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FOUNDERS DAY WAS a big deal in Caldwell Crossing.

It was an opportunity for all the local small businesses to showcase their products and, for some of them, the difference between surviving another year or not.

I spared Haider a thought as I worked to set up my stall, although I had no idea what was going on with Harmony Chocolates right now.

Or, more specifically, what was going on with Phillip Brauning and his proposed buyout.

That had to be complicated, especially given how Haider obviously felt for the guy.

Main Street was bustling even before Founders Day had officially begun; those of us with stalls had to get organized before people arrived.

The people running the food trucks were unloading pallets of drinks and buns and whatever else they had to get ready.

I had tables and displays to set up. A polka band was setting up at the band shell in the park next to City Hall.

“Hey, stranger,” Rebecca said, making space on my table for her backpack. “Don’t give me that look. I’ll put everything back how I found it. I was just bringing you some cookies as ongoing payment for sleeping in your workshop.”

I suddenly got very interested in a cheeseboard. “Okay, thanks.”

“I also brought you a coffee,” she said, “since I know it’s going to be a long day.”

“Thanks,” I said, a lot more genuinely this time.

She pulled a bag of cookies and a thermos out of her backpack. “Chris is working the police department tent.”

“Did he draw the short straw?”

Rebecca laughed. “Something like that. He’s hoping for fewer lost and crying kids this year. Anyway, I’ll be around, so do you want me to stop by and give you a few breaks, or do you and Sam and Haider have it covered between you?”

Sam was at his family’s maple syrup produce stall, and Haider, of course, was in charge of the Harmony Chocolates stall.

They both had employees though, so usually they came and checked on me to make sure I could grab something to eat and drink or get the chance to go to the bathroom. Founders Day was long .

“We’ve probably got it covered,” I said, trying not to blush because Adam was excited to come and check out the stalls and help me run mine for a little. If Rebecca saw him here, she would definitely have questions I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer. “But thanks.”

We both looked around at the sound of a loud honk, and a vintage fire truck rumbled slowly down the street.

Conor was driving it, and he waved as he passed us.

The firefighters’ booth was always hugely popular with the kids, mostly because they got to climb all over the fire truck parked outside and try the siren.

Eldi the firehouse dog was another huge draw. I was a fan of Eldi myself.

“How’s your guest?” Rebecca asked, hefting her backpack over her shoulder again. “Or my guest, I guess.”

I rearranged the stuff she’d moved. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“You’re not bothering him, are you?” she asked worriedly. “Just, he was really specific about that. He didn’t want anyone bothering him.”

Did blowing him last night on the couch count as bothering him? Adam had certainly looked bothered at the time. Hot and bothered.

“I haven’t really seen that much of him at all,” I said, which was a total lie, because I’d seen everything.

“Okay.” She let out a breath. “Good. And the cottage is almost all dried out, so I won’t have to ask you to do this again. I do appreciate it though, Ry. Really. I know your workshop can’t be very comfortable.”

“It’s no problem,” I said, guilt biting at me. Not for breaking the “no bothering” thing, but because I didn’t like lying to my big sister, not even by omission.

“You’re the best! If I see any funnel cakes, I’ll bring a couple back here for you.”

“Okay,” I said, hoping her path wouldn’t cross with Adam’s.

Not because I wanted to keep lying, or because I thought she wouldn’t approve—once that whole “no bothering” thing was cleared up, of course—but because today, surrounded by people while I was trying to sell stuff, wasn’t the best time to explain.

My first potential customers arrived shortly after Rebecca left. They didn’t buy anything, but they looked like the sort of people who’d be back once they’d checked everything out. The woman was especially taken with the wooden bowls.

Haider and Sam both stopped by, allowing me the opportunity to get a bathroom break, and then Haider brought me my favorite malted milk balls.

Founders Day was huge this year. For a while, it had struggled.

Tourism still wasn’t back at pre-pandemic levels, and a lot of businesses were feeling the bite still.

But this year, Dallas Blade, the musician and singer, was coming to town for a concert.

He would definitely be better than the polka band.

