Page 6 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m not having a terrible time.

Cash brought me one more whiskey sour, only to promptly cut me off after declaring I was “finally relaxed enough not to scare away his customers.”

I tried to argue that I can walk home from here and won't be driving so it doesn’t really matter, but instead of budging, he delivered a basket of loaded cheese fries with bacon, avocado and ranch as some sort of peace offering.

And dammit, I hate that these are the best thing I’ve eaten in the two weeks since moving here.

Even chatting with Lydia, my new bar buddy, has been easy.

She’s the kind of person who puts you at ease immediately, with a sweet, slightly mischievous smile and a knack for keeping a conversation going without it feeling like an interrogation.

I’m appreciating the fact that she doesn’t expect me to talk the whole time and is comfortable enough in the silence.

“So, what’s his deal?” I ask, tilting my chin toward Cash, who hasn’t spoken to me since introducing me to Lydia.

He’s been working the crowd like the local celebrity he probably is, all dark hair, warm hazel eyes, and broad shoulders that practically every woman in this bar has been ogling.

He’s the kind of handsome who knows it I can tell—and understands how to use it to get what he wants—slinging drinks with a grin that could charm the panties off of even the most prude woman and warm my cold, dark heart.

Lydia laughs, setting down her virgin mojito—a choice that initially surprised me until she explained she’s the reverend’s daughter, hates the way alcohol makes her feel, and hangs out at the bar more for the people in this town than the booze.

“Was he giving you a hard time? He’s really just a big teaser and doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.”

She grins knowingly. “Yeah, that sounds like Cash. He’s the goof of the family. Doesn't seem like he can take anything seriously.”

“The family?”

“Oh, he didn’t introduce himself?”

“I only know his name because you'd said it when you greeted him.”

She wrinkles her nose like that surprises her. “He’s so ridiculous. I can't believe he didn't introduce himself to you. That,” she points at the guy who’s now rolling his hips in some kind of exaggerated circle while mixing a drink, “is Cash Marshall.”

“Okay… should that mean something to me?”

Her laugh is light and teasing, like I’ve just asked if the sky is blue, or my favorite color is black. “The Marshalls are the family that own the Whitewood Creek egg farm.”

That rings a faint bell, but it’s not exactly clicking.

“They also manage the distillery. And this bar,” she continues.

“Oh…” I nod slowly, the puzzle pieces starting to fit. “Yeah, you know what, Laken mentioned that. So, he’s one of the sons?”

She nods. “Yes. There’s five of them. Troy, Lawson, Cash, Colt and then there's Regan, the only daughter.”

“Interesting. That’s a lot of kids.”

She nods again. “Then Lawson has a twelve year old son named Beckham, Troy has a twenty three year old son named Max, and a new baby daughter named Paisley.”

“Geesh.”

“She smiles. “They’re the best family. Everyone in town knows them and loves them.”

I take another sip of my drink—the last of my third—and study Cash’s profile.

Yeah, I can see why everyone’s so enamored.

That strong jawline, half-hidden by a beard that looks like it hasn’t seen a razor in weeks, but somehow works for him.

Not too long, not too short. His biceps flex with every movement as he makes drinks and delivers food, and his tight black T-shirt clings to his chest like it was tailor-made.

As if he can sense I’m watching—or worse, talking about him—he catches my eye from the other end of the bar and shoots me a wink.

I roll my eyes because if I don’t, I’ll blush and that’s ridiculous.

Stupid, really.

“So, what’s your plan while you’re in town helping your sister?” Lydia asks, pulling my attention back.

“I don’t have a plan,” I admit with a shrug.

She nods knowingly. “Well, if you’re looking for something to pass the time, I’m a lead volunteer at the Whitewood Creek Boys and Girls Club. We’re always looking for more Bigs.”

Hard pass.

I’m already spending enough time with Felix and Daniel, my nephews. The last thing I want to do with my limited downtime is sign up for more babysitting with a bunch of wild kids.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, forcing a polite smile.

She beams like I’ve already signed up for a year-long commitment. “Okay, well, I’m going to go make my rounds. It was so nice to meet and chat with you, Rae! Let’s hang out soon.”

Before I can react, she leans in for a hug.

