Claiming Fate: A rivals-to-lovers small-town romance

  Copyright © 2021 by Abby Knox

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is coincidental.

  Edited by Aquila Editing

  Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

  Claiming Fate

  Roadside Attractions Book Two

  Abby Knox

  Summary

  “Welcome to Fate, home of the world’s largest ball of yarn...probably.” As a homegrown citizen of Fate, Danny will try anything to help keep his tiny town from disappearing off the map. He’s finally starting to see some real possibilities when his fellow townspeople rally behind this new project. So when Izzy, a headstrong rival from across the river, shows up to challenge Fate’s latest attempt at fame, Danny is standing firm. He’s not going to let any non-local rain on his literal parade, no matter how cute she is. In fact, he's going to swallow his pride and actually go to Izzy’s town to investigate for himself her outrageous claims against Fate. When outside forces push them together, will they reconcile their differences, or will Danny risk his whole identity to stake an entirely new claim, on her?

  About the series:

  All is not lost when you break down by the side of the road, especially if you break down anywhere near the town of Fate. Who might you meet first? Will it be a grumpy tow truck driver? A bored sheriff with too much time on his hands? A bar man whose clumsy meet-cute ends with spilled beer all over your knitting project? Never fear, because high-heat, insta-love, small-town romances and happily ever afters await you! Come for the cherry pie, and stay to shake hands with the mayor (the only truly good boy in town.) Enjoy!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More by Abby Knox

  Chapter One

  Izzy

  What does a girl have to do for a cup of coffee in this godforsaken town?

  I squint against the glare in the windows of the diner and read the sign: “Closed for town holiday.”

  Call me old-fashioned, but a roadside diner closing on a Saturday for any reason other than a true emergency is a recipe for going out of business pretty fast.

  Then again, I stopped years ago trying to figure out the logic of any decisions made by the collective town leaders in Fate. I’m from across the river in Gold Hill, where we do things the right way.

  And yet here you are in Fate, Isabel Zepp, looking for coffee when there are no less than five corporate coffee shops in Gold Hill.

  It’s true. As proud as I am of my bedroom community with its Starbucks, Outback Steakhouse, and most recently, a gourmet grocery store, I’m hooked on Ruby’s Diner coffee. Even on days when I’m not expected to be eavesdropping on Fate’s council meetings, I’m darting over for a cup of joe on my way to work. Even on Saturdays.

  And when I say, “on my way,” I mean I cross the river, drive ten miles, and hang a left at the handmade sign advertising the creepily named place called the Curiosity Spot.

  It’s all Uncle Stan’s fault. Once it became common knowledge that the town council of Fate frequently met at Ruby’s Diner on official business, my uncle, mayor of Gold Hill, sent me here on assignment to learn as much about them as I could. As proud as we are, we’re not above keeping our eyes and ears peeled for the doings of our wack-a-doodle neighbors to the west. I’ve learned a lot from listening in at the diner while pretending I’m just passing through, enjoying a quick breakfast that happens to coincide with discussions about expensive billboards and vanishing public funds.

  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to listen to that surly mechanic complain about how their meetings cut into his business. Or how many times the town matriarch, Ernestine Jenkins, has ordered everyone to “get their collective minds out of the gutter” when they snicker like children at the name of her Curiosity Spot. But really, she should change that name.

  I also can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried and failed to stop staring at the council secretary, Danny Bryce. He of the buttoned-up shirt that he keeps on a hanger in the back seat of his green landscaping truck. I’ve gathered that the tall, burly man is a one-man business. No one would fault him if he showed up to a meeting in his sleeveless tee-shirt. Least of all me.

  Truth be told, it’s a little hard to focus at those meetings. When I’m supposed to be listening in for good gossip, I often find myself cutting my eyes over to a pair of massive shoulders. Those deltoids threaten to bust out of his white button-up shirt while he reads off the minutes from the last meeting. He’s so regimented; it’s adorable. How dare he.

  And that right there is my problem, the exact reason I have no idea what’s going on in this town today.

  I peer inside the diner and see the chairs upturned onto the tabletops, and all the lights are off. Nope. No Ruby’s coffee for me today, unfortunately.

  Dang it. I was really looking forward to enjoying an excellent breakfast in a place where nobody knows me.

  Gold Hill is growing fast enough to have a selection of things to do and places to eat, but still small enough that I can’t have breakfast in peace. Whenever any of the locals spot me, the assistant to the Gold Hill mayor, they seem to think it’s perfectly fine to corner me for “just a minute of my time.”

  All those minutes add up to a whole lot of hours and a long list of “Let me get back to yous.”

  I’ve got to investigate this so-called town holiday for myself.

  Scanning the diner windows, I see what this is all about. A flyer has been Scotch-taped to the glass, advertising the “Grand Opening of the Exhibition of the World’s Largest Ball of Yarn.”

