Page 39 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

“Cash!” I hiss, finally catching up to him. He’s standing by the concession tents, talking to a guy about our age with dark brown hair, a thick plaid shirt, and a name patch on his chest that reads Whitewood Creek Plumbing .

Cash turns at the sound of my voice, his brows pulling together in concern. “Oh, hey, Rae. Everything okay?”

“No,” I exhale sharply, trying to keep my voice steady. “My parents are dragging me to lunch.”

His expression darkens slightly, and he nods. “I see.”

“Will you come with me?” I ask, my words tumbling out before I lose my nerve. “Be my buffer? Please?”

He pauses, giving me a long, searching look, his lips pressing together in thought. Then he shakes his head—not in dismissal but with a gentle care that tells me he has a good reason for saying no.

“If you really want me there, I’ll go,” he says, his voice steady and calm.

“But, Rae, I’m too old to fake it with people who’ve hurt the woman I care about.

And your parents?” He tilts his head slightly, his gaze cutting right through me.

“From what you’ve told me—and the way they just spoke to you—they don’t seem like they’ve got your best interests in mind. ”

The woman I care about.

The words hit me square in the chest. Cash doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, and though he’s told me already that I’m his, sometimes it takes that being tested for me to believe it.

To have someone stand up for me when I’ve never had that before.

Deep down, I know I should have the guts to tell my parents no.

To stand my ground. To put another boundary in place that will protect me.

But some part of me—call it stubbornness or the tiniest sliver of hope—feels like I need this. Maybe it’ll be closure.

“Maybe I need the reminder,” I admit quietly, looking down at my hands.

“Why I put up boundaries in the first place. Why I cut them out. I’ve been so much happier here.

Lighter. This town feels more like home than they ever did.

But I think I need to see them for what they are one last time, just to really close the door. ”

He studies me for another beat, then nods. “If that’s what you want, I support you.”

“Yeah... okay. It’s probably best for you not to come. I need to do this on my own. Honestly, I don’t even want to be there, but I’m going to go.”

He steps closer, his hands settling on my hips as he pulls me against him. His face softens, but that mischievous glint in his eye tells me I’m in trouble.

“Go get your closure,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over mine.

The kiss is firm, steady, grounding me when I feel like my emotions are threatening to spill over.

This is the first time that I’ve let him kiss me in public where other people can see, and it doesn’t bother me.

I sigh into him, letting the tension in my shoulders melt as his thumb strokes a lazy line against my waist.

When he pulls back, his smirk is wicked. “Then meet me at the egg farm. I want to fuck you under the new heaters I just installed for the hens—one last time before the chaos of this fair starts up.”

A choked laugh escapes me, but before I can respond, the guy Cash was talking to lets out a snort, shaking his head in disbelief. My cheeks flush hot as I realize he’s been standing there, watching this very private moment—and Cash’s shameless confession.

“Hi,” the man steps forward, offering me a hand with an easy grin. “Rhett Miller. I’m buddies with Colt and Molly.”

“Oh.” I take his hand, giving him a polite shake while trying to regain my composure. “Hi, Rhett. So nice to meet you. I heard you’re managing the plumbing for the fair?”

He nods, glancing back at Cash. “Yeah, we’ve got everything squared away, thanks to this guy. Should be smooth sailing from here.”

Cash scoffs, rolling his eyes, but Rhett grins at me. “Is this the only thing he’s done for the planning? Because from what I’ve heard around town, Rae Black is the one pulling all the strings.”

I laugh and elbow Cash playfully in the ribs. “So, I guess that means I’ve got your vote for mayor?”

“Hell yeah, you do,” Rhett says, clapping Cash on the shoulder. “No way I’m voting for this jack ass.” Cash glares at him, but Rhett just laughs again, tipping his head in farewell. “Catch you around, Rae. Good luck with your lunch.”

I turn to Cash. “I like him.”

Cash leans closer, growling in my ear. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re mine.” He seals his warning with a playful slap to my ass.

