker of challenge sparking between us.
“Mr. Calloway, I’m not trying to bulldoze what makes this fair special.
You’re right—tradition matters. It’s the heartbeat of this place.
But traditions only survive when people feel excited to carry them forward.
” She gestured lightly toward the room. “If we want new families to show up, if we want the next generation to care about quilts and pie contests and 4H ribbons, we have to give them a reason to walk through the gates in the first place. That’s what the music and sponsors are for—not to replace your roots, but to spotlight them. ”
A few board members nodded; a few others frowned. She didn’t flinch.
“We can do both,” she added softly, but with conviction. “Honor what came before and build something that lasts. People don’t have to choose between the past and the future—they just need to see how they can fit together.”
Something inside me tightened. The way she spoke—steady, fearless—sent a rush of warmth through me. It was infuriating how one woman could command a room so easily, and even more infuriating how much I wanted to believe her.
But fear crept up my spine. What if she was wrong? Or worse… what if I was?
“Do you really think they’ll see it that way?” I asked, nodding subtly toward the board members and the scattered crowd—the they who would have to buy into her vision. I tried to keep my voice level, but uncertainty bled through.
“I have faith they will, especially if you’re on board.
You're part of this community, Mr. Calloway. Your voice carries weight. Together, we can show them how blending the old with the new can benefit everyone, but we can’t let fear hold us back.
Let’s take this step together, and I promise to respect what’s always been important to this town,” she said, her eyes boring into mine, filled with determination.
For a second, doubt flickered through me, but the way she looked at me stirred something I hadn’t felt in a long time—a desire to believe in what she was proposing.
Lynn tapped her clipboard, brisk as ever. “The board will vote. All in favor of moving forward with Ms. Harper’s proposal?”
Hands went up immediately—Ben, Lynn, two others. Jenkins kept his firmly planted on the table.
Then all eyes shifted to me.
I voted no. Of course I did. My hand stayed steady, even as my stomach twisted.
Across the room, Lily’s expression barely shifted—just a small hitch in her breath, eyes narrowing for the quickest second. Hurt. Then resolve, smoothing over it so fast anyone else would’ve missed it.
She lifted her chin, regrouping with a practiced grace that made my stomach pull tight.
“The motion passes,” Lynn announced, bright and excited.
Lily nodded once, collected her papers, and for a moment our eyes met—hers calm but blazing with something that felt like a challenge.
And all I could think was: Great. I’d just made an enemy who wasn’t backing down anytime soon.
The buzz swelled again, a few claps even breaking out from the folding-chair crowd. I bit back the urge to roll my eyes.
The board meeting hadn’t even adjourned before Lynn dropped the hammer.
“Lily will need a workspace while she’s here,” she said. “Somewhere visible, central, and practical.”
Someone from the audience suggested the community center. Lynn shut that down quickly—too many youth programs booked. Ben leaned forward, offering, “What about downtown?”
And then Lynn’s eyes slid to me. I knew what was coming before she opened her mouth.
“Calloway’s Books has space,” she said. “The side section by the front windows would give her the visibility she needs, and it keeps her right in the middle of town.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the board and the audience. I opened my mouth to argue, but Jenkins was already nodding like this was the first idea he hadn’t hated all night. Lynn smiled, decisive. “Perfect. Settled. Lily, you’ll set up shop at Calloway’s.”
I sat there, jaw tight, while the woman who’d backed into my dad’s truck and smiled about it got handed the keys to my store—our store.
How was I supposed to work with her so close?
Every time I caught a glimpse of her—those long legs crossed at the ankle, her hair catching the light just right, those bright eyes full of ambition—my resolve wavered.
There was an energy about her that pulled me in more than I wanted, igniting a mix of frustration and undeniable attraction that left me unsettled.
The meeting ended with more chatter than I cared to hear.
People filed out of the community center in twos and threes, their voices carrying down the steps and spilling into the street.
Some were already talking about which bands Lily might bring in.
Others looked skeptical but curious, which was almost worse.
I kept my head down and pushed through the door, jaw tight. The May air hit me, but it didn’t take the heat out of my chest.
Mom and Carol were standing near the bottom of the steps, talking in low voices.
Mom gave me that small smile she always did when she wanted to make sure I was holding it together.
I bent down, kissed her cheek quickly, and muttered a hello to Carol before heading straight for the truck.
If I stopped, I might’ve said something sharp I couldn’t take back.
By the time I slid into the truck, I was already talking out loud.
“You wouldn’t believe this, Dad,” I muttered, gripping the wheel. “Struts in here with her posters and her city talk, acting like she knows better than the rest of us.”
The engine coughed to life, steady as always, and I eased onto Main.
“She’s loud. Pushy. Didn’t even blink when they said she’d set up shop at the store. At our store. Like it’s hers to take over.” My knuckles whitened against the wheel. “The board didn’t even ask me, Dad. I should’ve fought harder.”
The words sat heavy in the cab, louder than the hum of the road. I stared straight ahead, past the familiar houses and porches I’d seen my whole life.
Truth was, I wasn’t sure he would’ve hated her. He probably would’ve admired her guts.
That thought stung worse than all the rest.
I pressed the gas a little harder than I needed to, the truck rattling its protest as I headed toward downtown. The town blurred past. Saturday in Willowbrook looked like it always did. Same faces, same sidewalks, same rhythm I’d known my whole life.
And yet it all felt different. Like the second Lily Harper rolled into town, someone had cranked the volume without asking.