Chapter 23
The first furious wind gusts hit the window of Heron Cottage at six forty-seven in the morning. Cassidy looked up from her laptop, where she’d been staring at the same email for twenty minutes without actually reading it.
The suitcase sat on the floor beside her bed. One blazer lay folded inside, perfectly aligned. She’d managed to pack exactly one item in the two hours she’d been up.
Another gust rattled the windows. The sky had turned an ugly gray-green. She pulled up the weather radar on her phone and watched the angry red blob crawl toward Starlight Shores.
The festival banners were already hung downtown. Three tents had gone up yesterday on the festival grounds. The stage framework stood half-assembled near the harbor.
She closed her laptop and walked to the window. Rain streaked the glass now, coming down harder. She could barely see the lighthouse through the sheets of water.
Her phone buzzed. A text from David Wilde lit up the screen. Just need confirmation you’ll be here Monday for the Phillips meeting. Steve’s handling prep, but we need you to close.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she scrolled up to Bryan’s last message from yesterday morning. A photo of the sunrise from his boat with the caption: You missed a great sunrise. Next time you should come with me.
He hadn’t texted since.
The wind howled louder. Something metal clanged in the distance.
She grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door and shoved her feet into the closest shoes she could find. She looked down at her canvas sneakers, which were completely impractical for a storm. She didn’t care.
The courtyard was empty when she crossed it, rain soaking through her jacket almost immediately. She could see lights on in Winnie’s keeper’s quarters, but she didn’t stop. She headed to her car and straight into town.
The waterfront was chaos.
People in rain slickers and boots moved in coordinated clusters, securing equipment and hauling supplies. The wind had already torn down one of the banners. It flapped wildly from a single attachment point, cracking like a whip. Two men fought to pull it down before it ripped completely.
She spotted Bryan near the stage, shouting instructions to Cliff and another man she recognized from the harbor. They were wrestling with a tarp that kept trying to fly away.
She ran toward them. The rain pelted her face, and her sneakers squelched in the mud.
“Grab that corner!” Bryan yelled without looking at who had appeared. He pointed to the loose edge of the tarp that was whipping in the wind.
She lunged for it. The wet canvas slipped through her fingers once before she got a solid grip. The wind tried to yank it away. She dug her heels into the soft ground and pulled.
“Tie it off!” Cliff shouted from the other side.
She fumbled with the rope attached to the grommet, her fingers clumsy and cold. The knot her father had taught her for camping trips luckily came back to her. She yanked it tight just as another gust tried to rip everything loose.
Bryan appeared beside her. Water streamed down his face, and his rain slicker was plastered to his shoulders. He stared at her for a long moment.
“I thought you were leaving for Chicago.”
“You thought wrong.” She had to raise her voice over the wind. “I couldn’t leave now. Not like this.”
Something shifted in his expression, though she couldn’t quite read it through the rain.
“Mom called. The wind shifted, and the deck at The Sandpiper needs securing,” he said. “The umbrellas are still up, and the furniture isn’t tied down.”
“Show me what to do.”
They ran together across the waterfront, dodging debris that the wind had already scattered. More people emerged from buildings and vehicles, everyone converging to protect what they could before the worst of the storm hit.
Emily appeared with Melissa, both in proper rain gear and boots. They looked at Cassidy’s soaked jacket and muddy sneakers but didn’t comment. Emily just handed her a pair of work gloves.
“Thanks.” Cassidy pulled them on. They were too big, but they’d keep her hands from getting completely shredded.
At The Sandpiper, Bryan’s mother directed traffic from the covered section of the deck. She looked startled when Cassidy appeared but recovered quickly.
“Umbrellas need to come down first,” Mona called out. “Then we stack the chairs and tie them to the support posts.”
Cassidy moved to the nearest umbrella and started working the crank mechanism. It was stuck. She threw her weight into it, and the handle finally turned. The umbrella slowly descended.
Bryan appeared on her other side and grabbed the pole. Together they maneuvered it out of the table base and carried it to the storage area.
“You’re going to ruin those shoes,” he said.
“I know.”
“And that jacket isn’t waterproof.”
“I noticed.”
They went back for the next umbrella. This one came down easier, but her arms were already starting to ache.
They fell into a rhythm. Melissa and Emily worked on stacking chairs while Cliff secured them with rope. Mona directed and troubleshot. Bryan and Cassidy handled the umbrellas.
The anger that had been crackling between them seemed to dissolve in the shared urgency. They moved like a team. Bryan anticipated where she’d struggle with weight distribution. She learned to read his hand signals through the rain.
