Chapter 45
Lily
The smell of syrup and butter clung to the morning air, sticky-sweet even out by the fairgrounds. Joni’s pancake breakfast had spilled over every area of the fairground—half the town in line, kids waving forks like swords, Mayor Davis pouring coffee into paper cups.
I floated through it all with my clipboard, smiling, checking boxes, trying to keep my voice steady when people thanked me for bringing Summerfest back to life.
I should’ve been glowing. Instead, every time I caught Ethan’s profile across the crowd, laughing with Jason at the dunk tank, handing out raffle tickets, my stomach pitched.
We hadn’t really spoken since yesterday. Not since he’d almost said the thing I’d been aching to hear and then swallowed it whole.
And maybe that was the proof I’d been waiting for—the reminder that no matter how much you wanted someone to stay, they never really did. If he cared about me, really cared, he would’ve said it. He wouldn’t have held it back like it was something fragile, something I didn’t deserve to know.
That was the pattern, wasn’t it? People kept their distance. They broke their word. Foster moms who didn’t change sheets. Families who let me pack my bags without a fight. Even my own parents. Nobody stayed. And now Ethan, sweet, steady Ethan, was proving it again in the quietest way possible.
It stung worse because I had let myself believe he was different.
Kayla caught up to me and the girls outside the dunk tank, notebook in hand, her hair tied back with a patriotic ribbon. “You’re smiling too hard. That’s your fake smile.”
“I don’t have a fake smile.”
Jason leaned forward, dripping wet from being dunked. “Yeah, you do.” He wrung out his shirt. “That’s the same smile you gave Mrs. Henson when she brought tuna salad to the volunteer lunch.”
Kayla smirked. “Spill it.”
I glanced toward the line of kids shrieking as Nate climbed onto the dunk tank stool. “Why don’t you two go hand out these flyers for the raffle?” I said quickly, pressing a stack into Jason’s soggy hands before Kayla could argue. “Split up, cover both sides of the field. Make yourselves useful.”
Jason rolled his eyes but started moving, Kayla trotting after him.
That left me with Rachel, Sarah, and Maggie, their arms full of flyers and their faces expectant. They didn’t even bother pretending they hadn’t been waiting for this moment.
“It’s nothing,” I started, then sighed, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Okay, it’s not nothing. Ethan and I…” My voice faltered. “We’re sort of a thing.”
Maggie squealed loud enough to make three kids turn. Sarah grinned like she’d been waiting weeks to hear it. Rachel just raised an eyebrow.
“And?” Sarah pressed.
“And now it’s complicated,” I admitted. “He found out I’ve got another contract after this. He thinks it means I’m already halfway gone.”
“Are you?” Rachel asked gently.
The question hit harder than I expected. “I don’t know. For once, I don’t want to be.”
Maggie nudged me with her shoulder. “Then maybe don’t be.”
“It’s not that simple.” My throat tightened. “This is his home. His mom. His family. And me? I’m just… temporary.”
Sarah’s hand found mine. “Lily Harper, you’ve rebuilt an entire festival from scratch. Don’t tell me you can’t figure out your own heart. Come on, we’ve got you.”
I laughed shakily, grateful and gutted all at once.
Just as the laughter faded, the sound of footsteps approached.
I turned to see Jake Lawson, the local fire chief, striding toward us with an easy confidence.
I recognized him from our earlier meetings about the fair, where he’d laid out his plans to ensure everything ran smoothly.
Rachel, Sarah, and Maggie brightened instantly, their faces lighting up with familiarity.
“Hey, Jake!” Maggie called, her enthusiasm bubbling over. “Long time no see!”
As she said that, a tall figure stepped up beside Jake. He was all broad shoulders and an easy smile, his blonde hair slightly tousled. There was something disarmingly charming about him, and I couldn’t help but notice how Maggie’s gaze returned to him.
“Good to see you all. Ladies, this is Vance Montgomery. He just transferred here. Showing him the ropes,” Jake replied, his grin wide.
His gaze shifted to me. “Lily, I wanted to touch base about the rest of the safety plans for the fair. We need to do a final walk-through to make sure we have everything squared away.”
“Of course!” I nodded, eager to shift my focus. “What do you need to know?”
After a moment of chatter, the two of them moved on, but not before I caught the excited glances shared among my friends.
“Wow, he’s cute!” Maggie said, her cheeks flushing slightly as they walked away. “What do you think, Lily? Should I ask him about a fireman’s calendar?”
“Definitely,” I teased, a smile playing on my lips.
Sarah laughed, and Rachel rolled her eyes, but I noticed Maggie’s gaze drifting back toward Vance.
***
By late afternoon, the fairgrounds had that golden-hour hush—busy, but soft around the edges.
Ribbons fluttered from tractor fenders; kids ran past with pie-crumb smiles; Joni’s voice rose and fell from the auction tent like a brass band.
The Wishing Tree, tucked at the back near the fence line, had turned into exactly what I’d hoped, a little pocket of quiet.
People gathered there between events, fingers on bark, eyes tipped up.
The branches wore a hundred colors now, ribbons whispering in the breeze like the town was breathing together.
I checked the clipboard—choir mic check wasn’t for another thirty minutes—and handed it to Kayla with a quick, “You’re in charge if someone panics.” She saluted, already leading Jason toward the raffle table. That bought me the sliver of time I needed.
I slipped behind the tents and followed the shade until the tree rose ahead, taller than the rest, its limbs dipped with wishes: baby names and second chances, safe harvests and healed hearts, neat block letters and messy kid scrawls.
I sank onto the bench beneath it and just…
sat. Let the noise fade. Let me admit what I wanted.
