No Place Like Home (Magnolia Bay #2)

Chapter 1

one

I f a guy had to eat a few frog legs to save the family legacy, Cade Landry better find a bib.

Still…“Frog leg food truck, you say?” Cade leaned back in his desk chair in the mayor’s office building in downtown Magnolia Bay and propped his brown Sperrys on the desk. The phone cord snagged against the overflowing bin of papers awaiting his attention, knocking half the stack onto a red folder that teetered before dropping. More papers fluttered to their freedom.

He closed his eyes—would that make the mess go away?—as the Cajun drawl continued in his ear.

“That’s right. I heard about that Magnolia Days festival you got going on end of the month, thought we could snag a spot.” The man, who’d introduced himself as Bruno and who Cade imagined had to be tanned and burly, cleared his throat. “Best in Louisiana, we are.”

“Uh-huh.” Was that a flex though? How many frog leg restaurants could there even be on the mainland?

Then again…Cade squinted at the open spreadsheet of vendors thus far committed to Magnolia Days—and at the multiple empty rows that had been full just two years ago. Before the hurricane. Before the annual festival had taken a nosedive and, with it, the much-needed funding for his beloved city still undergoing storm restoration.

Could he afford to be picky? His secret weapon for the festival had ghosted his emails. Two months and still no answer. Cade reached over and clicked refresh on his computer, hoping for a miracle.

Nope.

And now he was going to be late to meet with the balloon arch lady. “Listen, Mr.…”

“Guidry. Bruno Guidry, at your service.” Clang .

That sounded like a stockpot lid. Was he cooking the legs as they spoke? Cade grimaced, fighting the irrational urge to pinch his nose shut. “Look, I’m sure they’re great—as far as frog legs go—but I’m looking for crawfish meat pies. Shrimp tacos. Cajun biscuits. Beignets.”

“Tell you what,” Bruno said. Clang-clang . “Why don’t you come up to New Orleans for a tastin’?”

Cade swallowed, smoothed the front of his fitted button-down. “Um…”

His office door, cracked as usual so it didn’t jam when summer heat swelled the wood, swung all the way open to reveal his father’s secretary, Pearl. She fanned herself with an envelope as she clutched the neck of her floral blouse with her free hand. “Miley is here.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Miley Mitchell, the twenty-something barista from Chug a Mug, pressed past Cade’s overheated receptionist and plopped into the chair adjacent his desk. She wore fishnet leggings under denim shorts, an oversized men’s button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a sullen expression. He jotted the word latte on a notepad—the coffee would be good today.

But probably not the pending conversation.

He raised his eyebrows at her as he leaned back in his chair. “What now?”

Clang . “No, you don’t have to come now. Anytime next week works.”

“Oh, sorry. Not you, Bruno.” Cade held up a finger at Miley as Pearl slipped back into the hallway. “I’m actually not sure I can get to New Orleans at all?—”

“He can’t. He’s busy.” Miley cupped her hands and talked loudly toward the receiver. “Fixing potholes.”

“No, we don’t sell tadpoles.” Bruno sounded confused. “Frog legs don’t work that way.”

Oh, for Pete’s sake. Cade’s feet hit the floor as he lurched forward. “Just a second, Bruno. I’m putting you on a brief hold .” Not pole. Or hole. He jabbed the red button on the phone base and gave Miley his full attention. “You were saying?”

A second line rang. His cell buzzed. Cade ignored both.

Miley gestured, black nail polish contrasting her white skin. “I sent in a request to meet with you.”

He looked at his chaotic desk. “When?”

She hiked a dark eyebrow. “This mess is organized by date?”

Fair point. He rummaged a little, carefully. Miley leaned over and rescued the red folder from the floor. “Man. You need an assistant.”

He snorted as he continued to fruitlessly dig. “I am the assistant.” The framed diploma on the wall behind Miley taunted him—Yale Law. Ha. And look at him now. Working for Dad, being the face of Magnolia Bay. He’d probably shaken more hands and kissed more babies than his mayor father.

“I can’t find it.” Giving up, Cade reached in the top desk drawer and rustled around for the bag of M&Ms he’d stashed. At least he knew where those were. “I don’t know why my father thought making me town director was a good idea.”

