Chapter 1: The Maple Heights Parade

Seven years after stumbling into Maple Heights, I finally helped Caleb Monroe, the town's cold and distant second lead, reclaim his place as mayor.

Maple Heights is the kind of town where folks know your business before you do, and nothing gets them talking like a mayor’s race. Caleb had always kept to himself, gliding through Fourth of July barbecues and holiday parades like a ghost. But I’d stuck with him—maybe out of loyalty, maybe because I was too stubborn to let go.

Every time someone winked at me over cherry pie, my heart did a little somersault—half dread, half wishful thinking. "You know, after all you’ve done for him, it’d be a crime if you weren’t First Lady," folks would say, laughter warm and sly at The Fork & Ladle or whispered behind coffee cups at Rosie’s Diner. Loyalty, they thought, should be enough to guarantee a happy ending. Their eyes lingered, full of hope and teasing, and I felt every glance—part invitation, part dare.

But before I could muster a reply, Caleb—famous for his gentle calm—turned ice-cold in an instant.

The laughter died down, and even the cicadas seemed to hush as Caleb’s voice cut through the summer air. His gaze slid past me to the heroine standing under the blooming maple tree. "The matter of First Lady concerns the dignity of this office. It’s not something to joke about."

The maple petals drifted down, landing on Rachel’s shoulders as she stood there in her floral dress, looking like she didn’t quite belong. The hush that followed was heavy, folks glancing away, not wanting to get caught between the lines of politics and heartbreak.

Later, on the eve of his big wedding to the heroine, Caleb handed me a reward, like he was trying to make things right.

The gift came wrapped in crisp blue paper, the card inside almost apologetic. His handwriting was neat and careful, as if he knew words would never be enough. The whole thing felt cold—like he was paying me off for years of standing at his side.

Everyone in town figured I’d use that favor to stay close to him.

The gossip flew—Mrs. Jenkins at the library, high schoolers on their bikes, even the gas station guy who lived for rumors. They all thought I’d cash in my favor for love, like life was some soap opera and I was just waiting for my cue.

But just as Caleb’s face went from nervous to certain, I let out a long, sharp whistle.

The sound sliced through the room, as loud as the church bell on Sunday. Caleb’s hand froze on the envelope. For once, every eye was on me—and Caleb looked like he’d just lost his lines.

"Anything at all? Then let’s start with three thousand boyfriends—let’s see if you’re up for that."