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through the seemingly endless crowd of residents from Sweet Briar and its neighboring communities—a sea of smiling faces that surely mirrored her own. “I could never get Celia to try the stuff. Mainly because it wasn’t green and didn’t grow in the ground. But you—you like your junk food so there’s hope.”
    For a brief moment she thought about denying her propensity for unhealthy eating, but she let it pass. What was the point? Some things were just futile. . . .
    But still, hearing Milo mention his late wife always stirred an overwhelming need to lighten the moment. Not because he wasn’t ready to move on after ten years—he was. But because she ached for the pain he endured all those years ago as he watched his wife succumb to cancer.
    Sneaking a look at his face as they neared his destination of choice, she was pleased to see the face-lighting smile that had endeared him to her from the moment they first met. Whatever pain he still carried over his loss had been tamed by hope. And for that she was glad. Very, very glad.
    “Oh, hey, would you remind me to grab a paper before we leave?” Milo tilted his head toward a small grouping of people huddled around the Sunday edition of the Sweet Briar News Times . “I like to read Colby’s columns and I forgot to pick one up on my way to get you this afternoon.”
    She stopped, gestured toward the white tent just off to their right—a tent that appeared to rival that of any other at the festival in terms of a line. Only instead of food or trinkets, it existed solely to sell papers and subscriptions. “I could get one for you right now.”
    He tightened his grip on her hand and shook his head. “Oh no . . . you’re not getting out of trying a funnel cake.”
    “I’m not trying to get out of it,” she protested. “I just figured you could get in line for that while I get in line for a paper. When we’re done, we’ll just meet somewhere in the middle.”
    “You won’t take off for the hills?”
    “Not before I get your paper.”
    “Hey!”
    “I’m just kidding.” Tori jabbed a finger into his side and laughed. “Besides, finding a hill around here would be pretty tough to do. Perhaps the ocean would be better. It’s only an hour or so away. . . .”
    “Cute. Very cute.” He leaned over, planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll meet you back here in a few.”
    “I’ll be here.” She waved as he started across the matted grass in search of the artery-clogging treat that appeared to be a staple at Sweet Briar’s festivals. Why people wanted to eat a plate of fried dough was beyond her, but she’d give it a try if it meant something to Milo.
    Pulling her gaze from the back of his head as he disappeared into the crowd, Tori turned and headed toward the ever-growing line at the newspaper tent. Many of the faces she recognized as library patrons, others were simply people she glimpsed at the market or church or a variety of other spots around the small white picket fence town.
    She smiled at the forty-something woman in front of her as she took her place at the end of the line. “I can’t believe this line. Is the news tent always this busy at a festival?”
    The woman shook her head, the emphatic motion dislodging a few strands of red hair from the casually pinned bun at the nape of her neck. “But it’s hard not to notice them there folks.” She pointed to various clusters of people peering over the shoulders of others to read the paper. “Everyone sure seems to be hankerin’ for one, don’t they? I reckon there’s somethin’ good goin’ on.”
    Tori glanced at a group of men standing to the right of the tent as they waited for their buddy at the front of the line to get his copy. He’d barely exchanged money for a paper before they were ripping it from his hand and flipping through the contents with a mixture of determination and dread on their faces.
    “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked the