Page 40 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

A week later…

The air crackles with energy, a lively hum carried by the laughter of children darting in every direction on the fairgrounds, clutching oversized cotton candy and chasing after runaway balloons.

If you’ve never been to a fair before—hell, a state fair—then you’re missing out. It’s chaos and joy, grit and glitter, all rolled into one.

For North Carolina, it’s more than just rides and funnel cakes. The state fair is a celebration of everything that makes us, us . Small town loving people, who try to look out for each other and celebrate our unique differences.

And the best part? Our little town, Whitewood Creek, gets to host it every single year for the state that we love most. It’s not just tradition—it’s survival.

For so many of our local businesses, this event is a lifeline.

The vendors who set up shop, the retailers who work overtime to stock their shelves, the bakers, farmers, and craftsmen—they rely on this week.

The fair brings in people from all over the state and generates nearly 75% of their annual income.

But beyond the financial boost, it’s a celebration of who we are. The food we eat. The livestock we raise. The crafts we pour our hearts into. The home goods we bake, the music we love, the traditions we pass down.

I take it all in—the vibrant booths, the swirling rides, the pumpkin-orange glow of lights strung across the fairgrounds. It’s as if the entire town has been dipped in magic.

“It looks amazing. I’m honestly impressed,” my sister Regan says as she sidles up next to me, sliding her hands around my waist in a sisterly squeeze.

I grin and hug her back. Regan’s one of those people who rarely slows down, so the fact that she's taking a moment to breathe and appreciate all this feels like a victory for our family.

This is the first year our families have set up a booth, a food stand not far from where we're currently standing. The sign reads Whitewood Creek Farmstead Eats , and it’s already got a line halfway down the path.

We’re serving eggs just about a thousand different ways for folks who came in from all over the state.

“It’s a hit,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “Even the decorations that you and Rae agreed on look incredible.”

“Rae’s idea,” I reply, glancing up at the blend of spooky Halloween charm and good old-fashioned Americana.

The orange and black bunting is paired with stars and stripes, jack-o’-lanterns perched alongside wooden crates of apples and cornstalks tied with red-checkered ribbon. It’s a weird mashup, and yet it somehow works.

After weeks of back-and-forth deliberation—and nearly pissing Mrs. Mayberry off at every turn when we suggested our original plan, splitting the fair decorations in half.

The first part of the week going with Americana and the second with a Spooky-spectacular—we finally landed on this.

A mixture of southern tradition and eerie autumn vibes blended into one chaotic display.

As I look at it now, I can’t help but realize the decorations are almost symbolic—like a visual representation of Rae and me.

Her love for all things dark, broody and autumn, meshed with my down-home, Whitewood Creek, Americana charm.

Somehow, we’ve found a way to blend two very different worlds, and it feels like a win not just for the state fair but for us in our relationship too, because in my head, we're in one right now and we're meshing our lives together beautifully.

“Anyway,” I ask, turning to Regan, “how are you doing?”

She smiles, but there’s a flicker of something behind her eyes, a hint of sadness that lingers like a shadow and has been there for the past few years.

“You know Declan asked me out a few months ago.”

My brows shoot up. “Declan? As in, Rhett’s guy from Whitewood Plumbing?”

“Yep.” She wiggles her eyebrows in mock flirtation.

“Well?” I press, narrowing my eyes. “He treating you right?”

She lets out a short laugh. “We've been dating for a while now. He asked me to go steady.”

I blink. “So, he wants you two to be exclusive already?”

She shrugs, her nonchalance almost convincing.

“Guess so. I haven't been seeing anyone else anyways. I mean, between bouncing between all the businesses and keeping you guys on your toes, I hardly have had time for dating since I moved back here. But Declan’s nice. Really nice. Figured I’d give it a shot even if he’s busy with work too. ”

“He is,” I agree, though my eyes study her closely.

Regan bites her bottom lip, eyes drifting toward the Ferris wheel in the distance.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m asking for too much in a relationship. Like if I expect too much from a guy at this age. I mean, I’m about to turn thirty and everyone is so career focused, me included.”

I raise a brow. “Don’t ever wonder that, Regan. You’re not asking for too much.” I nudge her shoulder gently. “It’s okay to want more than what you have. Just means the relationship might not be right for you and you need to keep looking.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

There’s more she’s not saying, but before I can pry, Colt and Molly appear, and I know that’s my cue to let it go.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that telling Colt anything about Regan is a guaranteed way to blow things out of proportion.

The twins still act like they’re joined at the hip half the time and now that they've made up since Colt's release from prison, they're even more protective over each other's happiness.

“You seen Rae?” I ask, scanning the crowd.

Molly doesn’t answer right away—she’s too busy sinking her teeth into a corn dog. Except it’s not a hot dog inside. It’s a fried egg.