Miley thumbed through the folder’s contents. “It was a good idea—three years ago. Maybe you’ve outgrown the job.” She narrowed her eyes. “Sort of like your workload has outgrown your desk.”

“I like my job.” Besides, the only place to go in small-town politics was up . And he certainly wouldn’t be taking on the role of mayor anytime soon. He ripped the bag of candy and palmed a cluster into his mouth. “The festival is just…a lot. More pressure this year.”

“Found it.” Miley tossed the folder toward him. It landed on his desk calendar, which still showed last month. “There’s a chocolate stain on the corner.”

That was probably from the Twix he’d inhaled last week while crunching numbers—more red than black. He picked up the meeting request. “What’s the big deal? We’ve always had potholes.” The phone blinked, indicating Frog Legs still waited for an answer. And he’d never gotten a quote for the extra festival chairs. Had he confirmed the porta-potties?

Miley snapped her fingers in front of her own face. “Hey, right here. Focus.”

He zeroed in, though the blinking red light of the phone still teased his peripheral. So many things to do. The festival was in less than a month. He fisted another bite of candy, chewed fast.

“Have you seriously not noticed the potholes have gotten worse?” Miley crossed her arms over her chest. “Take a walk and check them out sometime. That storm last month apparently finished what the hurricane started. And let’s just say my dad’s not happy about the crater in front of Chug a Mug. He says it’s deterring customers.”

Miley’s mood swings were more likely the cause of that. Still, Mr. Mitchell, the wayfaring owner of the coffee shop who occasionally swooped into the Bay to see Miley, was not someone you wanted to disappoint. Cade sighed. “You know what’s ironic?”

Miley lifted one shoulder. “A duck that can’t swim?”

“Well, sure.” He pointed at her with the bag of candy. “But more so, the fact that everyone seems to need something that costs money, but asking for it is taking me away from planning the event that is going to bring in that money.” He squinted at her. “Are you too young to know Alanis Morissette?”

She squinted back. “I feel like this is a trick question.”

“Forget it. She has song about irony.” Cade reached up and loosened his tie. “I am that song right now.”

Miley rolled her eyes. “Regardless, Dad wants it handled. He keeps saying ‘Tell whoever’s in charge down there to make it top priority.’” She walked two fingers up the air on an invisible ladder.

Cade shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do, but as you pointed out, there are a lot of potholes in Magnolia Bay.”

“That could comfortably house a family of four?”

“I’m just saying I can’t guarantee yours will be fixed first—or any of them right now. We’re trying to earn money, not spend more of it.”

“You really think people are going to come to Magnolia Days this year?” Miley’s nose ring glistened, mocking him as much as her tone. But the girl had never been cruel, just brutally honest.

He eyed the phone, the frantic flashing starting to match his heart rate. “I have a plan.”

“Hope it’s not buried on your desk.”

It might be the only thing that wasn’t. Cade threw the empty candy bag into the trashcan full of gum wrappers and crinkled chip bags. “We’re having a special event this year to go along with all the food trucks and face-painting and vendors. A big draw to get people’s attention, put Magnolia Bay back on the map.”

The intercom on the phone released a burst of static, then Pearl’s voice squawked. “Cade, some exotic animal sanctuary is on line two.”

Miley slid her hand down her face. “Is that your plan? Monkeys and bearded dragons?”

“ No .” Cade mashed the intercom button. “Pearl, I told that guy he couldn’t come—too much liability. Get rid of him.”

“Get rid of who?” An offended Australian accent sounded from the speaker. “ Me ?”

Oh brother. “One moment.” Cade jabbed the mute button. “Look, Miley. I’ll fix it, I promise.” He’d fix the hole. He’d fix the town budget. He’d fix everything .

“How exactly are you going to fix…this?” She waved one hand toward his desk that now strongly resembled what he’d imagine an office supply store would look like if a bomb went off.

“Easy. We’re going to host a Cajun Circus.” He smiled, waiting for Miley’s grin of approval.

He only got a blank stare. “A what?”

