Page 10 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

It feels like the whole town of Whitewood Creek is gathered outside the courthouse today, craning their necks and leaning on one another to hear what should be just a simple announcement: the two candidates who’ve been selected for the mayoral ballot.

This process is supposed to narrow the field before the November election—but when you're the one waiting to hear your name, it feels anything but simple. Lydia submitted my nomination last week, but I’ve got no clue who else is in the running.

Either no one trusts me enough to spill the tea—which doesn’t bode well for my chances of winning—or I’m running unopposed.

Either way, my stomach is in knots, my palms are clammy, and my cheeks are on fire.

“You’ve got this,” Lydia says, giving my elbow a quick squeeze and flashing me a smile that does little to calm my nerves.

I glance around us at the thick crowd and then lean in toward her. “Why are there so many people here? Couldn’t they just, I don’t know, read about it in the news tomorrow? Does this town even have a newspaper?”

She shrugs, scanning the crowd. “Everything in this town is a big deal. We rally around each other, support as much as possible. And after the last mayor’s…

” She drops her voice and glances over her shoulder.

“… scandals , people are extra invested in who will take his place. Whoever wins this election needs to be someone they trust, or—”

“They’ll riot?” I finish for her, my voice dry but my heart racing inside of my chest.

“Pretty much.” She nods with a smirk.

Well, shit. They don’t even know me.

The city manager, Mr. Craig Archer, steps up to the podium, his voice carrying over the chatter.

“Good afternoon, everyone and thanks for joining us for this announcement. Just a reminder, folks, the mayor of Whitewood Creek is a vital role in maintaining our small town’s success here in North Carolina.

The mayor will oversee the town council, represent Whitewood Creek among other mayors in the state, run public hearings, and most importantly”—he pauses, glancing meaningfully at the crowd—“coordinate the State Fair planning committee to ensure everything at the fairgrounds goes off without a hitch this November.”

I lace my fingers together and press them tight, trying to keep my hands steady. No pressure or anything. Just managing the whole State Fair.

Craig pulls out his tablet, scrolling with deliberate slowness using one finger. I’m guessing it’s for dramatic effect. There’s simply no way that many people were nominated.

“I’m happy to be here announcing the two candidates who will be running for mayor of Whitewood Creek. These individuals will be on the ballot for the November election and, ultimately, one will take on this prestigious position—”

Okay, let’s slow down here, Craig.

Calling this position prestigious feels like a stretch.

Sure, it might be a big deal in places like Charlotte or Raleigh, but here in Whitewood Creek?

It’s barely more than a glorified figurehead who oversees hot dog eating contests and makes sure the fairgrounds are clean.

Still, my heart’s pounding like it’s the election of the century or a presidential nomination with the way he and everyone else here is hyping this announcement up.

“And candidate number one is…” Craig clears his throat “…Rae Black…”

A few quiet murmurs ripple through the crowd as they try to figure out who the hell that is. I paste on my widest smile and give a friendly wave. Eyes slowly find mine and a few kind people give me thumbs ups and clap politely as if they recognize me.

There's no way that they could. I've never seen them in my life.

“Rae Black is our town’s beloved ophthalmologist, Laken Black’s younger sister.

Rae moved here three weeks ago to help Laken with her two sons while her husband is deployed overseas working in special ops.

An honorable effort, I might add. Rae’s experience includes working in politics for the past eight years in Charlotte, making her a natural candidate for this role.

Her background in planning and marketing will be invaluable for this year’s state fair.

She’s full of fresh ideas and excited to dive in,” Craig announces with all the enthusiasm of a high school principal on career day.

I flash a polite smile, leaning toward Lydia to murmur out of the corner of my mouth, “Uh… did you write all that?”

She grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Was it too much?”

“Maybe a little but I think they ate it up.”

And the crowd seems to love it. The applause picks up, accompanied by a few cheers and even a stray “ woo !” It’s a warm reception, and for a second, I feel a flicker of relief—like maybe, I’ll actually fit in here and have a chance at winning this thing.

After a few more seconds of clapping and waving, Craig clears his throat loudly, pulling everyone’s attention back to the stage.