I grin. “Ah, you’re trying my specialty.”

Molly gives me a thumbs-up with her free hand, her eyes wide with exaggerated delight as she chews. The fried egg was my idea, one of the quirks I added to the food stand menu. Fresh eggs straight from Chickaletta, my favorite hen and one of our best producers.

“This is surprisingly good,” Molly says, taking another bite.

“Glad you think so,” I reply, not really paying attention. My eyes are scanning the fairgrounds, searching for one person. The one that I can't stop thinking about. The one that I’m always looking for in any crowd.

“Your girlfriend’s over by the pie-eating competition,” Molly adds, her tone laced with amusement.

“She would be,” I mutter, already picturing Rae standing there, probably laughing at some poor guy trying to inhale an entire pie without puking and thinking about the last time she sucked sticky pie filling off my cock.

At least, that's what I hope she's thinking about.

Molly’s eyebrows jump, and Regan chuckles softly beside her. “Go get her, Cash,” she says with a knowing smile.

I don’t need any more encouragement.

The fair is massive, sprawling across acres of land, and it feels like half the state showed up tonight.

It takes me forever to weave through the crowd, stopping every few steps to shake hands, nod hello, or exchange a quick word with someone I know.

It’s one of the perks—or curses—of growing up in a town like Whitewood Creek: everyone knows me, and everyone thinks that they know the real me.

But the more time that I’ve been spending with Rae, the more I’ve realized she’s the only one who I’ve shown the real Cash.

By the time I reach the big white tent where all the competitions are happening, I’m restless, my hands twitching with impatience. Hot dog eating, cupcake eating, and, right now,—pie eating.

I spot Rae instantly. She’s standing off to the side, her arms crossed casually as she laughs with Lydia.

The sunset casts a golden glow on her, but the twinkling lights from the rides and booths nearby are what really illuminate her—make her look like she doesn’t belong to this world but some brighter, better one.

“Cash!” Lydia waves at me excitedly, drawing Rae’s attention. She glances over, and the second our eyes meet, I’m done for. She owns me, plain and simple.

I cross the distance quickly, my arms sliding around Rae the second I reach her.

My hands find her hair, fingers tangling discreetly in the soft strands as I hold her back to my front, and I don’t care who sees.

I want to pull her closer, tilt her head back, and kiss her face upside down until she forgets her name.

Hell, I want to throw her over my shoulder right here and now, drag her off into the dark, and make good on a promise I whispered to her last week.

But I know better. Rae doesn’t want us to be obvious—not until after the election. So instead, I settle for leaning down, letting my lips graze her ear as I whisper, “You see the way that man is eating that pie right now? That’s how I plan on eating your ass tonight.”

I pull back like nothing happened, enjoying the flush that creeps up her neck and the way her chest rises and falls just a little faster. Rae doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at me. But the faint smirk tugging at her lips? Yeah, that’s all for me.

We turn our attention back to the competition just in time to watch some guy absolutely destroy an apple pie. And I mean destroy . The man is going all in—grunting, licking, slurping—his entire face buried in the pan like it’s the last meal he’ll ever eat.

I can’t help but snicker because the sounds he's making coupled with Rae's ass pressed on the front of my jeans are turning me on and I know she's realizing that too.

When it’s finally over, and the judge hands the guy a ridiculous plaque that reads I ?? Pie , frankly, I’ve had enough. I tug on Rae’s hand, pulling her away from the crowd.

“Cash,” she hisses, trying to resist, but I don’t stop. Out of the tent, away from the noise and lights, and into the shadows near the parking lot I lead her.

When I finally stop, the fair sounds are distant, muffled by the darkness surrounding us.

Rae’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes shining like she’s been laughing and smiling all day—and it’s a damn good look on her.

I swear if she has smile lines from the past month that we've spent together, I'd have done my job.

My little storm cloud, glowing like the sun.

“I've missed you,” I tell her, my voice deep as I rub my nose against hers.

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing grin. “We saw each other last night, and this morning. Remember?”

“Doesn’t count,” I say, shaking my head. “We’ve been running around like crazy all day, making sure this thing doesn’t fall apart. Now that it’s the end of the week, and everything’s running smoothly, I think we deserve to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah?” she challenges, crossing her arms. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“With me. Inside of you. Raw.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. “Sounds like every other night we've spent together this week.”

“Exactly,” I say with a grin. “Consistency is key. I think we need some more practice.”

Before she can respond, I bend down, wrap my arms around her waist, and hoist her over my shoulder.

Cash!” she squeals, laughing as she smacks a fist against my back.?

I ignore her protests, stalking toward the parking lot with single-minded determination. To get her home and celebrate.