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Hank grumbles something about stubborn people. Dolly winks at me from behind the bar. I pretend I don't see it because if I acknowledge it my face will do things that confirm everything Dolly already suspects.

The festival opens at noon. By one, the corn maze has a line. By two, the food trucks are running hot. The axe throwing booth is packed with guys trying to impress their girlfriends. Pistachio Sweets has a pop up tent near the town square selling apple cider donuts so fast Maya's running back to the shop every hour for fresh batches.

And Rhett's parking lot is full. Forty cars on the east side, exactly like we agreed. His truck is parked in front of his shop, not sideways this time. Small surrender.

He's inside working. Door closed. Through the window I can see him bent over the workbench, planing something. Forearms flexing. Sawdust catching in the light.

I've been watching him through that window for approximately thirty seconds too long.

"Girl." Lina appears at my elbow with two cups of cider. "You're staring."

"I'm monitoring the parking situation."

"You're monitoring his arms."

"Both can be true."

Lina hands me a cider, loops her arm through mine. "He fixed Hank's beam this morning. For free. Before the sun was fully up."

"He's like that. Does nice things and then pretends he didn't."

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Before I can answer, my phone erupts.

Lisa:

Vendor 9 lost power. Can you check the generator?

Mom:

Honey the pharmacy closes at 5 today, don't forget.

PTA Group Chat:

Who's covering the craft booth at 3? Kennedy?

Three fires. I text back with one hand while Lina steadies the cider in the other. Generator handled. Pharmacy noted. Craft booth covered.

The afternoon blurs. I'm at the face painting station helping a first grader become a tiger. I'm at the corn maze untangling a rope that came loose. I'm directing foot traffic near the FALL IN LOVE sign where a line of couples is waiting for photos. Sonny from the high school walks past with purple and black hair, carrying art supplies for a booth. Miles from Maple Auto stalks by with coffee, scowling at his phone like it personally wronged him. Kitty from Toe Beans is set up near the pumpkin stands with a tabletop sign about cat adoptions, her orange tabby Sunny perched on her shoulder.

Maple Lane Falls in October. My favorite place on earth.

By six the festival shifts gears. Families thin out. The string lights come on. The bluegrass trio starts playing near the gazebo. Someone fires up the hot cocoa stand. The air turns cold and golden.

I stop by Rhett's shop to check the lot. That's what I tell myself. Checking the lot.

The bell jangles. He's at the back of the shop now, loading the finished console table onto a padded rack for transport. His flannel is unbuttoned over a gray henley. Sawdust everywhere. His beard has copper catching the lamplight.

"Lot's clear for the night," I say. Professional. Breezy. My heart is doing something extremely unprofessional.

"Good." He slides the rack into position. Straightens up. Those gray eyes find mine across the shop. "You've been going since six."

"Five thirty, actually."

"Eat anything?"

"I had a... " I try to remember. Cider from Lina. Half a donut from Maya. "I've been busy."