Chapter 26
Cassidy stood near the registration tent, clipboard forgotten in her hands as she watched David Wilde circle the festival grounds like a shark in designer shoes.
He’d been lurking for an hour now, occasionally checking his watch with theatrical sighs that probably cost extra in whatever leadership seminar taught him that move.
She should have been enjoying this. The festival was exceeding every projection she’d mapped out.
Attendance was triple last year’s numbers, according to Sally’s running tally at the gate.
The recipe competition had a waiting list. Grant Stone’s local artist showcase was drawing actual buyers, not just browsers.
Even the weather had cooperated, delivering the kind of postcard-perfect Gulf Coast afternoon that made tourists forget they had responsibilities back home.
But David’s presence turned it all sour.
Every time she caught his disapproving scan of the crowd, she felt herself shrinking back into the version of herself that used to care what he thought.
The version that would have called this whole event quaint.
Charming in a limited demographic sort of way.
She hated that version.
“You look like you’re about to snap that clipboard in half.” Jan appeared at her elbow with a bottle of water. “Drink. You’ve been running around for hours.”
Cassidy accepted the bottle gratefully. “Is it that obvious?”
“That you’re stressed? Honey, you’re vibrating.” Jan glanced toward David, who was now examining a handmade wreath like it might bite him. “That your boss?”
“Yeah.”
“He looks exactly like I pictured. Expensive and uncomfortable.” Jan patted her arm. “Don’t let him ruin this. Look around. You did this.”
She did look around. The harbor glowed in the afternoon light as families wandered between booths, kids clutched cotton candy, and couples shared plates of fried fish from The Sandpiper’s booth.
The lighthouse rose beyond it all, steady and solid, its white paint almost luminous against the blue sky.
She had done this. With Bryan. With the committee. With a whole town that had somehow decided she was worth trusting.
“Cassidy.” David materialized beside her before Jan could escape. “A word.”
Jan squeezed Cassidy’s hand once and disappeared into the crowd.
“I’ve been observing,” David said, not bothering with pleasantries. “This is impressive for a small market event. You’ve clearly been allocating significant time and energy here.”
“It’s a community festival. They needed help.”
“And you provided it. Admirably.” He adjusted his tie, which had wilted slightly in the humidity. “But this proves my point exactly. You’re wasted in a place like this. You should be directing that strategic thinking toward accounts that actually move the needle.”
Something in his tone made her grit her teeth. The casual dismissal of everything around them and the assumption that bigger automatically meant better. She used to talk exactly like that.
“David, I told you I need more time.”
“And I’m telling you we’re out of time. The Phillips team wants an answer by Monday. If you’re not in that meeting, Steve gets the position. Permanently.”
The threat landed exactly as he intended. Steve Hodges. The man who’d been nipping at her heels for five years, who’d probably celebrated when she burned out. The idea of him getting her promotion made her feel physically ill.
Except…
Except when she tried to picture herself back in Chicago, sitting in that conference room, pitching luxury condos to developers who sounded exactly like George Morton, she couldn’t make the image stick.
It kept sliding away, replaced by the smell of salt air and fried dough, by the sound of Bryan’s laugh carrying across the courtyard last night when Cliff told a terrible fishing story, and by the way Winnie’s eyes crinkled when she smiled.
“I understand the stakes,” she said carefully. “I’m just not sure they’re the stakes that matter anymore.”
David’s expression hardened. “Don’t be naive. This is your career we’re discussing. Everything you’ve worked for.”
“I know what I’ve worked for. I also know what it cost.”
She’d never said that out loud before. Never admitted that the corner office might not be worth the price of admission.
David opened his mouth to respond, but something over Cassidy’s shoulder caught his attention. His eyes narrowed slightly.
Cassidy turned.
And her heart stopped.
Walking through the festival gates, looking slightly lost but determined, was her mother.
Diana Wren wore a floral skirt and a coral blouse Cassidy had never seen before.
Her hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen her, cut in soft layers that framed her face.
She carried a large purse and wore sensible sandals, and she was scanning the crowd with the same methodical efficiency Cassidy recognized from her own strategic assessments.
