Yeah, mushrooms.
The fair happened twice a year, sometimes three times if the town’s Fair Planning Board felt like it. The theme usually revolved around food (apples, pumpkins, cherries, peaches), and sometimes holidays (Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day).
I regarded the tray of stuffed mushrooms at a booth run by a local caterer and bit back my revolted expression. The Fair Planning Board must have run out of ideas.
I freaking hated mushrooms.
Emmett slipped his hand into mine again, and I fought the urge to yank it away. We had agreed on doing one quick loop of the fair, just to be seen, and then I could go home. I tried to relax my hand.
“There you go.” He grinned at me. “Just like that.”
Deep breaths, I told myself as irritation spiked on the back of my neck.
“Emmett.” A wom