  My hands go cold, and there’s a knot in my chest. This is not good.

  My first thought is, Uncle Stan cannot know about this; he’ll shit out a litter of kittens and then blame me for not finding out about this sooner.

  I read the details on the flyer, and it tells me everything I need to know yet leaves me with a dozen more questions. As does every one of my visits to Fate.

  Mind reeling, I hop back in my Jeep and hightail back to the Gold Hill welcome center to fetch a critical piece of paper. I can’t have a confrontation without an official document to back me up.

  When I return to Fate about 30 minutes later, parking is blocked off for pedestrians all around the once-quaint courthouse square, so I’m forced to park my Jeep down the block and walk to Main Street.

  Dozens of people are milling around on the sidewalks and curbs. Around the square, families sit together on blankets on the grass in front of what used to be the courthouse. Others are eating snow cones, even though it’s barely snow-cone weather. Watching them eat those icy treats, I shi
ver inside my satin jacket. They look like they’re waiting for a parade, but the flyer in my hand says nothing about that.

  I approach a woman standing on the corner wearing a tee-shirt that reads “Volunteer.”

  “Hi,” I say, reading her badge. “Juniper? I’m Izzy. Can you tell me where to find this ball of yarn?”

  Juniper says, “Well, you’ll have to wait on that. Once we finish rolling up the yarn ball, we have to transport it from the old mill to the park on the other side of the square, to the new exhibition pavilion. So the sheriff decided to make a parade out of it.”

  This explains nothing, but I nod and smile. I do that a lot when I visit Fate.

  I follow Juniper’s pointing hand to the area near the loading dock of the old textile mill, and I am unprepared for what I see.

  Danny Bryce, council secretary, is lifting a giant fuzzy sphere, about six feet in diameter, over his head like freaking Atlas.

  “What in the hell….”

  My words trail off because none else come to my blurry mind. He is hauling that thing like it’s no more than a basketball, and then with the help of a few others, sets the whole thing down carefully in the bed of a flatbed truck.

  I’m lost in awe and inappropriate thoughts at what I just witnessed. So when the unexpected blare of the loudest horn I’ve ever heard deafens me, I’m not ready. “What the…”

  Of course, there’s a fire truck kicking off the parade, complete with husky firefighters hanging off the sides, tossing Jolly Ranchers to the handful of little kids jumping out of their collective skin because…I guess a parade is the most excitement seen in Fate in a while?

  There’s not much to it. Fire truck, a twenty-member trombone band from the Moose Lodge, the big ball of yarn on a flatbed, and then a sheriff’s patrol vehicle. I do not understand why people are shouting and clapping like this is the Rose Bowl Parade.

  Following the sparse crowd down to the park grounds, I watch as the same guy hops down off the flatbed truck and single-handedly lifts the supposed world’s largest ball of yarn in his arms and delivers it to the exhibition pavilion.

  I look around and determine that the entire population of five hundred people might be here.

  What’s usually a sleepy little downtown appears to be bustling with activity. Sort of. But five hundred people is five hundred people.

  As I approach the pavilion, more things come into focus. In front of me are an ice cream stand, a snow cone stand, a row of port-a-johns, and a face painting station.

  There’s a photo booth in one corner where people can donate money to charity to snap a selfie with the canine mayor, Flash. Surprisingly, there’s a long line of people. Probably longer than there are residents of this town.

  I’ve got my work cut out for me today. I get to be the lady who rains on the parade.

  But facts are facts, and rules are rules, and this town cannot put up signs claiming they have the world’s biggest ball of yarn without being officially recognized by an outside source.

  That title belongs to Gold Hill, for which I am the assistant to the mayor.

  I suddenly have the feeling like someone is staring at me. I scan the grounds, and then I see it. See him. Danny Bryce. He and that godforsaken white button-up shirt, straining against his muscles as he tears tickets at the entrance to the pavilion.

  Before I talk to the man, I need some lipstick. Checking my face in my compact, I add a little red to my lip and smooth down my teased hair.

  Tossing my compact back in my purse, I adjust my satin jacket and stride over to Danny Bryce, and wait my turn.

  He holds out his hand for me to hand him my ticket, but instead, I look up at him stiffly, purposely trying not to glance at his shirt seams that look like they are stretched to the breaking point.

  I introduce myself as the assistant to the mayor of Gold Hill, noticing how he bristles when I mention the name of my town.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  Danny does not look the least bit interested in helping me do anything, judging by the perfunctory way he says that. In fact, I don’t think he’d cross the street to piss on me if I were on fire, now that he knows I’m from Gold Hill.

  “I don’t have a ticket, but I need to talk to you about a civic matter.”

