Page 7 of Fairground (Whitewood Creek Farm #3)

Okay, scratch what I said earlier.

These next nine months of waking up at dawn to take my nephews to school are going to be brutal.

“Felix! Get your ass—uh, booty —down here now! We’re going to be late for school!”

My twelve-year-old nephew stomps down the stairs, his sneakers thudding on each step dramatically.

He looks at me with that signature tween mix of annoyance and exasperation, then drops into a chair at the table with a huff.

He glares at the oatmeal I made—exactly how my sister said he likes it with banana slices and cinnamon—before pushing it away with a loud sigh.

“I just want a whole banana today.”

What happened to the sweet, chubby toddler I used to adore?

When Felix was born, I was sixteen and completely smitten with him.

Obsessed, even. Which says a lot for someone who still debates whether kids are even on her life’s to-do list. Most days I feel like my own childhood was too fucked up to ever want to be a mom myself.

“Here’s your banana,” I say, tossing one from the counter toward him because I don't have the energy to fight with him over food. He catches it midair, which is more impressive than his mood deserves. “Eat it in the car, though. We’re running late, and your mom will kill me if I screw up this simple drop-off.”

He mutters something under his breath, likely a jab at my competency with acting as the stand-in parent, but I let it slide because I'm sure I deserve it. Instead, I grab his little brother Daniel’s backpack along with his and sling both over my shoulder.

“Let’s move it, boys!” I yell.

Out at the SUV, I toss the bags into the backseat as Felix and Daniel buckle up. Daniel, ever the quiet and reserved ten-year-old, gives me a polite smile while Felix maintains his disgruntled silence.

“It’s a great day to be alive!” I declare cheerfully, flashing them both a grin in the rearview mirror as I back out of the driveway.

“What’s up with her?” Felix stage-whispers to Daniel.

Daniel shrugs, unbothered.

“I’m trying to be more positive and radiant. Like your mother,” I reply, keeping my tone sunny. “Your mom asked me to.”

“Well, can you not?” Felix groans.

Rolling my eyes, I hit the radio button and crank up the only station I can get in this tiny town—country music, of course.

The boys endure the voice of some woman singing loudly about the man who left her in silence as I weave through minimal, small town morning traffic, heading toward their elementary and middle schools.

Before I’ve even fully stopped in the drop-off line, the car doors fly open, and they both barrel out like I’m some prison warden who’s finally set them free.

“Okay, bye! Love you guys!” I shout after them, my voice bouncing off the pavement.

Neither of them looks back and I can't blame them. I'd do the same thing. I may not be a morning person, but these two make me look like the poster child for seizing the day.

As I glance at the clock on my dash, the numbers “7:03” blink back at me.

The thought of driving straight back to my sister’s house and crawling back into bed is tempting.

But last night, I swore I’d change. No more sleeping in until ten, lazily heading to the gym, grabbing overpriced coffee, and halfheartedly scrolling through non-existent job postings in this tiny town.

Today, I’m seizing the day .

Which is how, ten minutes later, I find myself at the gym a short walk from my sister’s house, hip thrusting a barbell stacked with two large plates on each side. Sweat beads down my forehead as I finish my last set, and then grab my towel to wipe it away.

This feels good. Really good. Who knew so many people were awake and functional this early in the morning? And not just awake—but working out. Sweating. Laughing. With smiles on their faces.

I wipe down the bench I’ve been using and head to the treadmill, ready to cool down with an uphill walk, when a familiar, overly cheery face appears next to me.

“Hi, Rae!” Lydia chirps, hopping onto the treadmill beside mine.

Her blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail and she’s wearing some sort of short, pink, workout skort.

She sets her pace to a light jog, already looking like she hasn’t broken a sweat in her life. “I didn’t know you worked out here!”

“Yeah, I usually don’t get started until later in the morning. Do you come here every day?”

“Sometimes. I try to squeeze in a workout before heading to the precinct.”

“The precinct?” I ask, surprised.

She nods, turning her head toward me mid-jog. “I work for the police department. I thought I told you that last night.”

I’m guessing she did and I’m just a horrible, new friend who missed her telling me that.

“I’m a records analyst—paperwork, booking, filing, that kind of thing. It’s fun and keeps me busy. Oh, and I also help with financials and reporting at the church.”