Then their eyes met.
Her mom’s whole face transformed. The anxiety smoothed away, replaced by a smile so warm and genuine that Cassidy felt something crack open inside her.
“Mom?” The word came out strangled.
Her mom hurried forward, weaving between families and vendor booths with surprising agility. When she reached Cassidy, she pulled her into a fierce hug that smelled like the clean scent of the soap she’d used for as long as Cassidy could remember.
“Hi, sweetheart,” her mom said against her hair. “Surprise.”
She pulled back, still gripping her mother’s arms like she might disappear. “What are you doing here? How did you even know about the festival?”
“Well…” Her mom glanced past Cassidy, and her expression shifted into something knowing. “I had some help.”
She followed her gaze and found Bryan standing near The Sandpiper’s booth, hands shoved in his pockets and looking simultaneously guilty and defiant. When he saw her staring, he offered a small wave.
Her brain struggled to process. “Bryan called you?”
“A week ago. He said you’d been working so hard on this festival, and he thought maybe you’d like some family here to see it. He was very sweet and very worried about overstepping.”
A week ago. Before their fight. Before everything fell apart and got kind of rebuilt in the space of a single storm.
She looked at Bryan again. He’d turned away now, helping his mother arrange plates at their booth, but his shoulders were tense. He’d called her mom and invited her here because he thought Cassidy would want her.
Because he’d been paying attention.
“I should let you two catch up,” David said abruptly. His voice had gone cool and professional. “Cassidy, we’ll talk later. Before you make any decisions you’ll regret.”
He walked away without waiting for a response, already pulling out his phone.
Her mom watched him go and shook her head. “Charming.”
“That’s my boss. He wants me back in Chicago by Monday.”
“And what do you want?”
The question was so simple. So direct. It shouldn’t have felt like being punched in the stomach.
“I don’t know. I thought I did. The promotion I’ve been chasing for years is finally on the table. But every time I try to picture myself taking it, I just feel tired.”
Her mom studied her face for a long moment. Then she linked her arm through Cassidy’s. “Then put it aside for now. Show me this festival you’ve been working on. I want to see everything.”
They walked slowly through the grounds while Cassidy pointed out the different vendors they’d found and the recipe competition judging that would happen in an hour.
She pointed to the boat parade route marked with cheerful buoys.
She showed her mom the historical display Marty had curated featuring old photographs of previous festivals.
Her mom took it all in with genuine interest, stopping to admire a hand-painted sign here and a vintage fishing net display there.
She chatted easily with Sally at the general store booth.
She complimented the Harbor Ladies on their baked goods and asked Cliff intelligent questions about lighthouse operations when they passed the small museum display.
She fit in seamlessly, like she’d been coming to this festival for years instead of arriving twenty minutes ago.
“This reminds me of the Mayfair Festival back home,” her mom said eventually. They’d found a quiet spot near the water, away from the main crowd. “Do you remember? We used to go every year when you were little.”
She felt something shift in her memory. “The one in Indiana. With the craft fair and the pie competition.”
“You loved it. You’d make me take you to every single booth, even when your feet hurt. You said you wanted to meet everyone and see everything.” Her mom smiled at the memory. “You were so open then. So curious about people.”
“I don’t remember that part.”
“You were. You used to collect stories about the vendors. The woman who made quilts from her grandmother’s patterns. The man who carved duck decoys exactly like his father taught him. You said everyone had something important to share.”
She watched a family walk past, the parents swinging a toddler between them. “When did I stop thinking that?”
“When you decided their stories didn’t scale.” Her mom squeezed her arm gently, but there was no judgment. “When you started measuring value in money instead of meaning.”
The words should have stung. Instead, they felt like a relief, like someone finally naming the thing she’d been circling for months.
“I don’t know how to stop. I’ve been running so long, I don’t know what happens if I stand still.”
“You’re standing still right now.”
“I’m working. The festival is work.”
“Cassidy.” Her mom turned to face her fully. “I haven’t seen you breathe like this in twenty years.”
She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Because her mom was right. She was breathing. Deeply and fully, and without the constant tightness in her chest that had become so familiar she’d stopped noticing it.
