Page 61 of Worth the Risk

Is it sad that my heart beats a bit faster at the statement, and I can’t fight the grin on my face? “I’m sure he’s going to love that.”

“It doesn’t hurt that rumors are still flying about the two of you.” She chuckles. “I may be good at coaxing but, girl, you landed that kiss right on his lips with the whole town watching, and it’s the kiss that keeps on giving to us here.” I keep my eyes focused on the preparations outside and try not to be irritated by her supposition that I manipulated the situation. Just like Grayson’s. “You may not have delivered the photos like I asked for this round, but you roped him in with the town behind him, and now he can’t say no. Job well done.”

“Thanks.”

A truck pulls up and when the back gate rolls up, I smile at the bundles of balloons inside.

“There goes six bucks of my money,” Rissa says. “My kids love those damn balloons. Are you going?”

“Of course!” My mind veers to Grayson. To the kiss I can’t seem to forget. To telling him we can’t do this when every single part of me wants to.

To the possibility of getting to see him tonight.

“That surprises me,” she says pulling me to look her way.

“Why? Who doesn’t love a festival? It used to be one of the only things I loved about this place when I was a kid.”

“And now?”

I turn back to the view of the street laid out in front of us. To the dance floor area off to the left and the food vendors setting up tables and chairs over to the right. I take in the hills around us and their rich greens and light browns. “It isn’t as bad as I remember.”

“I knew we’d wear you down.” Her laugh rumbles across the space as I turn back to my laptop. “Well, get ready to fall more in love with us in a few hours. We always cut loose early on Harvest Day.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“No.”

“I told the crew as soon as we get the layout finished, we can bail. It may be Harvest Festival time here in Sunnyville, but it’s deadline day for us to submit to Thorton Publishing.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

We turn back to our work. My calls are endless, my press releases about the contest’s third round of voting emailed, and between everything I do, my eyes find their way to the preparations outside to watch a festival come to life. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. The staff outside our open office door buzzes with anticipation over one of the biggest nights of the year.

“Rissa, we have a problem.”

Those words pull my attention from my spreadsheet. Before Rissa even has a chance to respond to Lilah, I notice all the staff standing in various places of the large conference room, looking our way with defeat etching the lines of their faces.

“What’s wrong?”

“Something happened with the software program. The file got infected.”

“Did we lose it?”

“We aren’t sure. A portion perhaps. We need to go back through each contributing file and try to piece it back together and . . .”

“And that’s going to take hours,” Rissa finishes for her.

You could hear a pin drop in here. All eyes are on Rissa as her shoulders sag and the festivities spark to life out on the street.

“I’ll stay and piece the files back together.” I think I shock everyone with my comment. Heads whip my way. Eyebrows raise.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Rissa says while everyone remains listening with bated breath.

“No. It’s fine,” I lie, swallowing over the lump forming in my own throat. “I don’t have kids or friends out there waiting for me to show up. I have it.”

Rissa locks eyes with mine, and there’s so much gratitude in them it makes me feel uncomfortable. “Sidney . . .”