Chapter 24
The morning after the storm arrived softly, filtered through the clean-washed air and the quiet murmur of a town assessing its wounds. Cassidy woke to silence instead of wind and stillness instead of chaos. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache.
She should have felt terrible. Instead, she felt wonderful, alive.
She pushed herself upright and winced. Her legs protested the movement. She looked down at her hands, noting the raw patches on her palms, the broken nail on her index finger, and the smudge of what might have been grease or mud or both across her wrist.
These weren’t the hands of a Senior VP of Strategy.
She grabbed her phone and pulled on a pair of shorts and one of the t-shirts she’d purchased.
Her reflection in the bathroom mirror stopped her cold.
Hair was tangled beyond recognition and a streak of something dark crossed her cheekbone.
Her eyes looked tired but clear, focused in a way they hadn’t been in months.
You look ridiculous.
The thought arrived in David’s voice, crisp and dismissive. She could picture exactly how he would say it, with that slight curl of his lip that suggested disappointment without ever stating it outright.
She splashed water on her face and clipped her hair back. She didn’t bother with makeup. There was too much to do.
When she got there, the festival grounds looked like a battlefield.
She picked her way across the muddy field, her sneakers squelching with each step. The main stage stood intact but listing slightly to one side. Vendor tents sagged under puddles of collected rainwater. Banners hung askew, their cheerful proclamations about the Harbor Festival now sodden and limp.
But people were already there, working.
Sally Morris directed a small army of volunteers hauling sandbags away from the general store’s entrance.
Marty Fuller was up on a ladder, reattaching a section of bunting that had torn loose.
Even the Harbor Ladies had arrived, armed with mops, buckets, and an impressive array of cleaning supplies.
“Cassidy!” Dorothy spotted her first, waving from beside a tilted information booth. “Get over here. This thing won’t budge.”
She jogged over and grabbed one side of the booth. Together with Dorothy and another woman whose name she couldn’t remember, she heaved it back into position. The wood was swollen from rain, and it took three tries before the structure finally settled with a wet thud.
“That’ll do,” Dorothy declared, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Now we just need to dry out everything inside.”
“I can help with that,” she offered.
Dorothy gave her an appraising look, taking in Cassidy’s rumpled clothes and bare face. “You stayed.”
It wasn’t quite a question.
“I stayed,” Cassidy confirmed.
“Good.” Dorothy handed her a stack of soggy programs. “Start spreading these out on the picnic tables. Sun’s coming out. They might be salvageable.”
Cassidy worked steadily for the next hour, falling into the rhythm of the cleanup.
She squeegeed water from table surfaces, carted chairs to the edge of the grounds in hopes the mud would dry up and they could place them around the tables.
She helped Cliff set up a new tent. The work was mindless in the best way, requiring just enough focus to keep her hands busy but leaving her thoughts free to wander.
She should call David. She knew that. He’d given her forty-eight hours, and that deadline was approaching fast. The corner office waited, but every time she thought about picking up her phone, something stopped her.
Maybe it was the way Sally had smiled at her when she’d arrived this morning, that warm look of approval that said you’re one of us now.
Maybe it was the ache in her shoulders that came from honest work instead of hunching over a laptop for sixteen hours straight.
Maybe it was the memory of Bryan’s hand in hers last night, solid and certain even as the storm raged around them.
Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe she just didn’t want to leave.
“Cassidy!”
She turned to find Bryan jogging toward her, and her heart did a silly, fluttering thing that had nothing to do with exertion. He looked as tired as she felt, his hair sticking up at odd angles and a fresh scrape across his forearm. He was beautiful.
“Hey,” she said, aware that she was smiling like a fool and completely unable to stop. “How’s The Sandpiper?”
“Dry. Mostly.” He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell sawdust and coffee. “Thanks to you.”
“I didn’t do that much.”
“You did everything.” His voice was quiet, serious in a way that made her heart skip. “Cassidy, about last night—”
“Mr. Wilde’s here to see you.”
Cassidy turned to find Jan from Harbor Brew approaching, her expression carefully neutral. “He’s waiting by the parking area. Says it’s urgent.”
The bottom dropped out of Cassidy’s stomach.
Bryan’s face shuttered closed. “Your boss?”
“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said quickly. The words tumbled out too fast, too defensive. “I didn’t ask him to—”
“It’s fine.” Bryan took a step back, creating distance that felt like miles. “You should go talk to him.”
“Bryan—”
But he was already turning away, heading toward a group of volunteers struggling with a collapsed awning. Cassidy watched him go, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
She turned and walked toward the parking area, each step feeling heavier than the last.
