Chapter 1: Queen of Maple Heights—Or Just a Pawn?

I’m Savannah Whitaker, and apparently, I’m “the most beautiful girl in Maple Heights.” Yeah, that’s what they say—cue the eye roll—but I promise, I don’t take it as seriously as it sounds.

In a town like this, a nickname like that sticks to you like summer sweat. And it’s not just me hyping myself up—half the town’s gossipy aunts and every high schooler have been calling me that since I was old enough to spin around in a sundress. That kind of label comes with its own weird pressure. But honestly? I’ve learned to wear it like my favorite lipstick: bold, unapologetic, and with just enough sass to make people wonder if I’m up to something.

My dad’s the principal at the local high school. My older brother Caleb? He’s basically the Midwest’s answer to a teen heartthrob—everyone calls him the “Golden Boy of Maple Heights.” And then there’s Ethan Chandler, our current mayor and my childhood friend, who’s as much a part of my life as sweet tea in summer.

Seriously, sometimes I feel like I’m living in a small-town soap opera. Dad’s the guy who knows everyone’s business and grades—he’s got the scoop on every family in town. Caleb? He can’t walk down Main Street without someone’s grandma pinching his cheek or fussing over his hair. And Ethan? He’s the kind of mayor who paints portraits in his office and still remembers which one of us got stuck up the old oak tree back in third grade.

Every time I mention this, my best friend Mariah rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she hasn’t sprained something. Honestly, it’s impressive.

She’ll let out this dramatic sigh, pop her gum, and go, “Girl, you act like you’re Miss America. Newsflash: pageant queens don’t have to do their own laundry.”

Then she leans in, smirking, “If you’re such hot stuff, why can’t you even get a boyfriend?”

I can’t help it—I groan, my shoulders slumping.

Right on cue, I give her my best pout. “Oh, please. Like you’re any better! Got a boyfriend hiding somewhere I don’t know about?”

So there we are: Savannah and Mariah, the tragic queens of small-town heartbreak. Hey, at least we’re in it together.

We’ll sprawl out on her porch swing, lemonade sweating in our hands. Sometimes we just laugh at ourselves—two girls in Maple Heights, both single, both with more close calls than the high school football team had touchdowns. It’s a scene.

If you’re wondering how I’m holding up, well… here I am at the Marquez house, fresh off a broken engagement. Wild, right?

There’s this ache—hard to explain. It’s like you’re bracing for a thunderstorm, but all you get is sticky air and the far-off sound of someone else’s happy ending. The Marquez place smells like cinnamon and old books, and I’m curled up on their couch, trying to keep my mind off what comes next.

The rumor mill started spinning about two weeks back. People said that after Autumn Sawyer—Chief Sawyer’s daughter, who everyone thought was gone for good—came back, she became the mayor’s new favorite. Word was, to keep her happy, the mayor was calling off my engagement and Lily Evans’s too.

You’d think in a place this small, secrets would stay buried. But in Maple Heights? News gets around faster than a tornado warning on the Fourth of July. Autumn’s return had everyone talking, and suddenly all eyes were glued to the mayor, waiting to see what he’d do next.

Today, a town notice landed in my mailbox. It didn’t come right out and say my engagement was over, but it did name Autumn as the new First Lady—a ceremonial town title—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I stared at that letter, my hands shaking. There’s just something about seeing your own name replaced by someone else’s—it’s like getting sucker-punched. I kept rereading it, hoping I’d missed something, but the truth was right there, plain as day, in black and white.

Nobody really knows what Autumn did during the whole town council shakeup, but if you keep your ears open in Maple Heights, you’ll hear plenty.

Mariah and I cooked up our own theories, trading wild stories over milkshakes at the diner. Some folks said Autumn had secret meetings with the city council, others whispered she had the mayor completely wrapped around her finger. Either way, she’d flipped the whole script.

“Autumn Sawyer—she’s got game.” Mariah shot me a look, and we shared a silent thumbs-up, trying not to laugh.

We’d never say it out loud, but honestly? We kind of admired her. It takes guts to come back from the dead and steal the spotlight like that.

So, I did what any determined small-town girl would: hurried home, changed into my favorite sundress, fixed my hair, and, with all the Southern grace I could muster, clattered my way right into city hall.

There’s just something about the click of heels on marble—it makes you feel like you’re walking into your own destiny, even if your heart’s doing somersaults. I rehearsed my lines all the way there. Chin up, Savannah. No matter what, don’t let them see you sweat.

“Savannah Whitaker reporting, Mr. Mayor.” I flashed my best pageant smile and gave a playful curtsy to Ethan, who just happened to be my childhood friend—and, you know, the mayor.

That curtsy? It was half a joke, half muscle memory—thanks to way too many years in the Miss Maple Heights pageant circuit. Ethan just raised an eyebrow, fighting a grin like he was trying not to laugh at me.

“Whoa there, Savannah,” Ethan said, putting down his paintbrush and waving me over. “You don’t have to be so formal.”

He’d been working on a portrait—this beautiful woman, all elegance, dozing beneath a maple tree, autumn leaves swirling at her feet like a storybook scene.

I had to admit, it was stunning. But I couldn’t help myself—I rolled my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a headache. “Seriously, Ethan, you keep painting like that and this place is gonna look more like an art gallery than a mayor’s office.”

I dropped my hand over my eyes, grumbling, “Enough already! If you keep showing off, I’m gonna need sunglasses to handle all this romance.”

He just shrugged, lips twitching, and kept admiring his own handiwork. Sometimes I swear he tunes out the whole world, lost in his own little bubble.

It was classic Ethan—always a little too deep in his own thoughts, but with a heart bigger than the whole county. I tapped my foot, waiting him out, until he finally snapped back to reality.

After a minute, he finally remembered I was there. He wiped the dreamy look off his face and cleared his throat. “Savannah, what brings you here?”

I went full drama—pitiful, teary-eyed, bottom lip trembling. “Mr. Mayor, you promised when you took office you’d make sure the Whitaker family got a place of honor. But now, not only is there no honor, you’re making Autumn the First Lady. Isn’t that…”

I let my voice quiver just enough, batting my lashes for good measure. If I was going down, I’d at least go down in style.

He coughed, giving me his classic “not explaining myself” face. “I’m making Autumn First Lady. Any objections? What are you getting at, Savannah?”

He always had a way of dodging questions. I could see the stubborn set of his jaw, but I wasn’t about to let up.

“Isn’t it…” I blurted, then lunged forward and wrapped myself around his leg. “Isn’t it just wonderful!”

Ethan just stared at me, totally baffled.

He froze, looking down like I’d sprouted a second head. I grinned up at him, still clinging to his leg. I was not letting go until I got what I came for.

I pressed on, bowing as dramatically as I could. “Savannah Whitaker begs the mayor to give his blessing for me to marry Logan Brooks, the treasurer’s son.”

My words echoed in his office, and for a second, even Ethan looked stunned. But I meant every bit of it—this was my shot, and I wasn’t about to let it slip by.