Ah, yes. The beloved small town Reverend’s daughter. I silently hope she doesn’t invite me to church on Sunday. Lydia doesn’t seem like the pushy type, but you never know.

“That’s cool,” I say, keeping my answer short.

She studies me, her head tilting slightly as her ponytail sways behind her. “You seem… different today.”

I blink at her. “Other than my dewy skin from all this sweat?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No, I mean it. You seem happier. Lighter than you did when I met you last night.”

“Hm,” I reply, offering her nothing else but a half-smile because it's nice to see someone has noticed my effort, even if it's probably not all that obvious. I'm sure she's just being kind, the town's sweetheart.

“So,” she presses on, unfazed, “what’s your plan for the rest of the day?”

I adjust the treadmill’s incline and glance at her. “Cleaning my sister’s house, grocery run, picking up a prescription for Daniel, and dropping off Laken’s lunch at her office since she forgot it at home. Then getting dinner ready and on the table by five before collapsing into my bed.”

“Oh wow, busy day!” Lydia says, flashing another smile. “You’re really settling in, huh?”

I give a small shrug, focusing on the rhythm of my steps. “Something like that.”

“Well, I get an hour lunch break. Do you have any plans for that today?”

I hesitate because I really should spend that time vacuuming the upstairs like I promised my sister I would, but I also promised her that I'd make some new friends, and this feels like upholding that portion of the agreement.

“Nope.”

“Want to meet me at Whitewood Restaurant and Brewery at noon?”

For a moment, I want to ask if Cash— Mr. Eye-Candy-With-A-Side-of-Sunshine —will be there again, but I bite my tongue because it would be ridiculous for me to care about that.

“Sure,” I say instead, keeping my tone casual.

She nods, “Yay! Sounds great!” Then she cranks her treadmill to max speed, and takes off in a full-blown sprint, her ponytail bouncing behind her. She looks like she’s running a marathon for fun with a smile plastered on her face the entire time.

I chuckle and shake my head, finishing my cooldown before wiping down the machine and heading home.

Three hours later, I’ve dropped off Laken’s lunch, picked up Daniel’s asthma medication, vacuumed the entire house at warp speed so that she couldn't say I was slacking off, cleaned all three bathrooms, prepared crockpot chicken and rice, and finished the week’s grocery shopping.

It’s only noon now, and I’m wrecked . Who wakes up this early and does this much in a day?

At this rate, I’ll be in bed by six o’clock without any energy to watch my movies.

By the time I walk into the brewery, still in my gray yoga pants and black tank top from my morning workout, I’m dragging my feet, my stomach's grumbling loudly and I know I'm going to indulge in more than I should with how good the food smells.

“Hi!” Lydia waves enthusiastically, practically bouncing out of her seat. She’s swapped her gym clothes for office wear, looking polished and professional in a fancy, grey suit jacket and skirt, as if she strolled over here straight from the precinct.

I force a smile because this is the new Rae now. The one who isn't perpetually grumpy and hating every second of living in this town.

Time to be friendly.

“Hey, Lydia,” I greet her, mustering some energy that I definitely don't have.

She grins and waves over the lone server who is working the lunch shift, a twenty-something woman with a friendly smile and soft blonde hair.

“Good afternoon. What can I get you two to drink?” she asks.

“Just a sweet tea for me,” I offer.

“And to eat?”

I glance at the menu, overwhelmed by the choices listed there. Lydia leans over, pointing. “Anything made with their eggs is amazing. Fresh from their farm just a few miles out from here. I swear you can taste the love that Cash pours into those hens.”

Because of course they’d use their own eggs, and everything would remind me of him.

Cash had acted like I’d personally offended him by suggesting a mid-level vodka last night. Can’t offend them by asking for eggs that are store bought and grain fed. Not that I’d want to. I’m curious to taste these eggs that Cash is apparently obsessed with perfecting.

“Eggs Benedict it is,” I decide, handing over the menu.

The server nods, collects the menus, and leaves us alone again.

“So, how’s your shift going?” I ask Lydia, settling into my seat.

She takes a sip of her water. “Busy. Colder weather always means more crime, unbelievably. I’ve been sorting through records, packing away cases that have aged past the holding period for disposal. We need to clear out space for all the new cases winter will bring.”

“Interesting,” I say. Though the thought of dealing with crime records all day sounds like torture, at least Lydia has a job. Something that I am seriously lacking right now.