Chapter 10
Ethan
The morning came too fast. Light pressed against the blinds, bright and insistent, and for a second, I thought about rolling over and ignoring it like I had the past few months.
But Sundays weren’t mine to skip. Dad never would have, and Mom still liked me sitting beside her in the same pew she and Dad had shared for thirty years.
I dragged myself out of bed, joints stiff from a night on the too-soft mattress, and splashed water on my face. The mirror didn’t lie—dark circles under my eyes, stubble I hadn’t bothered shaving, and that pinched look I caught sometimes when I wasn’t careful.
Dad would’ve hated seeing me like this.
He’d been the kind of man who could look steady even when everything around him was falling apart.
When the store struggled, he still opened up early, still remembered every customer’s favorite book, still stayed late to fix a broken shelf rather than admit he was exhausted.
And every Sunday, no matter how tight things were, he’d sit in that same old pew with Mom, smelling faintly of sawdust and Old Spice, humming the hymns under his breath like the whole world was something he could shoulder.
Me? Half the time, I felt like I was holding the place together with duct tape.
I kept thinking of those last few months we had with him—how he’d insisted I run the shop “my way” because he wanted me to believe I could.
How he told me not to let Willowbrook lose its heart, no matter how the world outside changed.
I missed that steadiness more than I knew how to say.
The store’s bookshelves leaned a little, the roof still needed patching, and the ledger numbers didn’t lie.
We were treading water at best. I thought of Lily’s mock-ups and Snapple promises, neon guitars glaring from my windows.
She had the whole town buzzing in one afternoon.
I hated how effective it was. I hated even more how much I needed it.
But more than that, it was her confidence that knocked the wind out of me, leaving me both frustrated and drawn to her. I hated that I couldn’t shake the image of her, with that easy smile and those bright eyes, lighting up this town and my heart.
By the time I’d buttoned my shirt and slid on my boots, I could already hear Mom’s voice in my head, reminding me not to sulk through the sermon.
I grabbed my keys, locked up the apartment, and drove across town to pick her and Carol up.
They were waiting on the porch like they always did, both in floral dresses and cardigans, each with a Bible tucked under one arm.
Mom had worked part-time in the church office when I was a kid—answering phones, organizing potlucks, keeping the pastor on schedule.
She still treated Sunday mornings like a job she refused to retire from, hair curled, lipstick on, ready an hour early.
Carol had been her partner-in-crime for as long as I could remember.
The two of them ran every bake sale, funeral luncheon, and holiday pageant the church ever saw.
Half the town swore they kept the place standing more than the pastor did.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Mom said, kissing my cheek as I helped her down the steps. Carol gave me a smile and a “Don’t you look handsome,” which only made me shake my head.
On the way back down Mulberry Street, I spotted a flash of blonde through the trees.
There she was—Lily Harper, ponytail swinging, legs eating up the sidewalk as she jogged past in a tank top that clung to curves and running shorts that rode high on tanned thighs.
My mouth went dry. I forced myself to look away, but not before catching the rise and fall of her chest, the flush spreading across her collarbones.
She waved, and I tightened my grip on the wheel, forcing my eyes back to the road, even as I caught myself wishing I could be the reason for that radiant smile.
Carol followed my line of sight, and I didn’t miss the knowing twitch at her mouth. I ignored it, pulling into the church lot.
The bell was already ringing, neighbors spilling in, little ones tugging at their parents’ hands.
Even from the steps, I could smell that familiar blend of aged timber and votive candles drifting through the open doors—a scent that hadn’t changed since I was six.
Inside, the soft shuffle of Sunday shoes and the low murmur of greetings filled the entryway, everyone settling into their usual rhythms.
I spotted Matt and Sarah right away, wrangling their kids toward the nursery.
Ava had her arms crossed and her lip stuck out, insisting she was “too big for the baby room,” while Lucas was already halfway down the hallway, squealing with delight as he made a break for it.
Matt scooped him up like a sack of flour, shooting me a look that said Don’t you dare laugh.
Once in the sanctuary, I spotted the rest of my friends. Maggie, with Ian whispering at her side, Rachel sipping coffee next to Ben, and Nate sliding into the pew. When Nate caught my eye, his usual sharp features softened into a smile—a deliberate nod that said he'd been waiting for me.