“Alright, folks, we’re excited to have you running, Rae, and can’t wait to see what you do with the state fair this year. And the second candidate on the ballot for mayor this November is…”

Well, shit. I guess I'm not running unopposed after all...

“… Cash Marshall! Of the Marshall family!”

If I thought my applause was decent, the eruption that follows Cash Marshall’s name being shouted across the courthouse steps could be mistaken for a rock concert.

The crowd goes wild—stomping boots, cheers loud enough to rattle the windows, and hollers so enthusiastic I half expect someone to start chanting his name.

For a second, I’m convinced there’s an earthquake.

But nope, it’s just the overwhelming realization that I am not, in fact, running unopposed and the man I'm running against is Mr. Whitewood Creek.

And then I see him.

Cash saunters toward the podium like he owns the place, waving to the crowd, blowing kisses, and flashing that million-dollar smile of his that has every woman turning and blushing.

At some point during his walk towards the stage, a woman hands him a baby and he kisses it. Straight up kisses a baby.

I thought they only did that in movies.

He’s dressed in a beat-up white T-shirt with a quarter sized hole over his ribcage, light-washed jeans smeared with what I hope is dirt and not chicken shit, and scuffed work boots that have clearly seen better days.

Meanwhile, I’m in the crowd, standing stiffly in my power-red suit dress, complete with a tacky USA pin Laken insisted that I wear, radiating all the “ first female president ” vibes.

I feel ridiculous. Cash, on the other hand? He looks like he’s already won the whole damn thing without even trying.

I know I shouldn't have listened to my sister.

Though she's lived here for the past twelve years of her life, she doesn't get as involved in the small town happenings as the other town’s folks.

“Cash Marshall is the third of the five Marshall children. A true middle child,” Craig announces with a grin that’s far from unbiased.

“He’s run the family’s thriving egg farm—a business we’re all so proud of, supporting our town’s economy for over a decade.

And let’s just say, he knows a thing or two about planning and executing a vision. ”

I feel my jaw tighten. I’m one misplaced clench away from cracking a tooth.

“Now, Cash here says he may not have Rae’s extensive background in politics,” Craig continues, “but he doesn’t need it to be mayor of Whitewood Creek.

This man earned the nickname Mr. Whitewood Creek years ago.

He’s got the town spirit, a state fair vision that’ll knock your socks clean off, and—ladies—he just so happens to be the most eligible bachelor in all of Whitewood Creek. ”

Cash’s grin falters for a fraction of a second at the comment about his bachelor status before he’s back to winking and charming the crowd like the walking rom com lead that he is. I can’t decide if his nomination speech was written by someone else or if he’s genuinely that full of himself.

“Are you kidding me?” I hiss to Lydia, who looks decidedly less sure about my chances of winning now.

She giggles nervously from next to me, staring straight ahead. “I mean, on paper you’re definitely more qualified.”

I roll my eyes because even I know that’s bullshit. How do you compare to the town’s mascot?

The crowd erupts. Catcalls, whistles, hoots, and hollers fill the air, and I swear someone just threw a hat up in the air. No direction just tossed it vertical like we were at a college graduation.

A woman who must be pushing eighty stands beside me, fanning herself like she’s watching a live reenactment of Magic Mike . “He looks just like my late husband Arnold,” she says with a wistful sigh. “What a handsome boy. He has my vote. Handsome men are always trustworthy.”

Um... what?

That’s the exact opposite of what handsome men tend to be like. Clearly, she’s never listened to any of the hundreds of true crime podcasts that show just how untrustworthy these types of guys are.

To an outsider, Cash Marshall was the town’s hero.

Until he wasn’t.

Dun, dun, dun.

Cue the dramatic crime scene music.

“Well,” I say, squaring my shoulders and forcing my voice to stay steady, “I’m not about to let him just waltz away with this. This isn’t over.”

“You go get ‘em,” Lydia whispers, nudging me forward though her voice doesn't hold any of the excitement that it did before as I stalk toward the podium like it’s a battlefield.

Cash’s eyes catch mine as I move, and for a split second, I feel a rush of heat surge through me when his hazel eyes soften.

