Chapter 2

two

R owan

The fire chief is not happy with me, and I am, as usual, confused.

“You signed up the department for two different locations?”

Chief Hicks gapes at the festival map, pointing to the legend that lists off all the various booths, tents, and games for the annual Fiber Arts Fall Fun Festival.

“I don’t think so,” I say as I and the rest of the crew finish setting up tables in the chili cook-off tent.

The chief marches over to where I’m inspecting the safety of the extension cords and power bars we have in place for all the electric slow cookers and crock pots. People will arrive shortly with their prized chili recipes, and we have to ensure there are no trip hazards or electrical mishaps in this tent.

“Then what the hell is this?” He holds up the map.

I peer over his shoulder and finally see what he’s pointing at. “There’s the chili tent,” he says. “And over here it says, ‘Fire Department Photo Booth/Baby Goats.’”

He finger-punches the paper.

“Oh…hold on…” I mutter, thinking back over the last few weeks. This rings a bell.

“Here we go,” Chief Hicks says. “What did you forget now?”

“I forgot to tell you,” I say with a wince. “Juniper called up and asked if we could do a photo booth. She figured it wouldn’t be too much of a commitment since the chili cook-off sorta runs itself.”

There. I remember it all clearly now. Feeling proud of myself, I aim a winning smile at my boss.

The chief is not impressed. “The Fate Volunteer Fire Department’s Chili Cook-off is the stuff of legends. You think I want to divide my time between tending my great-great-grandmother’s prize-winning turkey chili and posing for selfies?”

He says the word “selfie” like it hurts to speak it.

The chief keeps going, but I don’t hear much. I’m too distracted by the scent of hot apple cider donuts coming from the next booth. Across the way, Benxxx mans the beer tent, tapping a new lager I’m itching to try. My eyes drift over to the fiber arts tent, where Billie Jane is displaying brightly colored handmade quilts and knit blankets. I think it would be nice to bid on the queen-sized wedding-ring quilt. Because I’m a dreamer like that, I decide to sneak over there sometime today and put in a big bid for it.

“…and what I don’t understand is the goat thing.”

“The what now?”

Shoot, I’m so distracted I have no idea what we were talking about.

“Are you listening to me? What the hell do baby goats have to do with the photo booth?”

I look up into the fluffy clouds for an answer. It sure is a nice, crisp day. The only thing that could make it better would be to hold someone’s hand and stroll through the leaves. Sure would be extra special to have someone to keep warm by the bonfire tonight.

“Rowan. The goats?”

“Oh yeah! We’re gonna pose for photos with baby goats.”

The chief blinks at me and then lets out a heavy sigh. Silently, he folds up the festival map once, twice, three times and stuffs it into his pocket. “This festival gets weirder every year. I’ll pretend I didn’t know anything about it, and it’ll all go away.”

“Sorry, chief. It’s just that Juniper is pretty persuasive, and she’s done so much for the town. She’s always bringing food up to the station. I just don’t think it’s too much to ask you to pick up a baby goat and smile for the people.”

The chief chuckles, then pats me on the shoulder. “Correction, you’re gonna pose with baby goats. I’m going to make chili.”

Truth be told, I don’t care much for chili. So it’s no skin off my back that I’ve been kicked out of the chili tent.

As soon as I see the little baby goats clambering at the fence at my approach, I know this is the job for me.

“You have a spring in your step this morning,” Juniper says. She carries a clipboard and she looks a little frantic, but cheerful.

“Something special is in the air today; I can feel it,” I say.

“I like that attitude.”

“So, just put me where you want me.”

Juniper gestures at the yellow-leafed maple tree behind me. “I was going to bring a backdrop, but all the trees in town decided to put on a show just in time for the festival. So, all you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”

I’ve heard that before. Last year, on Valentine’s Day, some of the single men in town were asked to do a kissing booth for charity. Another time, we were auctioned off on dates. I’m always on the list for these kinds of things.

I start to peel off my shirt, and Juniper busts out laughing.

“Oh, honey, wait…”

“Put your shirt on around my wife, pipsqueak.” The gravelly voice comes from Rex, Juniper’s husband. He’s a bit of a sour puss, but I’ve gotten to know him from all the times we’ve needed his tow truck at highway accidents. He’s quick to respond, helps out whenever we need a hand, and he gets the busted cars out of traffic fast. I like him.

He doesn’t like me right now, though.

“Yes, Mr. Mayor,” I say, tugging my shirt back on.

“Not the mayor,” he grumbles, circling his arm around his wife.

His golden retriever, Flash, trots up, tail wagging and tongue flapping.

Effectively, Rex is the mayor. He’s always helping people, he goes to all the town council meetings and has a lot to say when it’s important. He seems like a mayor to me.

I scratch Flash behind the ears and accept a doggy kiss in return. “Thanks, buddy. That’s the only kind of kiss I’ve had in ages,” I say.

“Well, maybe your luck will change today,” Juniper says with a glint in her eye.

I return her smile. “I was thinking the same thing. It feels like it’s gonna be a really good day.”

She excuses herself to make the rounds on the other booths, with Rex at her side. The two of them are so different, but they make sense together.

Someday, I hope I meet that person who makes everything make sense for me.