Page 34 of The Havenport Collection

Cecelia

People were dancing, eating, drinking, and shopping.

It was chilly but not cold, and the sun was just beginning to set.

Business was booming at the Binnacle Brewery tent.

Liam and I were pouring beers from the taps we had hooked up to the keg refrigerators, and Trent was changing kegs stored in one of the refrigerated trucks.

We had Gourd Fest T-shirts with the brewery logo on over our fleece jackets.

As in many things in life, success at any Havenport street festival was all about location.

Thankfully I had sweet-talked the clerk at city hall to get us the space next to the Nonna’s Kitchen tent.

It was one of Nora’s family’s restaurants, and the line wrapped down the street.

Nonna Rossi was famous in Havenport, and there was always a high demand for whatever she was serving.

People were naturally coming over to grab a beer while waiting for their meatball and eggplant parmigiana subs.

So we were killing it. Despite the day starting off in the high fifties, it had chilled considerably, and I was grateful that my mom had loaned me a pair of gloves.

I had been pouring beers, chatting with friends and neighbors, and laughing at ridiculous gourds and hilarious gourd-inspired artwork all day.

The Gourd Festival, or Gourd Fest, as it was known locally, was an annual Havenport tradition.

Always held on the first Saturday after Halloween, it started off as an excuse to celebrate the harvest. But that was deemed “too mainstream” by Havenport so instead it became a perverse celebration of ornamental seasonal gourds.

The legend goes that one year, Milton Snow’s pumpkin crop failed so he submitted an enormous yellow pimpled gourd to the pumpkin competition because he didn't want to end his win streak. He was disqualified, but apparently the idea of Gourd Fest was born. Somewhere along the line it morphed into a charity fundraiser, and the legend spread near and far. And then about fifteen years ago the town got serious. There was now an official judging panel, a lengthy screening and entry process, and over a dozen categories including ugliest, largest, most likely to succeed, and best conceptual art piece. There was a separate entry for gourds bearing a resemblance to famous people or town residents. People were still talking about the speckled swan that bore a striking resemblance to Warren Buffet that took top prize last year. The town square was lit up and decorated and featured a large stage where the judging panel was currently reviewing the submissions in the children’s category.

This year the entire town, plus thousands of tourists, had descended to eat, drink, listen to live music, and feign an interest in some really ugly gourds.

Local businesses donated fun prizes, and every year the entry fees and license fees for vendors were donated to a featured local charity.

Most Havenport businesses participated in one way or another.

It was classic Havenport—welcoming, fun, and more than a little bit bizarre.

It had taken some persuasion, but I had talked Liam into participating this year.

It took some time for us to figure out how to set up taps in a tent and maintain a supply of fresh beer, but it was worth it.

While several bars and restaurants had tents, as well as one local vineyard, we were the only brewery and so business was excellent.

It also helped that Lucas Kim was the honorary MC this year and had tweeted to his hundreds of thousands of followers about the event and even name-checked the brewery.

I still couldn’t understand why Nora hated the guy so much.

He was surprisingly decent for a rich, semi-famous tech genius.

Speaking of Nora, she had stopped by earlier to see us.

She had been chosen as a judge this year and took her duties very seriously.

She was even wearing a pumpkin-orange coat with a matching hat for the occasion.

I forgot to ask her how one objectively judges an ornamental gourd, but knowing Nora, she had probably prepared a spreadsheet of scientific criteria.

Most of our friends and family had also stopped by to say hello and grab a beer.

Emily and Derek came over with all three of their kids, who went crazy for Karl’s root beer.

Declan had even volunteered to help break down the tent and pack up later tonight, which was surprising.

He was the last person I expected to see at a town festival.

I worked side by side with Liam all day.

We were busy and engaged and having fun.

But I couldn’t touch him the way I wanted to.

And there were so many things I wanted to do.

My brain, my heart, and my lady bits were on fire for this man.

