Page 70

“Finn.” Bastian squeezes my shoulder. “Breathe. We’ll figure it out.”

He gives me a small smile. I fucking love my brother.

I turn to Fox, keeping my face neutral. “Hey. Do you need a ride back to the farm, or are you good?”

“I’ll ride back with Nikko.”

“Cool. You all have my number. Give me a shout if you need anything. I’ll be in the office.” Then I get in my car and drive back to Winterberry.

By the time I climb the stairs to the Chamber, it’s just after eleven.

Emmett is at his desk with his head in his hands.

“Emmett, what’s up? Other than the obvious?”

He gestures at his screen without looking up.

I drop my bag by my desk and cross to him. His screen is a maze of spreadsheets, emails, and one increasingly panicked calendar with red flags on every square.

“Talk me through it.”

Emmett straightens and takes a breath.

“The tree lot people called. They can’t deliver to the new location without a permit change, and the mayor’s office wants an update by end of business today. Five vendors have called this morning asking if they need to reapply. And Mrs. Peterson has called four times about her wreath stall placement, and it’s not even lunch. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, right now, she’s so far down my list of priorities she may as well not even be on it.”

I place my hand on his shoulder, offering a calm I don’t feel, but it doesn’t work.

“Also,” he continues, “we use the town square gazebo for the carolers and the mayor’s speech, and it features in every single piece of marketing we’ve put out. The farm doesn’t have a gazebo.”

“Then we build one.”

“With what wood, Finn?”

“I don’t know, Emmett. Trees.”

He stares at me, and we both laugh at the same time. It’s slightly hysterical but one hundred percent warranted at this moment.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s triage. Give me the vendor list first.”

“On it.”

I sit down at my desk, open my laptop, and start working.

The next two hours pass in a blur of phone calls and emails and Emmett occasionally standing to tell me another problem. It feels like we’re not making progress, but I know we are.

At least the incoming phone calls have stopped. It’s good to know the small-town gossip mill can work in my favor because as word gets around that we’re working on a bigger and better location for the festival, everyone becomes much more pleasant on the phone.

My phone buzzes on the desk.

Fox:

Coffee? I’m at Noëlle’s.

I would literally commit murder for a coffee right now, but I have too much to do. And it wouldn’t be fair to leave Emmett to pick up the slack, even if I were to bring him coffee and pastries from Noëlle.

Finn:

I can’t right now. We have too much to do.