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The thinning of their lips, the narrowing of their eyes tell me clearly it’s not even before Florence opens her mouth.

“It should be condemned after what those two did to poor Lucy—”

In zero mood to crawl into that hornet’s nest, I drop my gaze to my silent phone.

“Oh! That’s Mayor Ferguson texting me. Probably wondering where I’ve gone off to. It was lovely seeing you both.”

Without waiting, I dart past them. I don’t stop until I’m sprinting up the white steps to the grand City Hall doors.

History has never been my strong suit. Next to math and algebra, I passed history by the skin of my teeth. But everyone is required to live, breathe and recite the fruition of Jefferson. I may not know every prime minister Canada’s ever had, but I know every founding member who helped create our town. I know the year they settled, the first land they broke and the family tree that continues to spin the wheel to this day.

The Ferguson family has led our town for over two hundred years and will most likely continue to do so for another two hundred. There has never been a call for change and never will be when no change is required. Why fix what isn’t broken? The town is flourishing, maintained and preserved in a manner that is free of outside influences.

We have access to the trends online, the growingunrestas it’s called, but they serve as warnings of what will happen if we’re not careful. Salvation is fed to us on a spoon crafted from generations of systematic control and fear.

Still, we all stay.

I stay.

I climb the three flights of stairs to Mayor Ferguson’s office. The spacious sprawl of calm pastels and sweet harmony of harps greet me at the doors. My desk, a simple steel and wood structure, sits with intention next to the wide set of doors at the end of the room.

Like all doors in Jefferson, they stand open. I catch a glimpse of Mayor Ferguson seated behind his wooden ship, head bent. Peggy Sue leans over his shoulder, bony hands clasped at her center. Neither notice as I reach my desk and deposit my things. As I take a hasty sip of my drink while nudging my computer awake.

I check emails and skim through the calendar before joining the two in the office.

“Everly, good morning.” Mayor Ferguson lifts his head when I reach his desk with my coffee clasped tight between my fingers. His smile shines all the way to his warm, brown eyes. “Have you eaten your muffin?”

Michael Ferguson is the spitting image of his father back when Clayton Ferguson III sat behind the desk. But I like to think he smiles more than his father. Mayor Clayton Ferguson had a seriousness to him that never quite felt real.

“I can later.” I nod my chin to the papers laid out before him. “Anything I can put away, sir?”

Rather than answer, Mayor Ferguson folds his big hands over the pages, pen still clasped between his fingers. “What’s rule three?”

Despite the tiny prickle of annoyance, I roll my eyes over my grinning mouth. “Me before work.”

“Exactly. Go eat. Slowly!” he adds with narrowed eyes and his own grin. “When you’re done, I have some paperwork that needs to be signed for the new rec center. Can you see that Shaw signs them before lunch?”

All thoughts of my muffin are forgotten at the prospect of seeing Lachlan. I have to fight the bubble of excitement. The urge to bolt from the room and head straight for my car. I have to keep my face calm, neutral as I accept the folder Peggy Sue pulls off the top of all the others on the desk and passes them over.

“I’ll get that done right away, sir,” I say.

“After you eat,” Mayor Ferguson warns, but I’m already hurrying from the office.

At my desk, I grab my phone and muffin and race to the stairs.

CHAPTER SIX

EVERLY

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I was eighteen the first time I set eyes on Lachlan Shaw. I’d been tagging along with my dad to grab fertilizer for Mom’s garden. It was late May when we pulled into Juniper’s Nursery. I wandered away for a few minutes only to return to find my dad talking to the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on. Tall and broad, and tattooed all over with the most serious eyes.

When Dad introduced us, Lachlan had barely given me more than an inclination of his head before returning his focus to his conversation with my dad. Which was fine. I did not expect him to fall to his knees and confess his undying affections.

Still, I enjoyed looking at him from a distance whenever I saw him in town. It was never serious. Barely a crush. Even then I knew nothing could ever happen between us. Not in Jefferson. Possibly not ever and that was fine.

Even when Bron returned after living with his mom for a year, my feelings for the Shaw men were neutral. Bron and I rarely crossed paths and when we did, we seldom acknowledged each other.