Updated Apr 19, 2026 • ~15 min read
Chapter 7: Town Scheme #2 – the Festival
Quinn
Quinn discovers that the Fall Festival is apparently Maplewood’s biggest event of the year when Mayor Judy shows up at the bakery two weeks after the grand opening with a clipboard, a determined expression, and what Quinn is learning to recognize as her “I have a plan and you’re going to be part of it whether you like it or not” smile.
“Quinn, dear!” Mayor Judy announces, setting her clipboard on the counter with authority. “I’m here to discuss your participation in the Fall Festival next Saturday. We’d love to have Sugar & Spice represented at the baking booth!”
Quinn has been expecting this—Mabel mentioned the festival in passing, and several customers have asked if Quinn will be there—so she’s already prepared with what she thinks is a reasonable contribution.
“I’d be happy to donate some baked goods,” Quinn says, wiping flour off her hands and trying to project confidence in the face of Judy’s intensity. “I was thinking a variety of cookies and maybe some small tarts? Whatever you think would sell well.”
“Perfect!” Judy says, making notes on her clipboard. “And you’ll be manning the baking booth from two to four, so wear something festive!”
“Wait,” Quinn says, because she definitely didn’t agree to actually working the booth. “I thought I was just donating baked goods. I have the bakery to run—”
“We’ll close Main Street for the festival,” Judy interrupts smoothly. “Everyone closes their shops to participate. It’s tradition. And don’t worry about the baking booth—Mabel will be there with you for the first shift, and then—” she pauses dramatically, “—you’ll be reassigned to help with the dunk tank!”
Quinn has learned enough about small-town politics to recognize a setup when she hears one, and she narrows her eyes at Judy’s innocent expression.
“The dunk tank,” Quinn repeats slowly. “And who, exactly, will I be helping at the dunk tank?”
“Asher Brooks is volunteering to be dunked!” Judy says with enthusiasm that’s definitely manufactured. “Such a good sport. The kids love dunking their favorite firefighter. But he needs someone to sell tickets and collect money, and I thought, who better than his friendly neighbor?”
“Judy,” Quinn says with as much patience as she can muster. “You’re setting us up. Again.”
“I’m organizing festival volunteers,” Judy corrects primly. “If two single people happen to be assigned to work together, well, that’s just efficient scheduling.”
“You literally just told me I’m being reassigned specifically to help Asher,” Quinn points out.
“Exactly,” Judy says without shame. “Efficient scheduling.”
Quinn should argue, should insist on staying at the baking booth for the entire festival, should refuse to participate in yet another transparent matchmaking scheme.
But the truth is, Quinn’s been in Maplewood for a month now, and she’s starting to understand that fighting the town’s meddling is exhausting and ultimately pointless because they’re going to meddle anyway, and at least this way she knows what’s coming.
Plus, there’s a small part of Quinn—a part she’s trying very hard to ignore—that’s actually curious about seeing Asher outside of their awkward neighbor interactions, that wonders if he’s different when he’s relaxed and participating in town events, that maybe wants to spend a little time with the grumpy firefighter who’s been surprisingly kind despite his obvious reluctance to get close to anyone.
Not that Quinn is interested in him romantically.
She’s not.
She’s completely, totally, absolutely not interested in her grumpy neighbor with his soft eyes when he looks at his daughter and his competent hands when he fixed her pipes and his almost-smile that she’s only seen twice but can’t seem to forget.
“Fine,” Quinn sighs, because resistance is futile and Judy looks prepared to stand here arguing all day. “I’ll help with the dunk tank. But Judy, you have to stop manipulating every interaction between Asher and me. If something’s going to happen, it’ll happen naturally. All this scheming is just making us both uncomfortable.”
“Noted,” Judy says cheerfully, but her expression suggests she has absolutely no intention of stopping her scheming. “The festival starts at noon. Baking booth from two to four, dunk tank from four to six. Wear layers—it gets chilly in the evening!”
She sweeps out before Quinn can protest further, and Quinn is left standing in her bakery wondering how exactly she went from “just donating baked goods” to “working a two-hour shift with Asher at the dunk tank” in the span of five minutes.
Mabel appears approximately thirty seconds after Judy leaves, which suggests she was waiting outside for exactly this conversation to finish.
“Let me guess,” Mabel says, settling onto one of the bakery’s counter stools. “Judy assigned you to help Asher at the dunk tank.”
“How did you know?” Quinn asks, though she’s not really surprised anymore by how fast information travels in this town.
“Because she told me yesterday that was the plan,” Mabel admits without shame. “And before you get mad, I think it’s actually a good idea. The festival is fun, Asher’s less grumpy when he’s doing something for the kids, and you two need to spend time together in a setting that’s not awkward emergency plumbing or charged baking lessons.”
“The baking lessons aren’t charged,” Quinn protests, because that seems like the least important thing Mabel said but the easiest to argue about.
