Chapter Thirty-One
When I woke up Sunday morning, my neck cricked into an unfortunate position, Easton hogged most of the blanket, and one of my legs dangled off the couch.
I rolled to the floor in a heap, slowly rising to my knees with a groan.
For a single, blissful second, I had no idea why I chose to sleep in the living room.
Then my eyes caught on the burnt out candles on my coffee table, and my chest immediately tightened.
I planned on staying up most of the night—the idea of waking up to a tree branch flying through the window being less than favorable for me.
I glanced at the floor, then across the room, and let out a sigh of relief.
The house seemed fine, but there was no telling what kind of state Main Street was in.
Easton yawned and stretched, blinking at me through the dark.
I sucked in a sharp breath and stood, approaching my curtain as if I was a treasure hunter and the fabric might be booby trapped.
Then, in a swift motion, I ripped them aside and slid the window open.
Through the slats of the shutters, I expected to hear ceaseless rain pounding into veritable lakes formed on the pavement.
Instead, only the sound of a breeze rustling through leaves, birds chirping, and—faintly—a wind chime’s melody. My pulse raced as I hurried to unlatch the shutters and swing them wide.
Something between a laugh and a squeal tore from my mouth.
The morning light, golden and warm and brilliant, streaked through a fluffy cloud and shone on my skin. I stretched my arms outside and relished the cool gust that erupted goosebumps all over my body. Nothing was quite like the fresh, salty air after a storm.
My fingers trembled slightly as I scavenged for my phone in a pile of pillows and searched for the weather. I couldn’t let myself get too hopeful before I confirmed—
No rain on the horizon. The giddy, nonsensical sound I made couldn’t be helped.
Easton watched with latent interest as I flew through the house: I locked the window back up, made a couple eggs on the stove—it turned out the internet was good for something—and scarfed them down.
His curiosity peeked as I bounded up the stairs, and he quickly trailed behind after flopping from the couch.
He blinked at me from my bed as I wrenched my closet open and began tossing clothes to the floor. In all the commotion prepping Bluebell Cove for the storm, I’d forgotten about clean clothes for the festival.
My hands found my favorite jeans at the bottom of a pile, the material a tiny bit stiff and smelling like the ocean, and my face flushed.
I wore them when Rhett and I kissed on the beach.
Part of me never wanted to wash this pair, knowing it might be one of the only tangible memories of him I’d be able to keep.
Tugging those on, I exchanged my hoodie for a large, chunky sweater I’d thrifted and rolled the extra-long sleeves to my wrists.
It was olive green, and one of the softest things I owned—aside from those pink fuzzy sweats.
I wrestled my hair into a high ponytail and decided not to bother with anything else.
After Easton’s walk, I hurried toward Main Street.
Closer to the shore than my house, the storm could’ve incurred twice as much damage.
I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat, flashes of downed trees across Bluebell Lane and drowned plants in Marigold’s playing through my mind.
Pausing at the corner, I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and sucked in a sharp breath before rounding it.
What I saw could’ve knocked me clean off my feet.
Main Street was in full swing. Shopkeepers hurried from door to door, prying boards off windows and hauling away branches and debris together. Tears threatened as I took it all in. These were the people I’d once been too afraid to ask for help. This was Bluebell Cove.
I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and hurried across the road, where Mrs. Henderson shuffled down the street with a garbage bag and furrowed eyebrows, wielding a grabber tool like a sword.
“Georgie!” She greeted me, especially bright that morning.
“How was last night?” I replied, hugging my sweater against my torso. “Everything ready for the pie contest this afternoon?” My stomach grumbled at the thought.
“Well, yes, but I—” Mrs. Henderson glanced up and down the sidewalk as if we had spies. “I had an idea that I’d like to discuss with you.”
I stepped closer.
“Did you see the forecast?”
A little anticlimactic.
“Yes,” I replied, an amused smile forming on my lips. Leave it to Mrs. Henderson to be overly cryptic and theatrical.
“Well?” she hissed impatiently.
I blinked at her.
Mrs. Henderson groaned at the sky and threw her hands in the air. “The festival, girl! We can have the festival on Main Street!”
I stared for a moment as the words sunk in.
All morning, I’d been so preoccupied with worry about the storm that I hadn’t even put two and two together.
Businesses safe, homes intact, clear skies on the horizon—the Summer’s End Festival could return to where it truly belonged: the heart of Bluebell Cove.
A wide, cheek-splitting smile landed on my face. Without thinking, I grabbed her shoulders and yanked her into a hug, that same, unintelligible noise of glee falling from my mouth.
“Alright, alright!” She huffed, patting my back.
I was practically jumping in place when I pulled away. “Mrs. Henderson, you might just be my new favorite person!”
She harumphed in response, but I could see the corners of her lips curl upward.
It took me a few more seconds to calm down and stand in one place. “Okay,” I said, clapping my hands together in an attempt to look serious. “Do you think you can get everything moved and ready to go in the town plaza by the afternoon?”
Mrs. Henderson straightened and nodded like a soldier. “It will be the best pie contest to date.”
For some reason, I believed her.
When I surged down the street toward the Morning Bell, there was a renewed pep in my step.
I had already been thrilled that the storm subsided a day early—this news felt like a bolt of lightning in my chest. It didn’t matter that Claire had hundred-dollar tickets or black tie attire or the Governor in attendance.
We had everything that mattered.
Rachel and Cameron were busy removing the boards from the cafe’s windows when I skipped up behind them.
“Hey!” I nearly shouted.
“Oh my—” Rachel grabbed the wall and wobbled on her ladder. “Don’t sneak up on someone while they’re on a ladder, Georgie.”
Cameron sent me an uninterested wave as he carried the boards inside, apparently already moved on to Claire.