Okay, not what he had hoped. It would work…right? Cade stood. “Cajun Circus. You know—clowns. Juggling. Aerial acts. Hoops of fire.” He spread his arms wide like a game show host. “All with a Southern flair.”

She frowned. “What’s aerial?”

“Like Cirque de Soleil. Where they perform those flips and elaborate moves on strips of colored fabric hanging from the ceiling?”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“I’m sure it is. But it’s also impressive. You probably don’t remember Rosalyn Dupree—you’re younger than us. She and I went to school together. We kind of had a back-and-forth rivalry thing.” Cade waved one hand in the air, as if it was no big deal. As if Rosalyn wasn’t a combination of his best and worst memories. As if she wasn’t the one ghosting his emails. “She’s made a pretty big name for herself in the industry—even internationally.”

Miley crossed her arms again. “That’s your plan to save Magnolia Bay? Your old high school rival and clowns?”

“To save Magnolia Days ,” he corrected. “And hopefully Magnolia Days will help save the town.”

“There won’t be a town to save if the potholes get much bigger.” Miley tossed the comment like a grenade, then left with a stomp of ankle boots.

Oh well. At least she’d left annoyed, which meant Cade was still on for his latte later.

He took his seat, picked up the desk phone, and noticed the exotic animal sanctuary had hung up. Oops. Though now he wouldn’t have to try to tell him no. He clicked the line for Frog Legs, instead. “Sorry about that hold, Bruno.”

Even the man’s laugh held a Cajun accent. “No problem. Already fried up another batch.”

Cade winced. “Perfect.”

“So you’re coming, then?”

“I…well.” Why was it so hard to say no? Cade didn’t want frog legs. He didn’t want to even try frog legs. And he doubted the rest of the Bay felt any differently. But they needed vendors. “I’ll think about it.”

Clang . “Trust me, boy, you can’t just think about my unique Cajun seasoning blend. You must taste it.”

This guy wasn’t giving up. Cade ran a hand over his face, his five o’clock shadow coming in early. Did stress grow hair faster? “Okay, yes. I’ll be there sometime next week.”

As Cade hung up, his cell buzzed with an incoming text—another food truck vendor canceling. Ugh. He winced, then scrolled up to the texts he’d ignored during Miley’s visit. A form response to his dancing poodle inquiry, another from his father asking if he’d finished his third quarter projections yet. Also one containing Mama D’s Wordle score.

Buzz . Great. Now Miley, sending several emojis in a row of a family of four, a house…and a knife.

How had he ended up here, again? Cade’s gaze landed once more on the diploma on the wall, highlighted by the afternoon sun streaming through the window, and his chest tightened. Oh yeah. That was how. Was he going to be able to pull this off? The festival, the circus. Without Rosalyn or a special act— something impressive—he’d just end up with his fishing buddy Owen walking on stilts. Hardly marketing worthy.

His heartbeat accelerated. He couldn’t fail.

Pearl sounded on the intercom. “Cade, there’s a visitor for you.”

“Not now !” Oh, he hadn’t meant to snap. But breathing was still difficult, and who had decided to squeeze his head between their hands? His vision blurred.

A blonde head poked into his office. “Bad time?”

He looked up with a start. Rosalyn Dupree.

Rosalyn ?

Cade blinked rapidly, but the golden-haired woman, dressed in a white linen top and paper bag shorts leaning one slim shoulder against his doorframe, didn’t dissipate. She’d showed up. Here. Back in Magnolia Bay.

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

“Guess so.” Rosalyn winced, green eyes crinkling as she tucked wavy tresses behind her ears. “Sorry.”

“Wait!” Cade leaped to his feet, finally finding his tongue. His manners.

But the door had already shut behind her.

* * *

She shouldn’t have come. Her mother was wrong.

Rosalyn rushed past the secretary—Pearl, she’d said?—and kept her head ducked, hair curtaining the side of her face as she hurried to the elevator. Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me…

“Where are you going, honey?”

Shoot. She couldn’t be rude.

She forced a smile, turned to see the kind older woman posed with a stapler in hand, brow wrinkled. A desk fan hummed atop a tower of file folders next to a Chug a Mug coffee cup.

