Page 46 of Chasing Callie

The mirror on my childhood dresser shows a woman I’m not proud of. I should have stood up for myself instead of running. I should have told someone that night at the gallery that Theo stole my work.

But what does it matter what I say? What matters is what everyone else believes. Theo might be shit with money, but his family has connections, a reputation in the art world I never managed to build. Meanwhile, I’m bartending in the same town I grew up in.

I study one of my old pieces hanging on the wall, longing for that familiar feeling of inspiration, but I’m empty. The thought of picking up a brush makes my stomach twist. What’s the point? Nobody would believe it’s mine anyway.

My gaze moves to the festival dress laid out on the bed. Maybe I can’t reclaim my art right now, but I can reclaim something smaller. One evening at a stupid small-town festival where the biggest drama is supposed to be who made the best blueberry pie.

A fragile peace settles over my shoulders, but deep in my gut, I wonder if I’ll ever have true contentment. If I’ll ever paint again. If I’ll ever be anything more than a woman who fled a city with her tail between her legs, branded a thief by the man who stole everything from her.

The summer festival is in full swing by the time Aspen, Lily, and I arrive. The fairgrounds buzz with laughter, music, and the clinking of beer bottles. There is no beer garden at Summer Festival. The coordinator worked with the town to designate the entire scrap of land for the liquor license. The sweet scent of funnel cake and kettle corn drift through the air, making my mouth water.

Someone bumps into me.

“Sorry,” they mutter, but where there’s one, there’s twenty. There are so many people here, there’s hardly enough room to walk. I kind of hate that we host this festival during the height of tourist season. It’s suffocating, terrible, horrible, an absolute⁠—

“This is amazing,” Lily says with a dreamy sigh. My friend has always had fantasies about being swept away by a handsome tourist. “The kissing booth is prime real estate this year. Front and center.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Remind me why you volunteered for that germ factory again?”

Lily grins and pops her hip. “Because I’m desperate to find love, and I’m hoping one of these strangers might be the one.” She shrugs. “That and I’m horny.”

“Oh my god.” Aspen laughs, covering her face. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m honest,” Lily counters. “Besides, it’s for charity. My lips are practically saving lives today.”

Ahead of us, a line has already formed at what appears to be another kissing booth. My stomach sours when I see who’s running it.

Penelope.

She’s perched on a stool like it’s a throne, her blonde hair styled in loose curls, lips painted a predatory red.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter.

Aspen follows my stare and snorts. “Look at those poor souls waiting in line. Do you think they know they’re about to be devoured whole?”

“Right?” I cross my arms. “It’s like watching lambs line up for slaughter.”

Lily peers over and grimaces. “Great. Competition. Well, I better go claim my booth before she decides that one isn’t enough for her empire.” She gives us each a quick hug. “Come find me later!”

As Lily rushes off, Aspen and I continue watching Penelope’s show. She’s making each kiss into a performance, complete with hair flips and giggles that sound like they’ve been practiced in front of a mirror.

“How is she still single?” I wonder aloud. “You’d think some sucker would have put a ring on that nightmare by now.”

“Probably because she eats her mates after mating, like a black widow,” Aspen deadpans.

I snort-laugh, drawing a few glances our way. “God, I’ve missed you.”

Aspen’s expression softens. “You know I’ve got to head to my station soon, right? They put me at the ax throwing booth this year.” She hesitates. “Are you going to be okay? I know this is your first summer festival since, well, since everything.”

“I’m a big girl,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. “Besides, I’ll be too busy pouring drinks to worry about ancient history.”

Aspen doesn’t look convinced. “Ugh. I’m all the way on the other side of the fairgrounds. The ax throwing stations are basically in Narnia this year because of the. . .” she makes air quotes, “‘safety concerns.’”

“Sharp flying objects are dangerous,” I tell her with a funny grin.

She blows out a breath. “Whatever. Come see me?”

I nod. “I’ll find you on my break.”