Chapter 16
Ethan
As the days went on, something strange happened.
I’d gotten used to Lily’s music. At first, it had grated on me, that steady thrum of whatever she queued up on her stereo system while I shelved or rang up customers.
But after a week of her being here, it was starting to feel like part of the bookstore itself.
Most mornings, she came in with her coffee and that thick leather binder, settling into the seat by the window. From there, she ran Summerfest prep like a general running a campaign—fielding calls on her little phone, sketching poster layouts, scribbling notes in her planner.
Sometimes I’d catch myself watching her, the sunlight catching in her hair or the edge of her smile, and feel that tug in my chest—the uneasy, restless sense that she was turning this place, and maybe even me, into something new.
She had a knack for people, too. Business owners drifted in one by one—Maggie, Nate, even Joni—and every time, she lit up like they were the most important person in town.
Asked questions, laughed at their stories, jotted notes like she couldn’t possibly forget a single detail.
By the time they left, they looked taller somehow, shoulders squared like they’d been chosen. She made people feel seen.
But I saw through it. The tightening of her smile when she thought no one was watching.
The too-rapid tap of her pen when overwhelmed.
Lily Harper strutted in like she belonged, but that confidence was armor.
Still, I couldn't look away. I wanted, achingly, to be the one she trusted enough to drop the act.
Not knowing who she really was gnawed at me in ways I refused to name.
Afternoons belonged to the kids. Kayla and Jason tumbled in after school, backpacks dropped at the counter before they got to work.
Lily always had jobs lined up for them—sorting stacks of old vendor forms, bundling flyers with rubber bands, helping her pin mock-ups to the corkboard wall in the back.
Sometimes she had them hand-letter posters or fold raffle tickets into neat piles.
They only stayed a couple of hours, but the place buzzed with energy while they were around, their chatter mixing with Lily’s music and the scratch of her pen.
Meanwhile, my days looked the same as they always had.
Sorting through trade-ins. Ringing up Mrs. Sparrow’s weekly mystery novel and pretending not to blush when she winked and asked if I had “anything steamier” hidden in the back.
Tightening a bracket on the end shelf that had been sagging for months.
Crunching numbers at the register and trying not to think about how thin the profit margins still were.
Lily continued to make a few “suggestions” for the bookstore.
She never called them demands, but she had a way of making me feel like the store was on trial.
“Freshen up the displays. Add some plants. Host an author event,” she’d said a few days ago, tapping her notebook like she already had the invitations half-drafted.
I’d nodded along, told her I’d think about it.
And I had been thinking about it, more than I cared to admit. The store had been my father’s, then mine, steady and unchanging. But maybe unchanging wasn’t what people wanted anymore.
Still, I caught myself bristling at the idea of her swooping in and fixing things my father had been running his own way for years. It was a tug-of-war I hadn’t figured out how to quit yet: appreciating her drive, resenting her interference.
Some days, I didn’t even know if I cared about the store the way he had.
Was I here because I loved it, or because I didn’t know what else to do?
I shelved another stack of books and tried not to picture the place without me behind the counter.
Tried not to wonder if the store was really mine or if I was just babysitting my father’s dream.
The days blurred together with the usual cast of regulars—kids with allowance money buying Magic Tree House books, high schoolers giggling in the romance aisle, Mr. VanDoren rambling about fishing conditions until I nearly fell asleep standing.
Carol popped in more than once, clucking at Lily for skipping lunch and patting me on the arm like I was still twelve.
It was the kind of week where nothing much changed. Which is why I noticed right away when it did.
The bell over the door jingled, and in walked David Erwin from the Willowbrook Tribune.
We’d gone to high school together. He’d been the editor of the school paper back then, always scribbling notes during pep rallies instead of cheering.
These days, he still carried that same notepad everywhere, shirt tucked in neatly like he was trying to make “local press” look like big-city news.
“Ethan,” he said with a nod as he came up to the counter. “How’s business?”
“Can’t complain,” I said. “Still selling more mysteries than anything else. Guess folks in Willowbrook like their whodunits.”
David chuckled. “Keeps me in business, too. Never know what folks’ll say once I start scribbling.” He patted the breast pocket of his shirt, where a little recorder bulged, just in case his pen couldn’t keep up.
“Speaking of,” I said, lowering my voice just a little. “You here for Summerfest?”
“Sure am. Need a few quotes from Lily Harper.”
I nodded toward the window. Lily had already straightened in her chair, smoothing her skirt, her pen poised like she was about to sign a peace treaty. David gave me a quick grin before heading over, and in no time, they’d set up at the back table, Lily’s voice pitched brighter than usual.
I tried to keep my focus on reshelving a stack of paperbacks. But Lily’s voice carried, bright and practiced.
“So, Lily,” David began, settling across from her with his notepad open. “First off, welcome to Willowbrook. How are things shaping up for Summerfest?”
“Really well,” she said, her tone smooth as glass. “We’ve got vendors lined up, live performances confirmed, and some great community contests returning. I think people are really going to feel proud of this year’s event.”
I slid another book onto the shelf. Good answer. Solid. I shouldn’t have cared, but damn if I didn’t feel a flicker of pride. Watching her hold her own, I found myself wanting her to impress them almost as much as she did.
David scratched something down, then looked up. “What makes Summerfest special compared to other festivals in the region?”
Without missing a beat, Lily leaned forward. “It’s the people. The way Willowbrook comes together. It’s not just an event, it’s a tradition. Families, friends, neighbors—it’s a chance to celebrate what makes this town unique.”