David Wilde stood beside a sleek black rental car, looking like he’d stepped out of a boardroom and directly into the wrong century. Pressed charcoal suit. Expensive leather shoes. Phone pressed to his ear as he gestured impatiently at whoever was on the other end of the call.
He spotted Cassidy and ended the call abruptly.
“Finally.” He looked her up and down, and his expression flickered through surprise, disdain, and settled on disgust. “Cassidy. You look ridiculous.”
The words landed exactly as she’d known they would, sharp and cutting, and designed to make her feel small.
A month ago, they would have worked. A month ago, she would have immediately looked down at herself, cataloging all the ways she’d failed to maintain the polished exterior that David valued.
Now, she just felt tired.
“What are you doing here, David?”
“What do you think? I couldn’t wait for an answer.” He gestured toward the festival grounds, his lip curling. “I needed to see what could possibly be more important than your career.”
She followed his gaze. The muddy field. The sagging tents. The volunteers in their work clothes, hauling debris and wringing out decorations. She tried to see it through his eyes with all the chaos, disorder, and the complete lack of corporate polish.
She couldn’t do it. All she saw was community. Purpose. People who showed up for each other when it mattered.
“This is important,” she said quietly.
“This?” David laughed, the sound sharp and dismissive. “Cassidy, this is a small-town fair in the middle of nowhere. The account I’m offering you is worth millions of dollars. Do you understand what that means? Do you have any idea what you’re throwing away?”
“I’m not throwing anything away.”
“Then prove it. Get cleaned up, and let’s go. I’ll book the tickets.”
He said it like it was already decided and her compliance was a foregone conclusion. Like the past month had been nothing more than an extended vacation, and now it was time for her to come back to reality.
She looked at him—really looked at him—and saw herself reflected back.
The version of herself she’d been before Starlight Shores.
Always moving, always producing, always terrified that slowing down meant disappearing.
She’d thought David was successful. She’d wanted to be him, to earn his respect and prove she belonged in his world.
When had she stopped wanting that?
“I need more time,” she said.
David’s expression hardened. “I flew down here personally, Cassidy. Do you know what that cost the company? What it cost me?”
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
“You didn’t need to ask. I’m trying to save your career.
” He stepped closer, and she fought the urge to step back.
“You had a meltdown, Cassidy. A public, embarrassing meltdown that could have ended everything. I fought for you. I convinced the board to give you this sabbatical instead of letting you go. And this is how you repay me? By playing festival coordinator in some backwater town?”
The words should have stung. They were designed to sting, to remind her of her lowest moment and make her grateful for his intervention.
Instead, they just made her angry.
“I didn’t have a meltdown because I was weak,” she said, her voice steady. “I had a problem because I was working myself to death for a company that didn’t care if I burned out. For a boss who measures people by their productivity instead of their humanity.”
David’s jaw tightened. “That’s the real world, Cassidy. That’s how business works.”
“Then maybe I don’t want to work in your version of business anymore.”
“Don’t be naive.” He glanced past her, and his expression shifted into something colder. “Is this about him?”
Cassidy turned to see Bryan approaching, his face carefully blank. He carried two bottles of water, and he handed one to Cassidy without looking at David.
“Everything okay?” Bryan asked.
David answered before Cassidy could. “We’re having a private conversation.”
“Cassidy?” Bryan’s eyes stayed on her face, ignoring David completely.
“It’s fine,” Cassidy said. She took the water bottle, grateful for something to do with her hands. “Bryan, this is David Wilde, my boss. David, this is Bryan Lucas. He’s the co-chair of the festival committee.”
“The festival committee.” David’s tone made it sound like she’d said the local garbage collection service. “How impressive.”
Bryan’s expression didn’t change, but recognition flickered in his eyes. He’d met men like David before who looked at people like Bryan and saw nothing worth their time.
“We should probably get back to work,” Bryan said to Cassidy. “The stage needs to be secured, and there are more tents to put up.”
“Tents!” David shook his head. “Cassidy, get in the car. This is absurd.”
“I’m not getting in the car.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said I need more time, and I meant it.” She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll give you my answer when I’m ready. Not before.”
“I need you on the Phillips account,” he said coldly. “But if not, I’ll find someone else.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He just turned and walked back to his rental car, stepping carefully around a puddle like the water might contaminate his fancy shoes. The engine started with a purr that sounded obscenely out of place against the backdrop of volunteers and cleanup efforts.
She watched him drive away, and her shoulders loosened.
“That’s your boss?” Bryan asked after a long moment.
“Unfortunately.”
“He seems like a real piece of work.”
“He is.” She took a long drink of water. “He’s also offering me everything I’ve worked for. A salary I can barely comprehend.”
“Then I guess you have a choice to make, don’t you?”