Page 71 of Pumpkin Spice Promises
My eyes slowed. I read the total at the bottom twice. “That isn’t realistic.”
“It is,” Rosie said.
“For a town festival?”
“For our town festival.”
June folded her hands on the table. “Attendance has nearly doubled since the last time Marigold hosted.”
“Why?”
“Tourism.”
I frowned.
Darlene answered, “People like our small corner of the world.”
“We get visitors from Atlanta, Chattanooga, Birmingham,” Rosie continued. “People drive in for weekends now. The tavern books out every Friday and Saturday in October.”
“Sugar and Pine do preorder pickup for people who don’t even live in Georgia,” Clover added.
June nodded. “Last year I shipped two hundred pumpkin bread boxes.”
Rosie pointed toward the folder. “If Marigold Ranch hosted the main festival events, you’d keep a big portion of the pie for hosting.”
I looked down again before glancing at Meme who was reading over the paper from over my shoulder.
“How much exactly?”
“Depends what you offer.”
I closed the folder with a snap and lifted my chin. “Be specific, Rosie.”
“Pumpkin patch. Hayrides. Bonfire admission. Parking. Maybe farm tours. You could sell bottled milk, cream, butter if you want to expand seasonal products.”
I looked at June. She wasn’t being careless, and neither was Rosie. They had actually thought about this.
“How many vendors?”
“Thirty-six confirmed.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Thirty-six?”
“Forty-two if we accept the waitlist.”
“Where would they go?”
“Near the old north pasture.”
I stared, surprised that they had thought every little detail through. “You remember the layout?”
Rosie gave me a look of disbelief. “Carson, half of us grew up at that festival.”
Walter cleared his throat, and I looked toward him. “Is the old tractor still out there?” he asked.
“Yes…”
“Running?”