My entire body stiffens—it’s so unexpected, so not what I was prepared for—but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

She pulls back just as quickly and flashes me another bright smile before disappearing into the sea of people, weaving through the loud, overly crowded bar like she owns the place.

The second she’s gone, Cash is back in front of me, leaning his strong forearms on the bar, smirking like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to share.

“What?” I snap at him. I don’t mean it to come out as defensive as it does but oh well. Too late.

“Nothing. Just looks like I helped you make your first friend in this town,” he says, that grin still firmly in place.

“I made that one all on my own.”

“Pretty sure you wouldn’t have made that if it weren’t for me.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “She sat down next to me. I would’ve spoken to her eventually.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You didn’t notice me wave her over as soon as I knew Smythe was leaving?”

“No,” I admit grudgingly.

His smile widens, smug and infuriating. For a fleeting second, I wonder if punching that look off his face would break my hand—or if it would even put a dent in his attractiveness. Honestly, a scar across his cheek would probably just make him hotter.

Damn, it’s going to be a long nine months if this is the only bar in this tiny town where I can get a good drink at.

“What’s with all the winks Mr. Smooth guy?” I ask.

He laughs. “Can’t a guy wink?”

“Are you… hitting on me?”

“I don’t think you’d realize if someone was hitting on you if they came up and smacked you on the ass with a compliment.”

“That’s a... weird analogy.”

He shrugs. “If it works, it works.”

“I’m going to go ahead and say that it most definitely didn’t work because I don’t get it.”

He grins, his bright white teeth practically glowing under the warm bar lights. His hazel eyes radiate nothing but easy charm, completely unaffected by my piss-poor mood and our ridiculous banter.

“What’s your name?” he finally asks after a few seconds too long of smiling at me.

“Rae.”

“Rae short for something?”

“Raken.”

His brows shoot up. “Your parents named you and your sister Laken and Raken ?”

I snort. “It was a joke.”

He wrinkles his nose, like I’ve just delivered bad news.

“You know, jokes are supposed to be funny. You’re not going to win people over if yours leave them confused instead of laughing.

And I can’t keep trailing behind you, introducing you to everyone, vouching for you, trying to help you make friends—if you’re just going to keep being weird. ”

That earns him a real laugh from me—short but genuine because the image of Cash following me around this town, trying to tell people I’m not that bad is hilarious.

His brows lift in surprise, his grin stretching wider. “Who knew Elvira had such a nice laugh?” He clears my empty glass and straightens to his full height, which is impressive, his smile somehow even more devastating under the low lights. “Tonight’s drinks are on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that just because I made a snarky comment earlier about how you're blowing the business' money.”

He shrugs, unbothered. “I’m sure Lydia already told you I own the place, so I get to make the rules. And tonight, I’m saying it’s on the house.”

“Because you’re hitting on me?” I ask, feeling a rush of boldness and liquid courage pulse through my veins.

Leaning in, his face gets dangerously close—close enough that I catch the faint scent of mint on his breath.

His lips hover near mine, separated only by a few inches of the solid oak bar, and my pulse skips in response.

I shift in my seat, trying—and failing— to maintain the permanent scowl I’ve been wearing since I rolled into this shithole of a town.

“Yeah, because I’m hitting on you, Rae,” he murmurs soft enough for only me to hear.

“Fine. I’ll allow it.” I slide off the barstool, landing on my feet with a surprising lightness in my step and trying not to overthink what he just said.

Ready to head home, I realize the night hasn’t been half bad.

I’ve made a new friend, Lydia, and maybe even Cash counts as.

.. well, not quite a friend, but a potential acquaintance in a weird, infuriating way that I can’t wrap my mind around.

As I turn to leave, he throws his head back with a deep, infectious laugh. “Have a good night, Sally .”

I pause mid-step, raising an eyebrow. “Sally?”

“From The Nightmare Before Christmas. ”

“You really think you’re hilarious with all these nicknames, don’t you?”

He shakes his head, his grin never faltering. “Ask anyone in this town. They’d agree. I'm the funniest guy they know.”

Despite my best efforts, a smile tugs at my lips, and I don’t bother fighting it.

“Good night, Cash.”

It feels good, better than I’ve felt in weeks. Tonight was... nice. As I walk home, the crisp night air brushing against my cheeks, I can’t help but think that maybe these next nine months won’t be as terrible as I thought.