What did I wish for, really? Not a headliner, not a fancy career, not even a perfect weekend—though God, I wanted those too.
I wanted what had been poking at me all summer.
A place where the leaving didn’t happen.
Family that stayed. Love that didn’t flinch.
A life that didn’t vanish when the job ended.
My throat went tight. I pulled a ribbon from the basket—soft gold, the kind Carol would have called “Sunday best”—and uncapped my pen. For a long minute, I just pressed the tip to the fabric, breathing. Then the words came, careful and true.
A home that stays.
A family that lasts.
A love that doesn’t end.
I tied the ribbon high, tears on my cheeks, fingers working the knot until it held.
The bow trembled in the breeze, catching sunlight, and I sat there a little longer, palms flat to the bench, letting the wanting be real.
Then I wiped my eyes, checked the time, and stood.
Thirty minutes were up. The town needed its boss.
And for once, I wondered if I might be wishing for the right to be more than that.
When I stepped back, he was there. Ethan. Quiet, watching me with that look that undid me every time.
“Hey,” he said quietly, like the word itself might spook me. His shoulders tensed. “Didn’t mean to sneak up.”
My breath caught. “Hi.”
For a beat, neither of us moved. Then he closed the space, slow and careful, and his hand came up to brush the tears I hadn’t realized were still on my cheek. His thumb paused, warm and steady.
“About the other day…” His voice cracked. He tried again. “I shouldn’t have—no, that’s not right. I should’ve said it. I just—God, Lily, I don’t know how to explain.”
I shook my head, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “You don’t have to—”
“I do,” he said, firmer this time, though his words stalled again. His gaze darted to the tree, to the ribbons swaying above us. “What’d you wish for?”
I almost told him. That I wished for us. For love that stayed. For a family that didn’t vanish when the job ended. I wanted to be brave enough to write myself into this town instead of out of it.
But the words stuck in my throat.
“If I tell you,” I whispered, forcing a smile that didn’t feel real, “it won’t come true.” My chest ached. “Not that it will anyway.”
Something flickered across his face—hurt, regret, maybe the echo of what he hadn’t said last night. He took a step back, fingers curling back into a fist.
He opened his mouth like he might argue, then shut it, jaw tight. A slow nod, one that felt like it broke something between us.
I swallowed hard, sidestepped his shadow, and let the festival noise pull me back toward what I knew how to do.
***
By the time the sun dipped low, the fairgrounds were unrecognizable.
Every patch of grass, every folding chair, every square of gravel had filled in with bodies.
People stretched as far as I could see, spilling out toward the fields.
I’d heard them in line earlier—families who’d driven from Dayton, college kids from Columbus, a vanload from Cleveland who’d camped in the parking lot just to snag a spot close to the stage.
Vendors were swamped, the air thick with the smell of fried dough, barbecue, kettle corn.
Joni had already sold out of pie by six.
Neely’s and Black Bear Market were both grinning ear to ear, their “rival” tug-of-war long forgotten in the face of cash drawers that had never been so full.
This was it. The night that made Summerfest, and it was breaking wide open in our favor.
My heart pounded as I took the steps up to the stage. The lights blinded me for half a second, but then I saw it—the whole town, plus half the state, buzzing with anticipation. My chest swelled.
“WILLOWbrOOK!” I shouted into the mic, and the roar that came back nearly knocked me sideways.
I grinned so hard my cheeks hurt. “I hope you’ve got your dancing shoes on, because tonight…
tonight we’re making history! You didn’t just show up for a festival.
You showed up for a community. For every booth out there, for every kid with ice cream on their face, for every neighbor who came together to make this happen. ”
The crowd clapped, hollered, whistled, and I let the energy feed me.
“And now—our headliners! You’ve probably heard whispers. Maybe caught a set in Columbus, maybe a tape passed hand to hand. But tonight, they’re here! Right here, in Willowbrook. Give it up for… O.A.R.!”
The scream that followed rattled through my ribs as four guys bounded onto the stage. Dressed casually in plain T-shirts and shorts, they flashed wide, confident smiles, ready to make the night unforgettable.
The lead singer leaned into the mic. “Thank you, Willowbrook!” he shouted, and the crowd went wild. He laughed, adjusting the strap on his guitar. “We’ve got a new one for you. It’s called ‘That Was a Crazy Game of Poker.’ Hope you like it.”
Then the first chords hit—bright, restless, alive with that unmistakable island reggae-rock pulse—and the place erupted. Hands shot up, voices rose, and the music rolled across the lake like a tidal wave.
I darted offstage, heart still thundering, and found Rachel, Sarah, and Maggie pressed together near the front, swaying in the sea of bodies.
They pulled me in, laughing, singing off-key, sparks in their eyes.
For a moment, I let it carry me—the thrum of bass under my feet, fireworks of sound exploding overhead.
The music was electric. The crowd roared, fireworks waiting in the wings, and I let myself lean into it.
I threw my hands up, let the beat rattle through my chest, and screamed the chorus with everyone else.
I wanted to bottle it somehow—the laughter of my friends, the glow of the stage, this town alive in a way I’d only ever dreamed of—so I’d never forget what it felt like when everything finally came together.
But as I clapped and sang along, a pang tugged at me. I wanted Ethan there—his hand brushing mine, his calm steadiness in the middle of all this noise. Wanted to turn and catch his crooked smile in the stage lights instead of feeling the space he’d left.
And even as my heart ached, I tried to allow joy to thrum louder, but each beat of the music seemed to echo the rhythm of his name, making celebration and loss impossible to separate.