“What are you talking about?”
Grady groaned, covering his face with one hand. “Son of a bitch. I’m really going to have to do this.” He dropped his hand wearily, came next to me, and set a hand on my back. “Tucker, I’m about to tell you something really, really strange.”
I glanced at my watch. “You have ten minutes, because I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
He nodded. “Ten minutes it is.”
I unhooked the tailgate on my truck and gestured for him to sit. He hitched himself up and took another moment to stare into the woods as I sat next to him. Inside, I was itching like crazy to get to work, but if this was anything that could help me with Grace, I’d sit and listen.
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” he muttered. “In the Buchanan family, or most of it, anyway, we were told about this nutty family legend. A love curse, if you want to call it that.”
And then he told me the craziest, most impossible to believe story I’d ever heard in my life.
Ten minutes later, everything made perfect sense, in the most nonsensical way conceivable, and I was driving back into town with a smile on my face, and a thumb drive in my pocket that would hopefully wipe all the worst kind of weight off my back, and bring Grace into my arms again.
Chapter 55 Grace
I showed up at the fairgrounds just as the first runners of the Headless Chicken 5K were crossing the finishing line. Someone in a … was that a … yup, a chicken suit that had no head, just a clean slice at the top, held one side of the ribbon, the mayor of Green Valley holding the other.
"You sure about this?" my companion asked me.
With an arm around her shoulders, I started walking toward the kissing booth, making sure I was letting her set the pace.
"I think the question is are you sure about this?"
She chuckled, patting my arm. "Oh sure. It'll be the most fun I've had in years."
People milled around, cheering on the runners. The vendor tents were opening up for the first official day of the festival. Over the smell of popcorn and funnel cake came roasted chicken, without a doubt one of the entrants in the chicken recipe contest.
Over the heads of the fairgoers, I searched for any sign of Tucker, but I didn't catch a single glimpse of his golden-brown hair or broad shoulders. Nervously, I tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear.
"You look beautiful, sweetie."
I looked down, because she was about a foot shorter than me. "So do you."
"If he knows what's good for him, he'll march you straight out of this place and take you home." She winked. "And if you're lucky, he won't let you leave for a few days, if you know what I mean."
My smile was impossible to stop, because, by all accounts, it was highly inappropriate for her to saying stuff like that.
"That brother of yours coming today?"
"You know Grady?"
She waved a hand. "Saw him at the grocery store a couple of days ago. He was buying some chocolate ice cream."
"Ah."
Then she winked. "He inspired my last poem. Did you hear it? It's the one about the man who paints his lovers with chocolate and then licks them clean."
"I, uh, I missed that one." I patted her arm. "Maybe you can tell me later?"
Tucker's great aunt was second on my list of choices for today, but Maxine told me she was 'too damn busy' to help me. So … Belle Cooper was it. My unlikely savior, and hopefully something that would bring a smile to Tucker's face.
We turned toward the kissing booth, and I saw the tall, red arch with white sparkling letters and light pink balloons tied to the sides. A few people lined up, blocking my view of the tables, where Tucker and I were supposed to stand.
"Kissing booth talent, coming through," Belle shouted, and I laughed under my breath.
Two men wearing plaid shirts and fishing caps turned toward us, and as they did, I saw the massive sign in front of the tables. Glossy black letters on a white background.
Kissing Booth Closed! New attraction coming.
"What the hell," I muttered, glancing around. There was no one in front of or behind the table. No sign of Tucker anywhere. The entire thing was draped in white from top to bottom. The weirdest part of all was the line. I was early—plenty early—and at least fifty people were waiting in front of the booth.
All different ages, most of them had turned to stare at me unabashedly.
A young girl holding on to her mom’s hand smiled at me, and I did my best to smile back. It didn’t take me long to recognize her from Donner Bakery. She’d come in with her Grandpa, and I snapped a photo of them sharing a cupcake.
“Belle, what is going on?” I asked.
Before she could answer, the little girl whispered something to her mom and smiled at me again.
“Why is it closed?” I asked out loud. To Belle. The men. Who even knew at that point? I just wanted answers.
“Sold out, maybe?” the guy next to me said.
Belle scoffed. "Well, who bought all the tickets?"
One man sighed. "I heard it was Jackson James."
"I heard that too," the other one said. "Heard Maxine Barton made him wear the chicken suit this year, so he shut down her kissing booth on accounts of it being a horrible idea."
"That doesn't make any sense," I said. "Why would he buy the tickets, then? Why is it closed?"
There was a tug on my hand, and when