  His gray eyes show no emotion as he meets my stare. His jaw tics under his dark scruff. The skin of his corded neck shows signs of sunburn.

  He looks deeply uncomfortable like I don’t fit anywhere on his agenda.

  He may not have time, but he’s about to make time because Gold Hill does not stand for sketchy, fame-stealing neighbors.

  What kind of one-stoplight town thinks they can get away with claiming to have the world’s largest ball of yarn?

  Well, the world already knows what kind of people they are. They are the kind of people who elect a dog as mayor and slap a label on a clump of string and call it a world record.

  These people cannot be trusted.

  Chapter Two

  Danny

  I don’t want to deal with official business on my day off. But it seems this woman—who looks like Pinky Tuscadero had a baby with Elizabeth Taylor—wants to talk shop.

  Okay, technically, this is not my day off. It sort of is, because I’m not cutting grass. But then again, it’s work because I’m volunteering for the town. Which I enjoy, or I wouldn’t do it.

  The woman — whom my brain has automatically nicknamed “Pinky” because I can’t help it — hands me an official-looking document.

  She’s accusing me of something, but I’m not sure what it is.

  “I can assure you, the town of Fate does not stand for shady behavior either.”

  Pinky—or Izzy, as she’s introduced herself—looks around and scoffs at me. “Are you serious? This entire event is a sham.”

  Interesting how she says that without cracking that smile. I drop my gaze to her pink satin jacket, which bears an embroidered letter “I.” I observe her fluffy hair that reminds me of something my mother used to say about “the taller the hair, the closer to god,” or something.

  And those glossy red lips. How can she be so adorable while taking a swipe at my town? I’m having trouble breathing.

  I give her my stoic, disinterested face and ask, “Mind being more specific?”

  She nods and points in the general direction of the entrance to the exhibit for the world’s largest ball of yarn.

  Sweat is starting to pool in my armpits. This lady is harshing my calm. Her long eyelashes keep fluttering up and down as she blinks at me, waiting for me to say more, or admit that I know what’s happening here. She’s looking at me the way my mom used to look at my dad before saying, “You honestly have no idea what you did?”

  I finally understand why my dad mainly kept quiet during these talks. “Son, it’s best just to apologize even if you’re not sure what you did.”

  Her violet eyes fearlessly demand answers.

  Well, I don’t care what my dad says. I ain’t apologizing for nothing.

  Izzy eyeballs me while her mouth stays plastered in a practiced smile. I’m two parts turned on, and one part terrified even though she’s half my size. Sure, I could fit her in my pocket, but while she was in there, she might take a bite of my nuts.

  “Well, no, I don’t mind telling you. But how’s about I show you instead?”

  Since I don’t want to leave my station without helping everyone else in line, I tell them they are free to come inside and look around. I honestly don’t know why I was tearing tickets in the first place. The original purpose was to count the number of visitors. Still, as things go in Fate, that plan has devolved into chaos because we’ve had several repeat visitors. Rin and Marlon, a couple of local retired dairy farmers who are always up to some shit, have come through the line seven times already.

  Nothing about today is going as planned. Now that this Izzy with the pink satin jacket is all up in my face, I feel that restoring any kind of order is out of the question. br />
  Chapter Three

  Izzy

  “Well. Here it is. The world’s largest ball of yarn.”

  I look at the mess in front of me, and then I look at Danny, just to check if he’s showing any signs of being under the influence of hallucinogens.

  He does not. His pupils appear to be normal, but he sure looks guilty. Of what, I don’t know.

  “Do you honestly have no idea what this looks like to me?” I ask.

  Danny blinks at me as I wait for a reply that never comes. Instead, I notice his eyes flick down to my neck and back up again, like something is wrong with my hair, and then to my mouth. His brow furrows with intensity or constipation, I do not know. Is something stuck in my teeth? Do I have gum in my hair? A splotch on my neck?

  He’s either afraid to meet my gaze, or he has trouble with eye contact.

  The only thing I can conclude is he’s a little intimidated by me. I’m not surprised. That’s the number one critique from my online dating profiles.

  Pressing on, I explain, “Fine. I’ll tell you what this looks like. This looks like the town of Fate is trying to copy Gold Hill. It is known that we hold the world record for the world’s largest ball of thread. This mess you have here is making a mockery of what we hold dear.”

  He crosses his massive arms, and the resulting flex in his chest makes me worry he might bust one of those opalescent white buttons that strain at the base of his sternum.

  “Friend,” he says, taking on the timbre of a boss, “This is not what you think it is. You can’t come to my town and tell me what’s what. I do not know, nor do I care what y’all think you have in Gold Hill, along with your corporate coffee and your shiny new shopping mall. What I can tell you is Fate is legit. This mess you’re looking at is the real deal.”