If I thought he was attractive before, well, he still is—but now he is my opponent.

An opponent I plan to crush on my way to become mayor of this small town because I am more qualified than he is.

I’ve planned everything from campaigns to rallies.

I can handle a state fair. The most Cash has probably ever planned is a date night.

I climb the steps, smoothing down my too-proper dress, and take my spot beside him, pasting on my most dazzling, future-mayor smile. From the corner of my eye, I catch his smirk. He leans in slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear.

“That was good,” he murmurs, his grin growing wider. “You’re really getting better at smiling and making it look natural, Eeyore .”

“What are you even wearing? Did you roll in chicken shit before you got here?” I shoot back, doing my best not to move my lips. I’ve perfected this move after years in politics—never underestimate who might be filming or reading lips. Cash, on the other hand, couldn’t care less who’s watching.

“The people love to see a down home boy in his element. Not a buttoned up princess who looks like she’s running for most uncomfortable outfit of the year award.”

I let out a soft gasp. “You’re telling me you intentionally put that shit on?”

He smirks and shrugs. “I was in a suit before this but decided this was a better look.”

“You’re a psycho.”

“Mhm... I like to think that I’m just excellent at planning and optics. Something that a good mayor would need if they're going to run this town effectively.”

"It's the City Manager who runs the town. Mayor is more of a figurehead position,” I shoot back.

"Well, I’ve got the figure, if you want to bring the head."

I gasp again, narrowing my gaze slightly as I turn to face him while the crowd continues to cheer for us. “How did you even know what was written in my announcement speech?”

Cash flashes the crowd a practiced grin and winks before turning back to me, his voice smooth and infuriatingly casual. “People do favors for you when you’re a happy person. You should try it some time.”

I roll my eyes, already strategizing my next move. If I’m going to take on a Marshall and win this thing, I’ll need to bring my A-game. Although... sabotage is starting to look like a solid backup plan.

“If you think I’m going to roll over and let you have this just because you’re Mr. Whitewood, you’re dead wrong,” I say, crossing my arms.

“It’s Mr. Whitewood Creek, thank you very much. And for the record, I find it interesting that you’re thinking about my woo-.”

“Pig,” I cut him off before he can finish.

“Well, if we're resorting to name calling, I think I'll call you Janis Ian.”

I gasp. “Janis Ian was hilarious and tragically misunderstood,” I shoot back, referencing the Mean Girls icon.

He smirks. “She was also grumpy. This town likes happy things. Light, sunshine, flowers. You know... people like me.”

Before I can reply, Craig’s voice rises over the fading applause, redirecting the crowd’s attention once again.

“Well, folks, I think we’ve got an outstanding lineup for this year’s election!

We’re excited to see what Rae and Cash come up with while working together.

First on the docket? Choosing the theme for this year’s state fair.

We’ll be watching your progress closely as we edge toward the main event and the election in November! ”

I plaster on my best politician smile, the kind that makes my cheeks ache, and then wave to the crowd. I've always been behind the scenes on this kind of stuff, so it doesn't feel natural, but I’ll get there.

Beside me, Cash’s grin looks so effortless I want to scream. He gives a slight nod to the crowd and somehow, that makes everyone go wild again. As we step down from the stage, he leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he murmurs. “Working with you, I mean. Meet me at the Marshall Farmstead tonight to start planning?”

“Oh, how convenient for you to assume I’d come to your turf,” I snap.

He shrugs, entirely unbothered, a smile still on his face. “I'm not the enemy here, Rae. I like you, and I heard you’ve been asking about seeing the farm. Thought you might like to visit it for yourself in person.”

My lips press into a thin line because when he puts it that way, I look like the asshole and he looks like the nice guy, wanting to show the new girl around.

Damn this town and its inability to keep a secret. He’s right—I am curious about the egg farm and distillery—but no way am I letting him know that yet.

“We meet on neutral ground. Tomorrow,” I counter.

He chuckles, low and rich. “Fine. Where would that be?”

I narrow my eyes. “We meet on fair, ground. At the State fairgrounds.”