Chapter 7
Lily
“…Yes, I’ll fax the mock-ups first thing Monday. You’re going to love the tagline—it’s fresh, it’s bold, it’s exactly your brand. Perfect. Talk soon.”
I snapped my Nokia shut with a click and slipped it into the pocket of my blazer. The stereo I’d lugged in was already humming in the corner. The sound quality wasn’t as great as the ones I’ve used in the city, but it filled the room with energy—and that was the point.
I turned back to find Kayla and Jason at the front windows, wrestling a foam board into place amid fits of laughter. My tortoiseshell sunglasses crowned Kayla's head while Jason juggled three easels and a portfolio tube with surprising competence.
I clapped my hands once and did a little victory dance. “And that, my friends,” I announced, “is how you do it. Snapple is officially on board as a sponsor. Which means—hello, free iced tea for the masses.”
Kayla's jaw dropped, her eyes going wide as dinner plates. “You’re kidding.”
Jason let out a low whistle. “Snapple? Here? That’s… like, national. People are going to freak.”
“Exactly,” I said, my grin sharp with satisfaction. “We’re not just putting Willowbrook on the map, we're totally making this place the epicenter of small-town fabulosity.”
I smoothed the front of my red blazer, heels clicking confidently against the old wood floor as I strode toward the side section that was now mine.
A cluster of curious eyes followed me from the fiction stacks and the checkout counter—Ethan Calloway’s scowl, most of all.
My heart quickened, the heat of his gaze igniting a flutter of nerves deep in my stomach.
Fine. Let him glower. He could keep his kingdom of dog-eared mysteries.
But there was something about the intensity in his eyes that both challenged and intrigued me, pulling me closer even as I tried to brush it off.
I was here to build an empire out of poster board, Sharpies, and sheer will, and I wasn’t about to let him distract me.
Kayla and Jason had helped me drag one of the display tables from the biography section over to the front windows—prime real estate, with sunlight spilling across the wood like a spotlight. Now it looked nothing like Ethan’s neatly curated corner.
I’d transformed the front-window table with my event-planning arsenal: rainbow gel pens, jars overflowing with markers, an industrial-grade stapler, neon duct tape, and a stack of foam boards leaning against the wall, waiting to be displayed.
My mock-ups dominated the surface—guitars under moons, bold typefaces, Summerfest blazing across each design.
“Okay,” I said, planting my hands on my hips as I surveyed the side room.
“Here’s our game plan for today, kids. One: get these boards on the easels and make the window look irresistible.
Two: build a sign-up table for volunteer shifts—food booths, ticket sales, cleanup crew, you name it.
Three: I’ve got sponsor calls this afternoon, so we need a corner that doesn’t sound like a tractor derby.
And four: we talk to the community. If anyone wanders in here, I want them walking out hyped about Summerfest.”
“Done,” Kayla said, adjusting the sunglasses she still hadn’t given back.
Jason grinned. “I call dibs on setting up the easels. Feels very VJ on MTV.”
I propped a hand on my hip. “Are you two absolutely sure you want to spend your whole Saturday doing this?”
Kayla’s chimed. “I’m in.”
“Same,” Jason said, nodding enthusiastically.
I grinned, pointing a pen in his direction. “Well, congratulations, you two are now officially my Summerfest Street Team Captains. Perks include unlimited glue-stick privileges, sneak peeks at all the top-secret designs, and—if you’re really good—maybe even a ride in the Mustang.”
Kayla squealed. Jason pretended to play it cool, but the way his ears went red gave him away.
I snapped my fingers. "Posters up front, sign-up here, music louder. Let's build this festival."
I crossed the room, bent to the stereo, and nudged the volume dial until the speakers filled the shop with Mariah Carey belting “Always Be My Baby”.
From the counter, a low sound cut through the music—half sigh, half growl. Ethan. He was glaring in our direction, jaw set so tight I thought he might crack a molar. The intensity of his gaze sent a thrill through me that I tried to ignore.
“Does it really need to be that loud?” he called over, voice flat but carrying above Mariah’s chorus. “Some of us are trying to run a bookstore, not a dance club.”
I shot him a dazzling smile over my shoulder, my pulse quickening at the challenge.
“You’re welcome for the free ambience.” I cranked the dial another notch, not just to prove my point, but to see if I could draw him in just a little more.
There was something in his scowl that intrigued me, a mix of annoyance and something softer lurking beneath the surface.
Before he could fire back, the bell over the door jingled.
Then again. And again. A trickle of townsfolk drifted in, drawn by the music spilling onto Main Street.
A couple of teens in letterman jackets leaned on the doorway; a woman in an apron hovered near the new display with a cautious squint; two older men shuffled to the back to eye the shelves but kept sneaking disapproving glances toward our setup—like they were waiting for me to set something on fire.
A few more shoppers slowed as they passed the windows, their expressions flicking from my heels to the bright posters to the kids helping me, as if trying to decide whether I was improving their fair or ruining it.
The door opened again as three boys entered, dollars clutched in fists. Their sneakers squeaked toward the Goosebumps spinner, but they stopped, gaping at my posters instead.
“Is that a guitar?” one of them asked, pointing at the neon outline.
“Yeah,” I said, capping my marker with a snap. “And if you’re lucky, you might actually hear one live at Summerfest this year.”
Their jaws dropped in unison as they scurried back outside, shouting for their friends.
