Small-Town Fireman. Allie Pleiter

we get it done in time?” Chief Bradens wondered aloud.

      “I don’t see why not. We could let each boat pick a decade from the one hundred and fifty years the firehouse has been in existence,” Mayor Boston suggested as he looked up from taking furious notes.

      “Or just let them use the color red. Or firemen in general. There are loads of ways to do this.” Karla’s entire expression had changed from suspicious boredom to genuine excitement. Until, that is, the moment when Mayor Boston turned to her with an authoritative gleam in his eye.

      Oh, no. He knew that gleam. Chief Bradens had that gleam, too, and it only meant one thing. Poor Karla—she didn’t know what she’d just done, did she? Her next month was a goner—if she was even planning to stay that long.

      “Miss Kennedy, I think you’ve hit on a grand idea,” the mayor said. “I think Gordon Falls will be in your debt after you’ve chaired such a marvelous celebration. And to think our young people will be the ones to spearhead this effort. It’s a most exciting thing.”

      Dylan watched in sympathy as the shock registered on Karla’s face. “But wait...I...”

      “Of course she’ll chair the thing,” Karl piped up before Karla could even finish her objection. “But hang on—we can’t expect her to do all this by herself.”

      “No one’s asking her to,” Violet replied. Dylan’s gut dropped to the floor when Violet turned her sweetest gaze to him and said, “Ted said young people.”

      Mayor Boston turned his head slowly to look straight at Dylan. “I most certainly did.”

      “You don’t...” Dylan sputtered, feeling inevitability rise up and swallow him like a high tide. “I mean...” He felt the next four weeks slip through his fingers as though Violet had personally yanked them from his grasp.

      “I’ll gladly free up Dylan’s time so he can chair the event. It’s a great idea.” The chief had the good sense to look pleased that he’d just dodged the chairmanship himself.

      Before another ten minutes went by, subcommittees for decorations, food and publicity had been formed, and Dylan found himself approving a weekly Thursday meeting for the next month. His peaceful, autonomous life had just evaporated right before his very eyes. He was supposed to be building a business, not running a parade. Surely he and Karla could find some way to get themselves out of this before it went any further. Because even if it was June, this was Gordon Falls—and this town was very good at letting things snowball out of control.