“The banner framework downtown is going to go if someone doesn’t reinforce it,” Cliff called out. He was checking something on his phone. “Wind’s only getting worse.”
“I’ll go,” Bryan said immediately.
“I’m coming with you.” Cassidy didn’t phrase it as a question.
Bryan looked at her again. That same unreadable expression crossed his face. Then he nodded.
They jogged back toward the festival grounds. The rain was coming sideways now. Cassidy could barely see ten feet ahead. Her sneakers had given up any pretense of traction. She slipped twice, and Bryan caught her arm both times without breaking stride.
The banner framework swayed dangerously. Someone had already started working on it. Sally Morris, of all people, was out there with rope, a determined look on her face.
“I’ve got the north corner,” Sally shouted when she saw them. “But the south side is coming loose.”
Cassidy ran to the south post while Bryan assessed the damage. The bolts had worked partially free from the ground. The whole structure was listing.
“We need to stake it out more securely,” Bryan said. “Cassidy, can you hold this steady while I get the ropes?”
She wrapped both arms around the metal pole. The wind tried to tear it from her grip. Her feet slid in the mud as she braced herself against the force.
Bryan returned with rope and stakes. He worked fast, driving stakes into the ground at angles and running lines from the framework to create tension that would hold it steady.
“On three, let go and step back,” he told her.
She counted with him and released. The framework swayed but held. Bryan adjusted the tension on two of the lines, and it steadied.
Sally appeared beside them. She was soaked through but grinning. “Not bad for a city girl.”
Cassidy found herself grinning back. “Not bad for a small-town shopkeeper.”
“Oh, I like her,” Sally told Bryan. “You better not let this one get away.”
Bryan didn’t respond. He was already moving to check the next vulnerable point.
They worked for another hour as the storm intensified.
More volunteers appeared and disappeared.
Someone brought thermoses of coffee that tasted like heaven despite being lukewarm.
Cassidy lost track of how many things they secured, how many times she slipped in the mud, how many knots she tied with numb fingers.
At some point, Bryan ended up working right beside her again. They were wrestling with a section of fencing that had started to come loose.
“You really aren’t leaving?” he asked. His voice was quiet enough that she almost didn’t hear it over the wind.
“I don’t know.” The honest answer came out before she could stop it. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. They got the fence section secured and stepped back.
“The job offer is real,” she continued. She had to tell him. Had to be honest about all of it. “Everything I worked for. Everything I burned myself out trying to achieve.”
“I know.”
“But I don’t know if I want it anymore.” The words felt dangerous to say out loud. “I don’t know if I ever really wanted it, or if I just wanted to prove I could have it.”
He turned to look at her fully. Water dripped from his hair, and his expression was still guarded. Still careful.
“What do you want?” he asked.
The same question he’d asked her before. She still didn’t have a complete answer.
“I want to not feel like I’m disappearing when I stop moving,” she said. “I want to be part of something that matters. I want to wake up and not immediately check my email to remember who I am.”
The wind howled. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“I want to see how the festival turns out,” she added. “I want to know if the tourism board feature actually helps the town. I want to taste whatever your mother is planning to make for the recipe competition.”
“Cassidy.”
She finally stopped and looked at him.
“I heard you on that phone call,” Bryan said. “Talking about digital something or other and returning to work. You sounded like you belonged in that world.”
“I know what I sounded like.” She pushed wet hair out of her face. “That’s the version of me I built. The one who has all the answers and never doubts anything. But I don’t think that’s who I actually am.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m still figuring that out.” She held his gaze. “But I know I’m not ready to leave Starlight Shores yet. I know I’m not ready to walk away from the festival or the people here or—”
She stopped herself. Too much. Too honest.
Bryan’s expression shifted. Some of the wariness faded, though not all of it.
“Your sabbatical ends in days,” he said.
“I know.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know.” The frustration in her voice surprised her. “I don’t have a plan, Bryan. I don’t have a spreadsheet, a strategy, or a five-year forecast. I just know I’m here right now, and I’m not leaving before the festival.”
“And after that?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated. “Can that be enough for now?”
He studied her face. She could see him weighing her words, testing them for truth. Still protecting himself from the possibility that she was just passing through.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “That can be enough for now.”
The tension between them eased slightly. Not gone, but different. Less sharp.
“Come on,” Bryan said. “We should check on the tents one more time, then get you inside and dried off.” Then he grinned. “And the next time you go shopping, you should get yourself some proper rain gear.”
They walked back toward the festival grounds together. Her sneakers were destroyed, and her jacket was useless. Her hands ached even inside the too-large gloves. And yet, she felt strangely alive. She wasn’t watching this town and its people from the outside. She was part of it.