Page 2 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

Knowing I have no choice, and completely unprepared for what awaits me behind the rim of this lid, I smile and then press the cup to my lips, taking a hefty sip to get this viewing over with.

The spices she dumped in, the orange dyes, the strong pumpkin flavor mixed with something else that tastes a hell of a lot like coconut, all of it falls into my throat and empty morning stomach like a torpedo of sugar.

I want to choke.

I want to throw up.

I want to chuck the cup at the nearest wall and scream why would you do this to me!?

But I force myself to swallow the assault on my senses and what has surely just burned a hole in my esophagus that I'll never recover from. My eyes are watering and stinging with the pain of it going down, but I force a smile, one that I’m sure is a jack-o-lantern style grin.

Half because I don't feel happy and half because my teeth must be stained a horrid shade of orange food coloring right now.

“Thank you. It’s… lovely,” I murmur, feeling crazed. “I simply don’t have the words for how it tastes.”

My brain physically hurts and I’m pretty sure my blood sugar just spiked to dangerous levels.

Maybe the agreement I made with my big sister Laken two weeks ago was a shit idea.

I’m not sure I can fake being happy about living here.

Give me my boring, stable, completely basic coffee shops back in Charlotte and get me the hell out of here.

I hurry out the door before my poor ability to control my facial expression gives me away any further and race around the corner of the building, searching for a trash can where no one can see me toss it away.

Dammit . Guess I’ll have to spend another day consuming my sister’s trash, instant coffee.

When I finally find a bin, I toss the concoction into it and let out a dramatic shiver, feeling horrible for whatever rat or bird finds its way into that trash can looking for a tasty treat only to be attacked by the offending taste of that pumpkin nightmare.

Truly, that thing should be incinerated. Composting wouldn’t be fair, dumping it on the ground would kill the grass. Maybe evaporation into the atmosphere is an option? Frankly, it shouldn't be returned to the earth and there’s no way that it should make it back into the eco-system.

With a sigh, I turn on my heels, heading back the way I came towards my sister's house just across the town square.

It had been a brief escape—a quick reprieve from my current full-time job of wrangling my nephews during the day, Felix and Daniel.

Normally, Saturdays are my day off since my sister rarely works weekends, but today, a last-minute emergency eye surgery was added to her schedule, so here I am on the clock.

Their dad, my brother-in-law, is currently deployed overseas with the Navy, working special ops. He’s been gone for months now, and his return date is one big question mark. No calls. No texts. Just silence. Enter me: their favorite (and only) aunt, newly promoted to full-time stand-in parent.

When my sister first asked me to move here during his deployment, I’ll admit, I put up a fight for weeks about it.

“Just until he’s back,” she’d said. “ This is his last tour, and then he’s retiring.

They’ll be in school all fall. You’ll just need to get them up, feed them breakfast, get them out the door, and handle pickups and activities.

That’s it. I’ll do the rest. And I’ll even pay you to basically sit on your ass the rest of the day and watch those stupid horror movies you enjoy. ”

She’d made it sound easy—practically like a vacation—but I knew better. It’d be work, nonetheless. Still, I hemmed. I hawed. I bitched. And then I caved.

Because, really, what else do I have going on?

I’d recently lost my job—my favorite job ever.

I worked for Mayor Ashley Abrahms in Charlotte, a total feminist powerhouse and one of the most inspiring women I’ve ever met.

She'd started out as an intern for the city, worked her way up, and now runs Charlotte with grit and grace, making actual, noticeable changes.

I admired her. Hell, I wanted to be her. And losing that job? It’d gutted me.

And you know the real gutter? The only reason that I’d lost my job as her campaign manager, a position that I'd held for only the last eight months, was because during the pre-reelection, she ended up withdrawing from the campaign.

I didn’t get it. I was bitter. I was angry. She’d explained to me that the position no longer aligned with her current goals, and she’d decided to step away from politics temporarily to take care of her aging mother.

And then I was even more angry.

At myself now.

Because how do you get mad at someone for making that kind of choice? I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her.

Spoiler: You don't.

So, when my sister asked for help with my nephews, it wasn’t like I could pretend I was too busy with my thriving social life or career.

And despite all my complaining, I knew the truth: I’d do anything for her and those boys.

But it’d destroyed my plans to wallow in self-pity and try to find something new and I don't do well when things go off the rails.

I've been trying to pick myself back up since.

I’m twenty-eight years old and have had nine different jobs in the past eight years—entirely bouncing around various city government gigs in Charlotte. Even I can admit, that’s not exactly a stellar track record.

I need to reinvent myself. Hell, I need to just invent myself. Figure out if politics is where I want to stay and then pick something and stick with it.

Maybe moving to Whitewood Creek temporarily will help me do just that.

Let’s hope so.