Another good one. She sounded like she’d practiced it in the mirror.
But then David tilted his head, like he wanted to draw out something more. “What about for you personally? Any favorite part of Summerfest you’re looking forward to?”
There it was—the crack.
Lily’s smile held, but her pause stretched just a second too long.
Her pen tapped against her planner. For a heartbeat, the mask slipped, and I glimpsed the girl beneath all that polish, uncertain and raw, and it knocked the breath right out of me.
“Oh, I think… probably the vendors? We’ll have such a great variety this year. ”
Vendors. That wasn’t a favorite. That was a brochure talking.
David gave a polite smile, jotting it down anyway. “And the parade—will the route be the same as usual?”
Her eyes flickered. “Yes, I believe so,” she said, voice a touch too high. “That’s the plan, yes.”
It wasn’t confidence. It was a guess. Anyone in town would know the parade’s been the same since before we could walk.
David didn’t call her on it, but I could see the faint crease between his brows as he kept writing.
“And the tractor pull? That’s a real crowd-pleaser.” Another pause. Her smile wavered.
“I’ll need to check with our logistics team—I’m not sure we’ve got everything lined up for that just yet.”
David just nodded, polite as ever. “No problem. Maybe we can circle back later this week. I’d love to get your take once you’ve had a little more time to get settled.”
“Of course,” Lily said quickly, relief slipping into her voice.
David tucked his pen behind his ear, closed his notepad, and gave her a handshake. She matched it with that bright smile again, as if nothing had cracked at all.
But I’d seen it.
David gave me a quick wave on his way out, and the bell jingled behind him.
I leaned an elbow on the counter, watching Lily fuss with her binder, flipping pages like the right answer might suddenly appear there.
It twisted something in me, seeing her so rattled—pretending it was nothing, when anyone with eyes could tell she was floundering.
I hated how much I wanted to fix it for her.
“So,” I called, keeping my voice casual, “your favorite part of Summerfest is the vendors, huh?”
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Were you eavesdropping?”
“Didn’t have to. Your voice carries.” I smirked. “Vendors, though? That’s like saying your favorite part of Christmas is the wrapping paper.”
Color rose high in her cheeks. She pressed her lips together, trying to smile it off, but I could see the tightness there.
She looked down at her notes, tapping the pen against the page, faster and faster, like she could will herself into calm.
For a second, I almost smiled myself—she was adorable when she was flustered, stubbornly fighting for composure even as her nerves showed.
“I just—” She cut herself off, exhaling sharply.
“I didn’t know what he wanted. It’s like there’s a whole script everyone here knows, and I don’t.
I can handle sponsors, budgets, planning—I know this festival will be a success.
That part doesn’t scare me.” Her voice softened, the pen stilling in her hand.
“But if I can’t even land an interview without sounding clueless…
how am I supposed to pull off the next three? One of them is on live TV!”
I leaned against the counter, unable to stop the smirk tugging at my mouth. “So the woman who can juggle fifty vendors and an army of volunteers is worried about talking into a microphone? That’s rich.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she snapped her binder shut. “Easy for you to say. You grew up here. You don’t have to prove you belong every time you open your mouth.”
I should’ve kept teasing. But there was something in her voice, just a trace of doubt, that hit me square in the chest. She wasn’t worried about the work. She was worried about belonging. And I knew that feeling better than I cared to admit.
“Alright,” I said, my tone tightening before I could stop it. “So maybe you don’t know the script. But I do. You want to nail those interviews? You need to see Willowbrook the way the rest of us do. The pieces that make this place more than schedules and vendor lists.”
Her brows lifted, cautious. “And what? You’re offering to show me all that?”
The words were out before I could yank them back. “I… guess. Just a crash course.”
She blinked, surprised.
I cleared my throat and forced a shrug, already half-regretting opening my mouth. “Three days. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. You tag along, I point things out, you get enough stories to charm David Erwin, the Tribune, and anyone else waving a microphone.”
Her gaze sharpened like she was trying to decide whether I was serious or delirious.
And just like that, I wished I’d said nothing at all.
She arched a brow, suspicion still hanging there. But there was something else in her eyes, too—something like relief.
Then, just like that, the switch flipped. Lily shot up from her chair, practically bouncing on her toes. “Yes, yes, yes! A crash course is exactly what I need!”
Before I could react, she flung her arms around me in a quick, impulsive hug—warm, soft, gone almost before I could register it.
For a split second, the scent of her hair and the press of her body short-circuited every coherent thought I had, leaving me stunned and aching for her to linger just a moment longer.
She backed away just as fast, cheeks flushed.
“Sorry! I—uh—habit. You’re the best, Ethan Calloway! I have to run over and tell Maggie. She’s going to die when she hears this.” She was already half out the door, a streak of energy and purpose.
I leaned both hands on the counter, staring after her.
Just minutes ago, she’d looked ready to crack, and now she was sunshine again, lighting up the whole damn street.
The echo of her hug remained. I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to shake it off, but the memory clung stubbornly, refusing to let go.
Maybe I’d offered the crash course because it was good for the festival.
Maybe because the town deserved it. But if I was being honest, the truth was simpler—and harder to swallow.
Seeing her doubt herself had hit me in a place I didn’t expect.
And holding her, even for that heartbeat, sparked something unsettling in me—a pull to be the guy she turned to, the one who saw past the performance to whoever she really was underneath.
I didn’t know why that thought scared me, only that it did.