I’d been a fan of The Dallas Blade Band back in high school, and I still listened to their stuff pretty regularly.

There were a lot of people in town today just to see them, and they had money to spend.

I wasn’t sure if I’d stick around for the concert though.

As much as I liked Dallas Blade, I wasn’t a fan of crowds.

The day went by quickly. I barely had the chance to restock my table before I was making my next sale.

At this rate, I was going to sell out and have nothing to lug home except empty boxes.

By the time Adam showed up, I was a little frazzled and doing my best to hide it—the last few customers had bought a lot and paid cash, and I wasn’t great at calculating the costs in my head, especially when people changed their minds halfway through and swapped one product for another.

I preferred it when people used the point-of-sale app Rebecca had set up on my phone.

I just had to hit the right picture, and the app did the rest. Cash could get overwhelming.

“I think you mean ninety-five, dear,” an elderly woman said, when I’d just told her a hundred, and she didn’t look like a scammer, so I apologized and dug five dollars change out for her.

She thanked me as I wrapped her new serving platters.

“Hi,” Adam said, slipping behind the table and into the booth as I handed the lady her purchases.

“Wow, this all looks great! I bought you a maple syrup milkshake. You’d think there would be limits of what you could put maple syrup in, but nope!

” His eyes sparkled as he passed me the milkshake. “Apparently not.”

I took a sip and let out a long breath. “That’s so good. Thanks.”

“Can I leave my bag here? It’s full of maple syrup stuff. I’m not even that much of a fan, but Sam has an excellent sales pitch.” He stashed his bag under the table and then turned back to face me. He put his hand on my chest. “I’m heading out there again. Want me to bring you anything?”

“I’m good,” I said.

“Okay.” He patted my chest. “See you later.” He slipped out of the booth again.

It wasn’t until a few customers later that I realized he’d left a folded note in my shirt pocket. When I next got a break, I carefully unfolded it and winced.

It wasn’t cursive, not exactly, but it was a linked-up scrawl that was just as impossible to decipher.

When I’d first been diagnosed, one of my teachers said that writing cursive could be helpful for people with dyslexia.

And it was, I guess. When I was practicing writing it, suddenly I wasn’t reversing a bunch of my letters anymore.

But reading it was even more difficult than reading regular writing, because I had trouble knowing where one letter finished and the next one began.

And that was with uniform cursive. With writing like Adam’s, the words were just an incomprehensible scribble.

My heart clenched when I saw the heart he’d drawn at the bottom beside his name, and the same hot flush of shame that had been so familiar back in my school days washed over me all over again.

I shoved the note back in my pocket.

What the hell was I even thinking? Adam was a writer . It was what he did . He’d even given me a copy of his book and asked me for feedback, so how was I supposed to tell him there was no way in hell that—

“The details of the petals are incredible,” someone said, and I jolted back into awareness just in time to see Phillip Brauning, the guy who wanted to buy Haider out, inspecting one of my two remaining wooden roses. “I’d like to buy both of them, please.”

He was with an older man who I thought was his personal assistant, though I’d cast Brauning so far into the role as the evil villain in Haider’s story that I couldn’t help see the guy as anything but a henchman. Which was unfair, probably, since he had a nice smile.

“They’re a hundred dollars each,” I said, sure that he’d refuse, but he didn’t even blink as he paid the asshole tax and passed the cash over.

“Oh, no need to wrap them,” he said as I reached for some tissue paper. “I will present them to their intended recipients shortly.”

I didn’t manage to keep the scowl off my face as I handed them over and he gave me some condescending bullshit about how nice it was to see craftsmanship thriving in the community. Like he wasn’t here to stamp out Haider’s by buying up his business .

“Uh-huh.” I folded my arms over my chest as he gave me a curious glance, and then he nodded at the older man who had accompanied him, and they left the stall.

It wasn’t until after they left that I remembered I’d told Adam I’d save one of the roses for him.

Guilt bit at me, even though I could easily make another.

I wouldn’t have been half as annoyed at myself if I’d sold them to anyone except Brauning.

Should have told him they were two hundred each instead, though he probably would’ve have paid that too.