Did I ever think I’d be the kind of woman who liked being spanked? Absolutely not. But here I am, and here Cash is, reading my mind like it’s written in bold print. His eyes narrow, his grin turning wicked. “I’m going to spank you until you’re raw tonight.”

Before I can react—before I can even process what he just said—he spins on his heel and strolls off, leaving me standing there way too turned on imagining that. It takes a full ten seconds before I can pull myself together enough to go meet my parents.

***

Twenty minutes later, I’m across town in the square, seated at Whitewood Creek Brewery and Restaurant .

A steaming plate of eggs Benedict is set in front of me, made with fresh eggs from the Marshalls’ farm, of course.

On the side, there’s a colorful array of fruit and warm, flaky biscuits I know Regan said she made this morning from scratch—one of her new projects she’s been working on with Lydia.

“This looks amazing,” Laken murmurs, cutting into her eggs. The deep orange yolk spills out in a slow, rich ooze, and she lets out a soft, satisfied, “Fuck, yeah.”

My mom’s head swivels toward her, her lips pursing like she just bit into a lemon. “Honey, that’s inappropriate language for the dinner table.”

Laken doesn’t miss a beat, shrugging as she takes another bite. “I never get to actually enjoy my meals with the boys around, so I plan on savoring this one—loudly.”

I press my lips together to stifle a laugh.

Laken’s always been the responsible one, the golden child who never pushes back or rocks the boat.

The high-achiever and the one to be the topic of most of our parent’s bragging.

But today? She’s different. I saw her sneaking wine coolers during the parade, and judging by the glaze in her eyes and her unusually loose tongue, I’d say she’s a little drunk.

Between that and Cash offering to take her boys back to the Marshalls’ farm to play with the chickens so she could have a peaceful meal with our parents—if eating with them can ever be classified as peaceful—this is the most relaxed I’ve seen her since I moved here.

“So, honey, how’s your practice going?” my mom asks, her tone dripping with artificial sweetness as she turns her attention back to Laken.

She’s watching Laken like a hawk now, probably hoping for a polished, professional answer.

Laken doesn’t deliver. Instead, she tips back her mimosa, draining nearly half the glass in one go before setting it down with a loud clink.

“It’s the same as always. People need glasses. Contacts. Eye exams. Cataracts surgery. Nothing exciting like what Rae’s been up to.”

My dad’s brows shoot up as his gaze shifts to me.

He doesn’t say anything, but the tension in his jaw makes it clear he doesn’t want to ask about my campaign.

And honestly? I’m fine with that. I have no intention of sharing anything about my run for mayor with them.

It’s my thing, going to be my win, and they don’t get a piece of it.

I stab a forkful of eggs, shrugging as I shove it into my mouth.

“Well,” my mom starts, her voice oozing judgment. “I can’t imagine running for mayor of this town is all that exciting.”

I smile through the bite, not bothering to respond because, frankly, I don’t care what she thinks.

There’s been plenty of excitement with the committee and Cash.

But just as I’m about to take another bite, my phone buzzes on the table, lighting up with a number I don’t recognize and a Charlotte area code.

My mom’s eyes narrow, homing in on the phone like it personally offended her. “Oh, honey, it’s rude to have your phone on during a meal.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, forcing a polite smile instead. “You’re right. I’ll take this outside so that I don’t interrupt your meal.” I grab my phone and stand, grateful for any excuse to escape this awkward lunch.

As I make my way toward the bar, I catch Regan behind it, wiping down glasses with her usual cheerful energy. She spots me and waves, her face lighting up with a smile.

“Hey, Rae! Good to see you and Cash on the float today—you two looked great together!”

I can’t help but grin back. “Thanks, Regan.”

Her warmth feels like a balm after the tense atmosphere back at the table, and for a brief moment, I let myself enjoy it. With any luck, this phone call will give me an even better excuse to stay away from my parent's lunch a little longer.

I swipe to answer the call right before it goes to voicemail. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Rae Black?” a confident, polished voice answers on the other end.

“Um… yes,” I reply, my curiosity immediately piqued.