“This place is doing something for you. I can see it in how you move and how you talk. You’re not hitting a performance goal right now. You’re just being.”
“Being isn’t enough. It’s never been enough.”
“Says who? Your boss? The version of yourself you built to impress people who don’t actually know you?
” Her mom’s voice stayed gentle, but her words cut clean.
“Sweetheart, I love you. I have always loved you. But I have watched you disappear into a life that’s eating you alive, and I have been terrified that one day you’d wake up and realize you’d spent forty years chasing something that was never going to make you happy. ”
She felt tears in the corners of her eyes. “You chose small-town life. You chose ordinary. I didn’t want that.”
“I chose meaning over money and connection over corner offices. And yes, I sacrificed career advancement to do it. But I never once regretted it. I love the life I’ve built back home.
I never wanted you to think my choices meant you couldn’t have ambition.
I wanted you to have both, and build something you’re proud of without losing yourself in the process. ”
“I don’t know if I can have both.”
“Maybe not in Chicago. But here?” Her mom gestured to the festival around them.
“You’ve built something extraordinary. You’ve helped people and made genuine connections.
And unless I’m reading things very wrong, you’ve found something with that handsome restaurant owner who keeps pretending he’s not watching us. ”
She glanced toward The Sandpiper booth. Bryan was definitely not watching them, which meant he absolutely was.
“It’s complicated,” she said.
“It’s only complicated if you make it complicated.” Her mom pulled her close again. “You’re allowed to want this. You’re allowed to choose a life that feels good instead of a life that looks impressive. You’re allowed to stay.”
Stay.
The word hung in the air between them, terrifying and tempting in equal measure.
She looked around the festival one more time. Really looked. She looked at the families, the vendors, and the lighthouse standing guard over it all. At Bryan, who’d called her mom because he thought Cassidy deserved support. She gazed around at the town that had somehow decided she belonged here.
“I’m scared,” she whispered.
“I know.” Her mom kissed her forehead. “But you’re also braver than you think. And whatever you decide, I’m here. I’m always here.”
They stood together while the festival continued around them, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she let herself imagine a future that didn’t involve fighting for the next promotion and looked like Sunday morning coffee at Harbor Brew, sunset walks on the beach, and Bryan’s steady presence beside her.
A future that felt like home.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably David, demanding an answer. Probably Steve, gloating about the promotion he thought he’d won.
She didn’t check it.
Instead, she took her mother’s hand and led her toward The Sandpiper booth, where Bryan was trying very hard to look busy with a tray of fried shrimp.
“Bryan,” Cassidy said when they reached him. “I’d like you to meet my mom properly.”
He looked up, and the vulnerability in his expression nearly undid her. “Mrs. Wren. I’m glad you could make it.”
“Call me Diane. And thank you for the invitation.” Her mother’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Cassidy tells me you make the best grouper sandwich on the Gulf Coast.”
“She said that?” Bryan’s gaze found Cassidy’s.
“She did. Among other things.”
She felt her face heat. “Mom.”
“What? I’m just making conversation.” Her mom accepted a sample plate from Mona, who’d appeared with impeccable timing. “Oh, this is delicious.”
The two mothers immediately began discussing recipes, leaving Cassidy and Bryan standing awkwardly beside the booth.
“You called my mom,” she said.
“I thought you’d want her here. For the festival.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I probably should have asked first.”
“No. It was perfect.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes searched hers. “Are you okay? Your boss looked pretty intense earlier.”
“He wants me in Chicago by Monday.”
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Makes sense. Big opportunity.”
“Bryan—”
“Cassidy, honey!” Sally Morris appeared, slightly breathless. “We need you at the judging table. The recipe competition is about to start, and Dorothy and Margaret are arguing about the scoring criteria.”
“I’ll be right there.” She looked at Bryan helplessly. “I should—”
He nodded. “Go. We’ll talk later.”
Sally was waiting, the festival needed her, and maybe some conversations were better saved for when they could happen properly.
“Later,” she agreed.
She followed Sally toward the judging area but glanced back once. Bryan was watching her go, and even from a distance, she could see the question written across his face.