“Told ya.”

  “What in the world?”

  He rubs his hands together and says with all sincerity, “When people started moving away in droves, the town council—including me—decided to form a club. In this club, every citizen of Fate is a member. That way, no matter where they ended up, they’d know they always had a home here in Fate. It’s a thing to maybe help draw people back to live here. It’s hokey, I know.”

  I sit up and tug the sheet up around me. “No. It’s not hokey. I love it. It’s sweet.”

  Standing up, I cross the room, hand the card back to Danny, and roll up on my toes for a kiss.

  It’s all a little nuts, but I kind of love it. In the same way, I kind of love Danny.

  And one thing’s for sure. I’ll think about staying.

  Epilogue

  Danny

  One month later

  The First Annual Fate Fiber Festival is actually happening without too much arguing or infighting. The most significant controversy was over the event’s name, but please don’t ask me to read back the minutes from that meeting.

  Of course, overshadowing the festival’s name controversy was the rebuilding of Ernestine’s tiny gift shop. Oh, the boys rebuilt it alright. They painted it, and made it bigger. The problem was, they applied for a permit to sell firewood at the fiber festival, advertising their wood was “the authentic wood that destroyed the Curiosity Spot.” Ernestine did not understand why everyone thought that was hilarious, and she went a week without speaking to anyone.

  She’s over it now. Barely.

  Thanks to Izzy, with all 499 human residents and some volunteers from Gold Hill, we pulled it off in less than a month. The yarn ball was put back together with a little TLC, and some donated yarn to make up for what we lost.

  The knitting club set up a tent full of their crafts to sell, and we even had inquiries from a food truck and a beer vendor as word spread.

  There’s a small bandstand that Rex helped me build so some of our local musicians could provide entertainment. If you could call the elementary school music teacher’s class demonstrating their prowess on recorders “entertainment.” Which we do. Because it’s Fate, and we are nothing if not gung-ho about any idea, big or small.

  As the town secretary, I’m in charge of counting the attendees.

  Around noon, Izzy tackles me with a hug and a kiss while I’m operating the gate, excitedly asking to look at my little clicker. “501 at last count,” I say. “So, everyone in town, plus you.”

  As the woman who still works at the Gold Hill mayor’s office, I expect her to be disappointed. I expect her to tell me what we did wrong and could have done better to draw more people. But my Izzy doesn’t do any of that.

  “Gotta start somewhere,” she says with a shrug.

  I spent the first few days of my relationship with her feeling astonished and bewildered, and one month in, I’m still astonished every day.

  Izzy and I got married officially at the county clerk’s office in Gold Hill within weeks of meeting each other, but please don’t tell anyone from Fate. I could have waited for the circuit judge to come by, but I just didn’t want to wait three months to make it official.

  Izzy had to break the news to her uncle, the mayor of Gold Hill, that she was seeing someone from Fate. He took it well, if taking it well meant showing up at my job one day to ask me what my intentions were with his niece and whether I meant to trick her into becoming what he called “an ass-backward lunatic like the rest of these people across the river.”

  He was satisfied when I asked him if he really believed Izzy would fall for someone like that or put up with that kind of life.

  When it came time for the wedding, Izzy didn’t even want to be “given away,” describing it as a symbol of patriarchal ownership. I didn’t tell her I asked Uncle Stan for his blessing before I asked her to marry me, or that he made me promise to go along with him pretending to be mad about it.

  “The truth is, I’m happy she’s happy,” he told me when we met for beers at a country bar on the river—equidistant between Gold Hill and Fate but belonging to neither. “But people expect the rivalry to continue. As mayor, I’m obliged to hate your guts. So if you can put up with that, then so can I.”

  Not exactly bridge-building, but maybe our kids will do a better job of it.

  At the fiber festival, she’s brought me one of the craft beers from that vendor over in Gold Hill. We spread out on a blanket and park ourselves on a hill overlooking the whole scene.

  “Not bad beer for a Gold Hill guy,” I remark.

  She replies, “He says the town is growing on him, and he’s thinking about moving his business here.”

  I cock my head. “Well, hang on, now. As town secretary, I need to put together a business incentive package. What do you think he pays in taxes over in Gold Hill? You know our homes are cheaper here, too; we got a lot of fixer-uppers. Hey, maybe you could help me.”

  Izzy places a hand on my chest. “Drink your beer, Zippy. Relax.”

  “I don’t understand. This is one of those things we gotta jump on.”

  She shakes her head and points down the hill, where the beer guy is chatting up Billie Jane. For some reason, there’s a bunch of sheep roaming around them.

  I go to stand up. “Nobody applied for a live animal permit, I—”

  “Don’t you dare interrupt them. Let me enjoy this,” she says, yanking me back to sitting.

  I still do not understand. “Enjoy what?”

  She shushes me, and I look back down the hill.

  And then I see it. Billie Jane and the beer guy are kissing. Kissing! But not just kissing; Billie Jane has leaped into his arms and is holding on like a koala on a tree. I’ve never seen that woman behave like that, ever. Not even when her stitch & bitch group takes over Ruby’s Diner with their sneaky tumblers full of wine.

  “Could you please explain the sheep?”

  “Would if I could. But I can’t. Isn’t that the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen?”

  Random kissing, a herd of lost sheep, a bunch of perturbed-looking knitters? Just another Saturday in Fate. Above the scene, the sun sets in the clouds, framing the old empty courthouse, making our little town look like a postcard. The only amazing part is the way the gold and pink light reflects off my Izzy’s face as she smiles down at the scene.

  “I’m swooning,” she says with a sigh.

  I grab her hand and kiss each knuckle, keeping my eyes on her lovely face, the same face I’ll be watching ten, twenty, thirty years from now, if I have anything to say about it.

  “Same, Pinky. Same.”

  THE END

  Thank you for reading Claiming Fate! If you enjoyed this short story, please visit my website for links to my Amazon page where you can find lots more titles to read. Follow me there to keep up with my latest releases. Or, just say hello! Turn the page and find out where to track me down on social media and email, or sign up for my mailing list to be the first to know about upcoming projects.

  About the Author

  Abby Knox writes feel-good, high-heat romance that she herself would want to read. Readers have described her stories as quirky, sexy, adorable, and hilarious. All of that adds up to Abby’s overall goal in life: to be kind and to have fun!

  Abby’s favorite tropes include: Forced proximity, opposites attract, grumpy/sunshine, age gap, boss/employee, fated mates/insta-love, and more. Abby is heavily influenced by Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Gilmore Girls, and LOST. But don't worry, she won’t ever make you suffer like Luke & Lorelai.

  If any or all of that connects with you, then you came to the right place.

  Join Abby’s newsletter

  and say hello at authorabbyknox@gmail.com

  More by Abby Knox

  Roadside Attraction

  Paradise Passions

  Babymoon

  Honeymoon Hideout

  Want more of summer?

  511 Kissme Lane (a stand-alone story in the multi-author Cherry Falls series

  Not the Rebound Guy

  Made for Marriage

  Walk with Me

  Off-Season Stud

  Midsummer Fling

  Ready for the holidays?

  The Halloween Bet

  Pumpkin King

  Snow-plowed

  The Windy City Holiday Duet

  Pumpkin Spice

  Comfort & Joy

  Homemade Heat

  Judge Me

  Cake Walk

  Hand-Tossed

  Chef’s Kiss

  Bite Me

  Crow Bar Brute Squad

  Party Foul

  Dirty Martini

  Whiskey Sour

  And plenty more on my Amazon page!

 

 

  Abby Knox, Claiming Fate: A rivals-to-lovers, small-town romance

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
Share this book with friends