I gave a short nod, steering Mom and Carol toward our usual spot. As we slipped past, Rachel reached out to tap my arm, her smile wide. “Well, look who finally showed up. It’s good to see you here, Ethan.”
“Yeah,” Ben added with an easy grin. “Place hasn’t felt the same without you.”
Nate leaned back, eyes glinting. “Now the real question—can you handle two social events in a row? Game night at Matt and Sarah’s is tonight.”
“Don’t push it,” I muttered, but they were all watching me, waiting.
Ben's mouth quirked up at one corner. "It's just Monopoly and pizza, not a kidney transplant. You can handle it.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling Mom’s gentle hand squeeze my arm like she was silently siding with them. “Fine,” I said at last, though it came out more like a grumble. “I’ll come. But if anyone tries to get me to play Scrabble, I’m out the door.”
Rachel laughed, loud enough to turn a few heads. “Deal.”
I shook my head, settling into the pew, and tried not to notice the anxiety rising in my chest. Crowds used to feel easy—back when Dad was alive, back when all I had to do was grab a bat and run the bases with Ben, Nate, and Matt watching from the dugout.
Back then, it felt like the whole town was just one big team.
Now, every smile aimed my way felt like a test, every “good to see you” a reminder that people were watching, waiting to see if I’d crumble.
I wasn’t sure which was harder—forcing myself to nod and play the part, or admitting I didn’t have the energy to play it at all.
But when Ian turned around and waved at me from where he sat with Maggie, his whole face lit up. Against my better judgment, I lifted a hand and waved back.
The service went by in a blur of organ music and scripture I’d heard a hundred times.
As I glanced at Mom, I noticed the way her eyes glistened with unshed tears, the weight of her grief heavy in the air.
I caught her hand, feeling her squeeze back.
I knew how much she missed Dad, and in this small gesture, I hoped to remind her that she wasn’t alone in this.
Afterward, the fellowship hall buzzed with the usual Sunday crowd. Mrs. Shriver organized the muffins and doughnuts. Mr. Durbin trapped me by the coffee table asking about his Civil War book. Lynn Smith interrupted, eyebrows waggling, to report Lily's morning jog past the gazebo.
Before I could escape, Mr. Jenkins clapped my back and began complaining. “I’m just not sure about that new girl, Lily. Her ideas are too radical,” he grumbled, his tone dripping with skepticism.
Something churned in my stomach at his words. I had seen the way she lit up the room, how her passion could breathe life into the fair, and the last thing I wanted was to let anyone undermine that.
“Look, Jenkins,” I said, my voice steady but my heart racing. “Lily’s ideas could bring in new energy. We can’t keep playing it safe forever. This fair deserves a chance to thrive, and she’s the one to do it.”
Jenkins scowled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re really going to back her? Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With a huff, he stormed off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
I watched him leave, surprised at myself. Back her? Since when was I doing that?
I’d voted no. I didn’t trust her big ideas, her city shine, or the way she blasted music loud enough to rattle my shelves. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to let her know I’d defended her. Half the time, she drove me crazy.
But something in Jenkins’ tone—dismissive, stubborn, same-old-same-old—set my teeth on edge. Maybe it was Dad’s voice in the back of my head, or maybe I just hated seeing anyone shut someone down before they’d even had a chance.
Still, the thought nagged at me: why had I jumped in at all?
I rubbed the back of my neck, irritated at the answer forming in my chest. There was something about the way she carried herself, that spark in her eyes when she talked about the fair… something that made me want to believe the town could be more than what it had become.
But the fear crept in, too. What if I was wrong? What if her ideas fell flat, and everyone looked to me like I’d let the fair slip through my fingers? Losing the fair meant losing my last connection to Dad. I wasn’t sure I could take that.
So no—whatever Jenkins thought, this wasn’t me “backing her.” It was me protecting the pieces of this town I still understood.
At least, that’s what I told myself as I headed for the door and tried, not very successfully, to stop thinking about Lily Harper.
***
When I finally pulled the truck back into the driveway, Mom was already chatting with Carol about which hymn had been her favorite that morning. I walked them up the porch steps, carrying Mom’s Bible for her even though she insisted she didn’t need the help.