I could not get enough. I don’t know when I turned into such a sex fiend.

I’d heard that women reach their sexual peak in their thirties—maybe that had something to do with it.

But I had never wanted a man as much as I wanted Liam every waking moment.

I needed to feel his bare skin against mine, feel the weight of his body on top of me, feel his glorious cock inside of me, hammering away…

“Cecelia? Cecelia, are you okay, honey?” I violently snapped out of my horny daydream to come face to face with my mom.

She was bundled up and wearing a hand-knit scarf.

Captain and Mrs. Quinn were standing behind her, and right next to her was Chief Wilson, fully decked out in his police uniform.

That’s weird. I didn’t know they were friends.

“Hi, guys. Can I get you all a beer?”

“Ooh yes. Please,” the Captain said, studying the taps at our table.

“Off duty tonight, Chief?” I inquired innocently, still confused about his presence.

“Unfortunately no, never off duty during town events. But I’m taking a little break to stroll with some friends.” He looked slightly embarrassed and took a big step away from my mother.

If I didn’t know better, I would think Chief had a crush on my mom.

Obviously not returned by my mom, as she was deeply committed to being single forever.

My dad’s death did a number on her, and she had sworn off men many years ago.

But he was looking at her with such intensity, it was unnerving.

I had known Chief Wilson since childhood.

He was a good guy, kind and empathetic, but with an air of authority.

I know his wife died a few years ago from cancer, but I just never saw him interested in my mom.

For a guy in his late fifties, he was tall and fit and handsome.

He even had a graying mustache, which looked pretty good on him.

He had a real Sam Elliot vibe. It was too bad my mom had no interest in dating.

He would actually be good for her. He was quiet and thoughtful and would probably admire her crazy schedule and lifestyle.

I don’t know how he felt about meditation and quinoa, but I’m sure he’d probably be amenable.

I wished my mom could get out of her own way and give him a chance.

I almost wanted to warn him he was barking up the wrong tree, but that just seemed cruel.

“Well, if you can’t drink on duty, Chief, we have house-brewed root beer.”

“Oh yes, please. I’ll take one. Sounds good.”

I poured beers for my mom and the Quinns and signaled Liam to pour the chief a root beer. They were all happily chatting about some of the interesting artwork they had viewed and speculating about who would win the gourd contest.

The Binnacle tent looked pretty darn good.

My mom and I had designed a scarecrow made entirely of gourds wearing a Binnacle Brewing T-shirt and holding a stein of beer.

As a former kindergarten teacher, she owned several hot-glue guns so I knew she was the woman for the job.

We set “Gourdy” up so people could take photos with him and post to social media for a small donation to the featured charity.

After much protest, Liam even agreed to let me create the #binnacleoutofmygourd hash tag, and people had been flooding our socials with funny pics all day.

Figuring out the logistics of this type of festival was a blast and would hopefully pay off in the future.

Liam agreed the brewery should participate in all town festivals, as it was a great way to sell some beer and market the brewery.

I was already brimming with ideas for next year.

You won’t be here next year. Someone else will be working with Liam on these events.

It was painful to think about. I had grown so attached to this job and the future of the brewery.

Not to mention its hot, bearded owner. And let’s face it, Liam will probably be sleeping with someone else next year too.

Probably even getting serious if the brewery is doing well.

The thought made me throw up in my mouth a little.

I had been having such an amazing time, and now I wanted to go home and curl up on my childhood bed and sob.

This town that I loved so much, these people that I loved so much, would all be here next year and the year after, having fun and keeping our wacky traditions alive—without me.

Liam bumped my hip. “You okay, gorgeous?”

“Yeah. Just distracted.” Distracted by envisioning my lonely-ass future without you and this town.

“Well, our shift is almost over. Kyle and Shane are taking over at six. That way we can get some food and have a bit of fun.”

I gave him my best brilliant smile, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice. “Sounds awesome. I’m starving.”