Across the store, I could feel Ethan’s eyes on me, a heated weight that sent a flutter through my stomach. He was pretending to be busy at the register, flipping through an old ledger, but I could see the tension in his jaw, working like he was chewing nails.
I gave him a smug look, a challenge sparkling in my eyes, and began unrolling posters, smoothing them flat across the easel.
Neon guitars, stars, bold fonts. With every stroke of the marker, I felt his gaze intensify, igniting something unexpected within me.
Did he see me as a threat or as an opportunity?
The volunteer sheet filled rapidly—names in rainbow markers covering the page.
A dad claimed the dunk tank, retirees took the pie contest, and the town's music guy volunteered to coordinate band auditions.
By five, I had businesses pledging money, kids fighting over booth assignments, and a crowd buzzing with anticipation of something extraordinary brewing in Willowbrook.
Toward the end of the day, two women about my age walked in together, clearly regulars by the way they didn’t hesitate to push past the growing crowd.
I watched them exchange easy smiles and laughter, a seamless connection that tugged at my heart.
I couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to belong somewhere like this, to have friends who knew my name and shared in my joys. For a moment, I ached for that sense of community, something I hadn’t ever experienced.
They paused at the easels, leaning in close to study the neon sketches I’d propped up. “Oh, these are gorgeous,” the taller one said, fingertips hovering over the paper like she wanted to touch it but didn’t want to smudge. “That tagline—what was it again? Music Meets Summer?”
“Yup.” I stepped in smoothly, offering them both my brightest smile.
“I’m Lily Harper. And yes, that’s the tagline.
Think live music under the stars—big acts, lights, the whole town buzzing after dark.
The rides and pies stay, obviously, but the nights?
That’s where we turn it into something unforgettable. ”
The girls exchanged a wide-eyed glance, their excitement almost sparking in the air.
The smaller one glanced at her friend, her smile tugging wide. “Honestly, we’ve all been so worried. Every year it feels like the fair gets a little smaller, a little sadder.”
I tapped the edge of one of the boards. “That’s why I’m here. Trust me—I’ve done this before. Street festivals in New York, food fairs, museum launches. The magic isn’t just the event itself. It's the way people talk about it after. That’s what fills the seats.”
They looked at each other, and then back at me, grinning now like they were already seeing it. The bolder one nudged me with her elbow. “You’re going to shake this place up. I can feel it.”
“Stick around and you’ll get a front-row view,” I said, flashing them my most camera-ready smile.
The tall, curvy one stuck out her hand. “I’m Rachel. I run the flower shop down the street—Brooks Blooms. If you need flowers for any of your events, I’m your girl. Consider me officially on board.”
Her friend, a petite blonde with a warm, steady expression, gave a little wave. “And I’m Sarah. I stay home with my kids, but I’d love to help however I can. My husband’s the town doctor. I’m sure he’d run the first aid tent.”
My grin widened. “See? You’re already making my job easy.”
They laughed, turning to go. At the door, Rachel turned back. “We’re heading to Maggie’s place later—Scoops, next door. You should come by after you’re done here. Everyone hangs out there. You can’t say no, it’s basically the law in Willowbrook.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the casual invitation.
Normally, I tried to keep myself at arm's length in new cities—just do the job, get paid, and move on.
But this felt different. The warmth in their smiles and the ease of their camaraderie tugged at something deep inside me, a longing to belong.
I tossed my hair back and grinned. “Please. I never say no to ice cream. Count me in.”
From the counter, I heard Ethan’s voice cut through, low and edged. “Good luck surviving Maggie.”
I turned my head just enough to catch his scowl, and despite the challenge in his eyes, there was something undeniably magnetic about him. I shot him my own pointed smile, heart racing a little faster than I wanted to admit. “Oh, honey. I survived my day with you. I think I can handle it.”
His expression softened for just a moment, and I wondered if he felt the same pull between us. But I quickly shook off the thought; I couldn’t afford to get distracted. This was business, after all, even if the way he stood there made it harder to think straight.
The two women laughed again, clearly entertained, and swept out the door, leaving behind a trail of chatter and a bakery-sweet scent.
By the time the last customer wandered out with their new paperback and the stack of sign-up sheets was already half-full, the sun was starting to dip. I thanked Kayla and Jason for hauling, taping, and hyping like pros, promising I’d see them soon.
I crossed to the stereo, hit stop, and the room fell into silence so fast it was almost jarring. I tucked the CD back into its cracked case, snapped my briefcase shut, and turned toward the front.
From behind the counter came Ethan’s voice, low and edged. “Finally. I can hear myself think without all that racket.”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob, feeling the tension hang thick in the air.
His glare was intense, and I could feel a rush of heat creeping up my neck.
I turned to meet his gaze, my smile sweet but sharpened to a point, a challenge sparking between us.
“Funny—because that ‘racket’ is what brought half your customers in today. You’re welcome. ”
The way his eyes narrowed just slightly made my heart race, a pulse of electricity that stirred something deep within me. I couldn’t tell if it was the thrill of our playful banter or the undeniable chemistry crackling in the space between us.
With that, I pushed the door open and stepped into the golden evening light, my heels clicking a victory march down the porch steps. Behind me, the bookstore stood silent—but ahead of me, Willowbrook waited, suddenly full of possibilities I hadn't planned for.