Now, he was here, in front of a tiny shack of a home. The second he pulled the key out of the ignition and got a good view of the place, not to mention the little boy with the Tiny Tim cane sprinting into Kate’s arms, a swirling hurricane drew all of the energy from Clark’s body and concentrated it in the pit of his stomach. His palms grew clammy, and as soon as he was finished carrying the heavy tub of general sundry and supplies up to the porch, he slipped on a reliably dark pair of sunglasses and focused his attention on his phone.

He knew how it looked. They would think him standoffish and rude, superior and arrogant. He’d rather they think that than know the truth.

The truth was…he’d taken something important away from these people. The festival was stupid as far as he was concerned, but it clearly meant more to them than he realized…

He was used to being hated. Hatred was the cost of doing business. But hatred was always a distant thing brought on by business decisions. It wasn’t up close. Personal.

When he came to town, he’d assumed he could hide from people. Dissolving the company would be easy enough; he was the boss. No one could openly hate the boss. But here at someone else’s house, the house of a family who clearly loved the festival…

He couldn’t face them. Hence the sunglasses. And the phone. And general please don’t come near me vibe.

So, it surprised him when a small child ran up and stood beside him.

“Hey.”

Clark did not respond.

“Hey, guy.”

The child tugged on Clark’s suit jacket. Still, he did not respond.

“Hey!”

When children shout, there’s no choice but to respond. Raising one eyebrow over the top ridge of his pitch-black sunglasses, Clark glanced down.

“Yes?”

“My name’s Bradley. And you’re Clark Woodward, right?”

“Mm-hm.”

He pocketed his cellphone. There was no reason to invest his time in this kid at all, but it would be worse to ignore him and have him run up to the house screaming about the mean man outside. Clark believed in his ability to be minimally polite.

“I knew that was your name. I’m really good at remembering stuff. That’s why I got the part of Tiny Tim. I can remember all the lines. And I have a ton of lines. I’m good at remembering stuff and I’m really short. And poor. I guess it’s at least a little bit because we’re poor. I really get the Tiny Tim thing, you know?”