Page 80 of The Hitman’s Final Job

Clayton makes his way to the stage with the slightly dazed expression of a man who can’t believe he’s living in this moment.

He thanks Tess for her endless patience as he spent more time with Breanda than with her. Then he thanks Vaughn and the festival committee.

The crowd cheers again.

Vaughn puts his arm around my shoulder, and I lean into him. As night settles around us, I can’t bring myself to care about anything else but this man.

“Tonight,” I say quietly, against his shoulder.

He pulls away to look me in the eye.

“I need to tell you something tonight,” I say. “When we get home.”

“Okay,” he says.

“It’s … it’s important. And I should have told you sooner.”

“Okay.”

TWENTY-FIVE

VAUGHN

Clayton’s win is well deserved. I’m sure every single contestant has put as much effort into growing their pumpkins, but I’m not afraid to root for my friend.

The trophy is a thing of genuine beauty: a wooden pumpkin handcrafted by Marco, Atlas’s brother. Tess is beside Clayton with both arms around one of his and her face a picture of pride. A crowd has formed around them to offer congratulations.

“Come on,” Silas says, pulling me toward them.

We push through the crowd, and when Clayton sees us, his proud smile widens even more.

“You did it,” I tell him.

“Brenda did it,” he says.

“Brenda had a good partner,” I insist.

“Let’s take a photo,” Tess announces. “All of us. With Brenda.”

We arrange ourselves around Brenda, who is on her display platform. Tess takes the photograph, then hands the phone to someone nearby and gets in the photograph herself.

“Can you send that to me?” Silas asks Tess when she shows him the result.

“Already done.”

The celebration moves organically, and we end up at a table outside the Bookshelf Café with David and Mark, the latter of whom has brought out a bottle of something home-brewed and is pouring it without being asked. The rest of our friends arrive shortly after.

Clayton tells everyone the story of Brenda’s growing season in extreme detail.

“August was the problem,” he says. “The dry spell. I was checking her every morning. Vaughn had told me about the moisture retention in the soil, so I was watching it, but there’s a point where you just … you just have to trust the work you’ve done and let it happen.”

“Spoken like a true scientist,” Priya says.

“Nah, I’m just a farmer,” Clayton says.

Silas is beside me, his shoulder against mine in the way it’s been all afternoon, and he’s listening to Clayton with genuine interest. His words are replaying in my head.

I have something to tell you tonight.