“Fantastic. I’m Antoinette Kensington, chief of staff to Charlotte’s newest elected mayor.”

My heart skips a beat, and I instinctively wet my lips, trying to bring some moisture to them as my mind races. How the hell did she get my number? And why is she calling me?

“Oh, hi, Antoinette,” I manage, keeping my tone even.

Her voice brightens, carrying that unmistakable air of someone used to closing deals in politics. I’m familiar with it because it’s the same voice I used to use when I was trying to sell the mayor on a marketing plan that I wanted her to approve.

“So, I’ve heard through the grapevine that you run a mean campaign.

While the new mayor already won her race this week, she’s looking to strengthen her team.

Specifically, we’re looking for a fresh, accomplished marketing mind to join us as the Director of marketing and branding.

You’d be handling everything—TV and social media ads, managing her public image, preparing her for events and media appearances.

It’s a big role with a lot of responsibility plus paid travel, but the pay is $200,000 a year.

And we’d need you here in Charlotte immediately. ”

I blink, trying to process everything she’s just thrown at me at once. “Wow,” I breathe out, my voice sounds like someone else. “That’s… unexpected.”

“I thought you might say that” she says with a knowing laugh.

“Carrie is thrilled at the idea of meeting you. She’s confident you’d be the perfect fit for the job based on your references from the last mayor.

My records show you’re currently between positions, so please, take some time to think it over.

We’ll need a decision soon—say, by next weekend? ”

My stomach churns. Next weekend. The state fair is next weekend—the event I’ve spent almost two months planning, pouring every ounce of myself into.

And right after that? The election. My election.

The culmination of everything I’ve worked for since moving to Whitewood Creek.

The job that I’ve been dreaming about winning.

An opportunity to stay in this town and with Cash.

“I… Is there any chance I could have a little more time? Maybe two weeks?” I ask carefully, trying not to sound desperate even though I feel like I’m hanging on by a thread.

There’s a pause on the other end, and I hold my breath, willing her to say yes.

“Two weeks,” she finally concedes, her tone clipped. “But that’s it. We need to fill this position fast. Talk soon.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

I lower the phone and stare at the blank screen for a moment, the weight of her words settling in.

Two weeks. Two weeks to make one of the biggest decisions of my life. I’m not ready for this. Hell, I’m not even ready to think about leaving Whitewood Creek. I take a deep breath and try to gather myself before heading back to my family.

When I return to the table, my parents are chatting with Laken about something to do with Daniel and Felix. She’s laughing easily, and it’s the most at ease I’ve seen her in years. Her brown hair falls loosely over her shoulders as she leans back in her chair, smiling at something my dad just said.

For a moment, I’m glad she’s having this lighthearted moment with them.

She deserves it. But I feel anything but lighthearted.

The phone call, the decision looming over me, the weight of my parents’ constant disapproval and critical attitude towards me—it’s pressing down on me like a boulder that I can’t move.

“Hey,” I say, clearing my throat to cut into the conversation. “Sorry, but I need to head out early.”

No one so much as glances at me, caught up in their laughter. I force a polite smile, wipe my mouth with my napkin, and push back from the table. I walk toward the bar, where Regan is rinsing glasses and stacking them on the drying rack. She looks up as I approach and waves.

“Hey, Rae. Everything okay?”

I nod, though it feels like a lie. “I need to leave. Can I settle up here?”

Regan waves me off with a laugh. “It’s on the house. Cash would kill me if I charged you.”

That draws a genuine smile from me because the first night I met him at this bar I asked him how he’d ever make money giving away free meals.

“Thanks, Regan. I owe you one.”

“Anytime,” she says, flashing me a warm smile before turning back to her task.

I step outside, letting the crisp fall air wash over me as I cross the square. The buzz of the town—the laughter of kids at the pumpkin patch, the hum of distant conversation—feels distant, muted. My fingers tighten around my phone as I try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

Charlotte.

Whitewood Creek.

Cash.

Two different lives pulling me in two completely different directions.

And I have two weeks to figure out which one I’m going to choose.