“Not financially charged,” Mabel clarifies. “But emotionally? Ruby’s clearly getting attached, Asher watches you teach her with this look on his face like he’s having a religious experience, and you smile at Ruby the same way Asher does—like she’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. It’s charged, honey. Just in a different way.”
Quinn wants to deny this, wants to insist that the baking lessons are purely educational and neighborly, but she’s not sure she can lie convincingly to Mabel who sees everything and has clearly decided that Quinn and Asher are her personal matchmaking project.
“I like Ruby,” Quinn admits. “She’s sweet and enthusiastic and an absolute joy to teach. That doesn’t mean anything about Asher.”
“Doesn’t it?” Mabel asks with that knowing smile. “Because most people who like kids also notice when those kids have good parents. And Asher’s a good parent. Patient and devoted and doing his best despite being terrified of screwing up. That’s attractive in a man, whether you want to admit it or not.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Quinn says firmly. “I told you about Marcus—”
“Marcus was an idiot who didn’t deserve you,” Mabel interrupts. “Asher is nothing like Marcus. And I’m not saying you have to marry the man tomorrow. I’m just saying… maybe stop fighting every possible connection like it’s a threat. The festival will be fun. Asher’s less grumpy when he’s being dunked by kids. And you might actually enjoy spending time with him if you let yourself.”
She leaves before Quinn can argue further, and Quinn spends the rest of the week baking for the festival and trying not to think about Asher being less grumpy, or about what he looks like when he smiles for real instead of just almost-smiling, or about the fact that she’s apparently supposed to spend two hours with him at a dunk tank while the entire town watches and judges their interaction.
Saturday arrives with perfect fall weather—crisp air, bright sunshine, leaves turning gold and red on the trees lining Main Street—and Quinn walks to the town square at noon to find that Maplewood has transformed into something from a storybook, with booths and games and food vendors set up everywhere, and what looks like the entire population of three thousand people milling around eating funnel cakes and playing carnival games.
The baking booth is exactly where Judy said it would be, and Quinn spends two hours selling cookies and tarts while Mabel provides running commentary on every person who passes and Asher’s daughter Ruby appears approximately six times to sample different cookies and report that “Daddy says he’ll see you at the dunk tank later and please don’t let the kids dunk him too much.”
“I make no promises,” Quinn tells Ruby, who giggles and runs off to find her father.
At four o’clock, Mabel shoos Quinn away from the baking booth—”Go on, your reassignment awaits”—and Quinn makes her way to the dunk tank setup at the edge of the square where she can already see a line of excited children waiting to throw balls at the target that will drop whoever’s sitting on the platform into a tank of presumably freezing water.
Asher is standing next to the dunk tank wearing jeans and a fire department t-shirt, talking to Cole and looking resigned in a way that suggests he’s accepted his fate but isn’t particularly happy about it.
When he sees Quinn approaching, something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or possibly resignation that the town’s matchmaking has struck again—and he says something to Cole who immediately grins and claps Asher on the shoulder before walking away.
“Let me guess,” Asher says when Quinn reaches him. “Judy assigned you to help with the dunk tank.”
“Efficient scheduling,” Quinn quotes with a smile. “Apparently we’re both victims of the town’s organizational skills.”
“Organizational skills,” Asher repeats with something that might be amusement. “That’s one way to describe Judy’s meddling.”
There’s a moment where they’re both just standing there acknowledging the absurdity of the situation, and then Asher sighs and starts climbing the ladder to the dunk tank platform.
“Might as well get this over with,” he says. “You’re on ticket sales and money collection. Three dollars for three balls. Kids under ten get five balls for the same price because I’m not a monster.”
“Got it,” Quinn says, settling into the folding chair next to the ticket booth. “Any other rules I should know?”
“Don’t let Ruby throw more than twenty times,” Asher calls down. “She’ll bankrupt herself trying to dunk her old man, and I’m trying to teach her fiscal responsibility.”
Quinn laughs, and she sees Asher’s expression soften slightly before he settles onto the platform and the first kid—a boy who looks about eight—steps up to throw.
The next two hours are actually fun in a way Quinn wasn’t expecting.
Asher is good with the kids—teasing them about their aim, celebrating when they manage to hit the target, making exaggerated falling motions when he gets dunked that have the children shrieking with laughter. He’s soaking wet within the first fifteen minutes, his hair plastered to his head and his shirt clinging to muscles that Quinn definitely doesn’t notice because she’s very busy selling tickets and collecting money.
Ruby appears with a group of her school friends, and Asher groans dramatically when he sees his daughter.
“Traitor!” he calls down to her. “My own flesh and blood, come to dunk me!”
“Sorry Daddy!” Ruby calls back cheerfully, clearly not sorry at all. “You said I could!”
She manages to hit the target on her fourth throw, and Asher drops into the water with a huge splash while Ruby and her friends cheer, and Quinn finds herself laughing at the pure joy on both their faces.
When Asher climbs back onto the platform, dripping and grinning at his daughter, Quinn’s heart does something uncomfortable in her chest.