“Come here for some coffee before the meeting?” she asked, climbing down and folding it under her arm.
“Well, actually…”
I divulged everything to her. The new weather forecast, Mrs. Henderson’s idea, and the mildly ludicrous plan to move an entire event with only a handful of hours to go. By the time I finished, we were in the cafe, and she was handing me a hot mocha.
Rachel didn’t respond at first. A pit formed in my stomach as she gathered half her short hair into a bun on top of her head and rolled up her sweater’s sleeves. She untied her apron from her overalls and tossed it on the counter.
“Cameron!” she hollered.
I took a sip of my drink, unsure of what else to do, as the tall boy appeared from behind the curtain.
Rachel pulled the marker from behind her ear and set it down. “I’m taking a sick day.”
His mouth fell open in a stutter. “B-but— you’re not sick.”
She pointedly coughed and edged around him to the other side of the bar. “Listen: you’ve got this, okay? The cafe closes early, and most of the Cove will be busy prepping for the festival. You only need to hold on for a few hours.”
Cameron blanched. “A few hours!”
“Yes.” Rachel hesitated and rubbed her eyebrows. “You have my cell number. Remember: for emergencies only. Got it?”
He nodded, nearly jumping out of his skin when Margot came through the door. Rachel sent him a wide-eyed, insistent look and motioned to the register. She turned to me, leaning her back against the counter, and crossed her arms.
“So. Where do you need me?”
I smiled. “Have I said recently that you’re the best?”
“All the time, actually,” she replied, stretching across the bar to retrieve her drink.
“Ah, look!” The thick clunk of Margot’s heel sounded against the floor as she strode toward us. “Everyone’s alive, just as I predicted.”
She was slightly more appropriately dressed for the occasion, this time wearing a long, belted skirt and a cardigan with her boots.
“You got here just in time,” I replied. “I have big news.”
Margot peered at me curiously as she accepted her coffee from Cameron.
By the time Margot pulled her car into the gymnasium parking lot, I’d blurted out the festival update for the second time that day. She drummed her nails against the steering wheel after we’d parked, berry-colored lips pursed in thought.
“What?” I asked, terrified that I’d forgotten something.
Margot sent me a cunning smile. “Oh, nothing.” Without another word, she popped open her door and slipped outside.
Crowds had already gathered by the gym’s doors when the three of us walked up.
I nearly spilled my coffee with the force of Janice’s hug, a surprising amount of strength for such delicate looking arms. Frank welcomed me with a pat on the shoulder once she let go, and Emma asked for a high-five as I navigated through the crowd.
Shoes scraped against pavement as they shifted aside, the low hum of chatter quickly subsiding.
“Good morning, everyone!”
They cheered in response, their spirits no doubt heightened by blue skies.
“As some of you may have already heard, I have some great news to share,” I started. “With a sunny forecast for the rest of the day, we’ve decided to move the festival back to Main Street.”
Rachel began to clap, but no one joined. A sea of faces blinked back at me, frozen, as if confused by the announcement. I glanced at Margot for help, but she merely shrugged.
“We’re all prepped for the gym!” Someone shouted from the back.
“Yeah!” Another responded. “How are we supposed to get ready in just seven hours?”
“Our booths! We have no booths!”
I dragged a hand over my face while they devolved into frantic conversation. They ignored me as I waved my hands in the air and tried to refocus. My head began to throb. Margot looked like she was ready to start a brawl.
The sound of a car horn blaring through the air silenced them in a ripple.
I whirled on my heel, pulse speeding into overdrive as Rhett stood on the driver’s side step, eyes sweeping the crowd until they landed on me.
“What’s all this fuss about, Wheeler?” he shouted, one corner of his lips lifting.
“We’re moving the festival to Main Street,” I replied, voice cracking.
Rhett patted the roof of his car and appeared to think. “Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got nothing else on the calendar today.”
My chest cracked open and the warmth flooded back in as if someone had parted the curtains. For one, devastating moment, nothing else existed. Just those dark eyes, looking at me like he saw nothing else.
Frank waved from the crowd. “Can you get the booths to town in time?”
He didn’t hesitate. “No question.”
Then, finally, the crowd broke out into excited hoots and applause. Rhett and I stared at each other from over everyone’s heads, identical smiles on our mouths. Beneath it all, I wanted to run and jump into his arms—but, even though he’d chosen the festival, three thousand miles still separated us.
I forced myself to look away.
Margot and Rachel flanked me as a steady stream of residents, shopkeepers, and teenagers funneled toward us for direction.
I assigned Wyatt and Kenzie the task of making signs to re-direct traffic to Main Street, and instructed a few other high schoolers to help by setting out cones from the driver’s ed class.
After the principal unlocked the gymnasium doors, we began loading up cars with supplies and started the process of moving it all to the center of town.
From the corner of my eye, I watched as Frank and Rhett piled into his truck and drove away. My heart sank just a fraction.
“Mr. Henderson!” I shouted, catching up to the portly man as he pushed a cart laden with boxes outside.
He grunted in response, leaned against the handlebar, and pushed his salt-and-pepper hair back.
“You’re normally in charge of the lights on Main Street.” I clasped my hands together and tucked them under my chin. “What are the chances you could… do it in half a day?” The last words came out as a squeak.
Mr. Henderson sighed. “How did I know you’d ask?”
I grinned.
“Get me some volunteers, and I’ll do my best, okay?”
That was all I needed to hear.
Later, I watched from Margot’s car as the principal locked the gymnasium doors and hustled to her car. We sat in silence for a few minutes, each of us covered in some degree of sweat or grime, my hair in complete disarray.
I emptied the last bit of my mocha, cold but still delicious, and patted my knees.
“Alright,” I said. “Let’s do this.”