Where was Rosalyn going? Wasn’t that the million-dollar question. “Just…away.” She punched the elevator button with a shaky hand. Away…backward…in circles. Pick one.

Down the hall, the door to Cade’s office rattled. Despite her mother’s assurance, he had not been happy to see her—and why would he be, after she’d ignored his email asking her to perform at Magnolia Days. She hadn’t meant to ignore it, of course. It’d simply fallen off her radar after a skim-read a few months ago. Before…well, before a lot of things.

Her gaze darted to the bandage wrapped around her knee. She’d have hidden it under yoga pants, but after so many years touring abroad, she’d forgotten how hot it got here in the Bay. Plus, she’d come home to heal. Physically and mentally.

Emotionally might be asking for too much.

The AC hummed and she tapped her sandaled foot, willing the elevator door to open. She’d been back in town several days now, and her mom had kept not-so-subtly leaving a flyer advertising “Magnolia Days’ First Ever Cajun Circus—Details to Come” strategically around the house until she’d taken the bait.

“What’s this?” Rosalyn had asked earlier that morning, watching her mother blend a smoothie.

Elegant as always, Mom wore a high-necked blouse patterned with a swirl of emerald that brought out her eyes. “The town’s fundraiser effort could use a little help.” Mom scooped in a handful of berries, poured a measuring cup of milk. “And how convenient to have such a talented performer back at home—right on time.”

“But I don’t even know how long I’m staying.” The excuse sounded as weak as it felt. But what was she supposed to say—that she couldn’t risk media attention right now? She’d just sound like a diva. She crossed her arms over her workout top, going for the stronger excuse. “I have to take it easy on my knee.”

Mom’s all-knowing gaze dropped to Rosalyn’s bandage, then back to the bowl of blueberries. “I thought you’d been given the all-clear.”

“That doctor didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“Ah, I see. Well, it’s a good thing second opinions exist in Magnolia Bay.” The whir of the blender cut off Rosalyn’s protest, and the urge to see Cade again—to participate in something bigger than her that wasn’t about her—nudged until she couldn’t resist. The next thing she knew, she’d changed clothes and driven to the mayor’s office to find Cade exactly where her mother claimed he’d be.

Just not apparently where Rosalyn needed to be.

Down the hall, Cade’s office door rattled again. Where was the elevator? Rosalyn jabbed the lit button one more time, despite logic proving it made no difference. She hadn’t seen him since that Harvard-Yale football game five years ago, when they’d had a…whatever you call it. Near-moment? Maybe that’s why he’d been so annoyed to see her. Or maybe he’d somehow heard about?—

“Rosalyn!” Cade hurried down the hall, all sandy brown hair and pressed clothing and…smiles?

Oh . She frowned, hesitant. So, not annoyed, then? “Hey…”

He passed Pearl’s desk, clearly not noticing the way the woman’s eyebrow hiked. Then again, Rosalyn sure hadn’t noticed the cut of Cade’s designer button-down, or the way it hugged his biceps, when she’d glimpsed him from his doorway a moment ago.

Someone had started working out since college.

“Sorry about that. The door sticks.” Slightly winded from his battle, Cade’s smile shifted from brilliant to sheepish. Five o’clock shadow graced his cut jaw line, his brown eyes sparking with the charm that had always kept him popular in high school. “It’s a little low on the priority list of fixes around here.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted. I should’ve made an appointment.” Rosalyn shoved her hands into her shorts pockets, hating she wasn’t sure where else to put them. Normally, poise and grace came easy for her—she was a performer. No one wanted to watch clunky and awkward ten feet in the air. But since coming home, she seemed to have slid back into the role of nerdy, unsure teenager.

The girl Cade used to have no problem ignoring until it was time to compete.

“Oh, that had nothing to do with you—just work.” He waved one hand in the air, the movement as confident as he’d always been. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

A bit of tension eased out of her shoulders. Not that she ever cared too much what he thought. Not since that one time in sixth grade when he’d added too much vinegar—make that too much arrogance —to their volcano experiment and ruined going to regionals in the science fair competition for them both.