This is Asher without his walls—playful and warm and completely devoted to making kids happy even if it means sitting in freezing water for two hours.
This is the man underneath the grumpy exterior—kind and patient and genuinely good.
And Quinn realizes with dawning horror that she might be developing actual feelings for her neighbor, which was absolutely not part of the plan when she moved to Maplewood to escape relationships and focus on her bakery.
“Enjoying this?” Asher asks from the platform during a brief lull in the line, and he’s soaking wet and shivering slightly but there’s something playful in his expression that Quinn’s never seen before.
“Immensely,” Quinn admits, and she means it—not just the spectacle of watching Asher get repeatedly dunked, but the whole atmosphere of community and fun and seeing this different side of her grumpy neighbor.
Asher’s smile in response is genuine and unguarded, and it transforms his entire face into something that Quinn should definitely not be noticing but absolutely cannot help noticing.
Their eyes meet across the distance between the ticket booth and the dunk tank platform, and there’s a moment—brief but significant—where Quinn feels something shift between them, some acknowledgment that maybe they’re not quite as uninterested in each other as they’ve been pretending.
The moment breaks when another kid steps up to throw, and Asher gets dunked again with another exaggerated splash, but Quinn catches him looking at her several times over the next hour with an expression she can’t quite read.
When six o’clock finally arrives and Asher’s shift is mercifully over, Quinn helps him count the money they raised—over three hundred dollars for the fire department—while Asher shivers in his wet clothes and tries to wring out his shirt with limited success.
“You should probably go home and change before you get hypothermia,” Quinn observes, handing him the towel that was provided for exactly this purpose.
“Probably,” Asher agrees, rubbing the towel over his hair. “Thanks for helping with this. I know Judy forced you into it.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Quinn says honestly. “You’re actually pretty entertaining when you’re not being grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy,” Asher protests. “I’m discerning.”
“You’re grumpy,” Quinn counters with a smile. “But less so when you’re getting dunked by children, apparently.”
Asher looks at her for a long moment, something unreadable in his grey eyes, and then he says quietly, “Thank you. For being good with Ruby. The baking lessons… they mean a lot to her. And to me.”
Quinn’s heart does that uncomfortable squeezing thing again, and she finds herself saying, “I love teaching her. She’s special, Asher. You’re doing a great job with her.”
The compliment clearly affects him—Quinn can see it in the way his expression softens and his guard drops for just a moment—and then Ruby appears with Cole trailing behind her, and the moment passes.
“Daddy! You were so funny! Uncle Cole has hot chocolate for you so you don’t freeze!” Ruby announces, and Cole hands over a steaming cup with a knowing smile at both Asher and Quinn.
“Thanks,” Asher says, accepting the hot chocolate and wrapping his hands around it gratefully. “Ready to head home, Ruby-roo?”
“Can Quinn come over for dinner?” Ruby asks with the absolute certainty of a child who hasn’t learned that asking in front of the person makes it harder to say no. “We’re having pizza and she should come!”
Both Asher and Quinn freeze, and Quinn can see Asher struggling with how to handle this—he clearly doesn’t want to encourage more interaction, but he also clearly doesn’t want to disappoint his daughter or be rude to Quinn.
“I’m sure Quinn has plans—” Asher starts.
“Actually, I don’t,” Quinn hears herself say, because apparently her mouth has disconnected from her brain. “Pizza sounds great.”
Ruby cheers, Asher looks simultaneously panicked and resigned, and Cole grins like all his matchmaking dreams are coming true.
“Wonderful!” Cole says cheerfully. “I’ll leave you all to it. Great festival work, team!”
He disappears before Asher can rope him into staying as a buffer, and Quinn is left standing with her neighbor and his daughter, having just agreed to dinner at Asher’s house, and wondering what exactly she’s gotten herself into.
“You don’t have to come,” Asher says quietly while Ruby runs ahead toward home. “I know Ruby put you on the spot.”
“I want to come,” Quinn says, surprising herself with the honesty. “Unless you really don’t want me there?”
Asher looks at her with those grey eyes that seem to see more than Quinn is comfortable with him seeing, and then he shakes his head slowly.
“No,” he says finally. “I want you there. That’s the problem.”
He walks away before Quinn can process that statement, following Ruby toward his house, and Quinn stands in the middle of the festival chaos wondering what exactly just happened and whether admitting he wants her there is progress or a warning.
She follows them across the square toward their houses, and her heart is beating faster than it should be, and she’s definitely developing feelings she swore she wouldn’t develop.
But watching Asher interact with his daughter, seeing him smile genuinely for the first time, spending two hours watching him be playful and warm despite the freezing water—Quinn has to admit that maybe Mabel was right.
Maybe Asher is nothing like Marcus.
Maybe fighting every possible connection isn’t protecting her heart so much as preventing her from finding something real.
And maybe, just maybe, pizza at the grumpy firefighter’s house isn’t the worst thing that could happen.
Even if the entire town is definitely watching and definitely adding this to their matchmaking scoreboard.
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