“Okay, everybody,” I say, standing. “Group decision: the fire station fundraiser needs a theme. Brett?”
“‘Bake It Till You Make It.’”
Maggie shakes her head. “Too punny.”
“Gee, wonder where he learned that,” I mutter.
Brett flips another burger. “So, Addy, if Dylan’s choosing cherry pie, what’s your counteroffer?”
I tap my lip. “Pecan with extra butter. Too delicious to resist.”
“Pie battle. I like it.” He whistles. “Loser does what?”
“I’m not losing,” I fire back, automatic, competitive.
Maggie claps. “She’s invested! That’s practically a confession!”
I roll my eyes so hard they risk orbit. But a smile tugs anyway. Maybe Brett’s right: embarrassing glue.
“Fine,” I concede. “Pie war it is. But if I end up on Bluewater’s gossip page, you two are going down with me.”
They high-five over my head.
Somewhere behind us, the cicadas swell louder, like nature’s laugh track. I sip my lemonade — now suspiciously warm — and pull out my phone.
Should we meet at Butter & Crust? I’ll set it up with the owner and text you day & time.
The three dots appear instantly.
Deal. Can’t wait for this tasting. Are we still on for a walk-through Wednesday?
Sure thing. See you tomorrow.
I hear Maggie and Brett bickering about pickles, the charcoal popping, cicadas singing backup. For once, the chaos feels… welcome.
Maybe letting someone in doesn’t dismantle the scaffold; maybe it just adds another beam.
“Addy,” Brett calls, waving a pair of tongs. “You want cheese on that second burger?”
I glance at the screen, at the three blinking dots, at Maggie’s matchmaking grin.
“Yeah,” I say, voice as light as I’m feeling. “Give me the works.”
15
FAIRY LIGHTS HANGING
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9
Dylan
The drill purrs once, twice, then sighs silent. I ease the bit from the cedar brace and step back, rolling my right shoulder until the joint pops like distant popcorn. There. Last screw seated. The arch straightens its wooden spine and seems to breathe with me, fresh-planed boards glowing warm against the sherbet sky. Hummingbirds would be jealous of the little platform I tucked beneath the keystone — a flourish nobody asked for, but weddings deserve surprises.
Promises, all of them, tick through my head like the list on Addison’s clipboard: solid footings, hidden anchors, no visible brackets — and, okay, no baseball sticker graffiti. Every box is checked now. Even the sun seems satisfied, melting from orange to indigo.
A crunch of gravel. I glance down the aisle of apple trees just in time to see her — Addison Bennett — stride toward me with a tote of cables banging her knee. Curls escape her clip, and her cheeks are smudged rose from a day of wrangling clients. She looks exactly like someone who builds joy for a living, and it punches the breath clean out of me.
“Evening, Coach.” Her smile wobbles with fatigue but lands true. “Tell me that arch is as sturdy as it is pretty.”