She shifted her weight off her knee. Tested a smile. “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t email you back.” She winced. “I was traveling, and I’ll be honest—it fell through the cracks.” For good reason, but that wasn’t a story for an old rival and a delayed elevator. Where was that thing?

Though maybe she wasn’t in quite as big a hurry as before.

Cade nodded. “I saw you were on a European tour earlier this year.”

And Saudi Arabia. She fought the shudder that crept up her back, fought the urge to look over her shoulder despite the fact the only person behind her was a sixty-something-year-old woman playing solitaire.

Definitely not a mob boss.

“But hey, you’re here now.” Cade slid his own hands into his pockets, mirroring her. “You have no idea how relieved I am.”

He might not be as relieved if he realized she hadn’t committed to the circus. She was just here to get info. Get her mother off her back. Get…something. “About that. I’m not in town for too long.”

“Long enough for the circus, hopefully. Name your terms.” He held up both hands, that same charismatic smile tugging his lips. “If they’re not within our budget, I’ll make it happen.”

“It’s not about the money.” Well, that was a partial lie. The fact she desperately needed money in the first place was still foreign. Rosalyn hesitated. So much she could tell him, and so much she shouldn’t. She took the easy way out again and extended her leg. “I’m still on light duty.”

His gaze dropped to her knee, to the flesh tone bandage that he clearly hadn’t noticed before that moment. “ Oh . Are you okay?”

She nodded. “It’s healing. I just haven’t performed since I fell.”

“You fell ?” His eyes bugged from his head, his mouth open. “From your…fabric thingies?”

“Silks.” She pressed her fingers to her lips to hide her laugh but was too late.

“Sorry. I’m a Muggle.” He matched her grin, and more of the tension she’d worn for the last several months lifted off her weary shoulders. “You’ll have to teach me the terminology.”

There was that charm that had landed him two prom dates. Though she hadn’t been either of them. “I might.” The words left her lips and hovered between them, seemingly surprising him as much as her.

“I mean, at this point, you have to stay for a while, right?” Cade rocked back on his heels. “Teach me about this aerial thing. It’s not often you know something I don’t, Ace.”

His old nickname for her lit a spark in her chest she hadn’t felt in ages. “Ace. Now that’s been a while. When did you first call me that?”

He looked up at the tiled ceiling, lips twisted. “Probably fifth grade, when I read more books than you for that class Reading Railroad Train.”

“You most certainly did not.” She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Months. Her knee didn’t even throb. “I read thirty-one.”

He nodded seriously. “I read thirty-two.”

“Liar!” It was hard to pretend to be mad when you were smiling.

He harrumphed, eyes sparkling. “Prove it.”

“Find me a yearbook.”

Pearl’s stapler smacked against a stack of paper. “He’s got one in his office.” She pointed down the hall.

“Now Pearl, that is not helpful.” Cade took Rosalyn’s elbow, steered her away from the receptionist and closer to a potted fern. “What do you say, Ace? Want to go talk terms?” He tilted his head. “ Not in my office, near the yearbook that absolutely doesn’t prove anything?”

Rosalyn hesitated, his touch warm on her bare arm. Ding . The elevator doors finally slid open, beckoning her back to her car. To her childhood home.

To the distressing memories of the past few months and the new urge to watch her back, even tucked away in Magnolia Bay. Could she risk the circus? Though honestly, how much media attention could it really get nationwide? It should be safe in that regard.

Not in others. Was she ready to try again?

“We could start with a post-hurricane tour of town. Show you why we’re doing the circus in the first place.” Cade let go, took a short step back—clearly giving her space to make the decision.

Huh. That was new. High school Cade barreled ahead, expecting whatever he wanted to be handed to him if he couldn’t nab it for himself.

She sort of wanted to know a little more about this Cade.

“I’ll throw in a latte.” He gestured toward her with one finger. “Or a vegan matcha almond foam tea, or whatever it is you probably drink now.”

Her laugh escaped, and there was no shoving it back in. “Fine. A tour it is.” It couldn’t hurt. Maybe the company would be nice.

Behind them, Pearl hummed in approval. Cade seemed to ignore her. “Let me grab my keys. Wait here?” The concern in his eyes that maybe she wouldn’t was sweet.

She nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now.