Chapter 20
Bryan stood in the kitchen of The Sandpiper, staring at the paperwork for a shipment of produce that should have arrived an hour ago. The delivery truck was late, which meant his morning schedule was already falling apart. He wiped his hands on his apron and checked his phone again.
Nothing from the supplier. Nothing from his loan officer. Nothing from Cassidy.
He told himself that last part didn’t matter. She was busy with festival logistics. He was busy running a restaurant, coordinating the fishing schedule, and managing a dozen other things that didn’t leave room for checking in with his co-chair every five minutes like some lovesick teenager.
Except he’d been thinking about her every five minutes since they’d danced together at the fundraiser.
“You’re hovering again,” his mother said from behind him.
“I’m waiting for the produce delivery.”
“You’re staring at your phone like it personally offended you.” His mother moved past him to check the prep station. “That’s different.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket. “The delivery’s late.”
“Uh huh.” His mother’s tone suggested she wasn’t buying it, but she let it drop. “Lucy called. She can’t cover lunch service today. Her dog is sick. Needs to run him to the vet.”
Perfect. Another hole in the schedule. Bryan mentally shuffled staff assignments while his mother continued her inspection of the kitchen.
The morning light filtered through the windows overlooking the Gulf, catching on the vintage photographs of fishing boats that lined the walls.
His grandfather smiled down from one of those frames, standing on the deck of Mary Catherine with a day’s catch spread before him.
What would his grandfather think of the mess Bryan had made of things? The struggling restaurant, the declining catches, and the loan extension still pending. The fact that he’d let himself fall for a woman who’d be leaving soon. Very soon.
“I’ll cover lunch,” he said.
“You’re already working a double.”
“I’ll manage.”
His mother crossed her arms and studied him with the particular intensity that had extracted confessions from him since childhood. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing’s going on. We’re short-staffed, and I need to figure out where that produce shipment is.”
“I’m not talking about the restaurant.”
Bryan turned away to check the walk-in cooler inventory, but his mother followed.
“Bryan Lucas, you look at me when I’m talking to you.”
He faced her reluctantly. She’d pulled her graying hair back in a neat bun, and she wore the same determined expression she’d worn when he was sixteen and trying to lie about where he’d been on Friday night.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You haven’t been fine since the fundraiser.” She tilted her head. “Or maybe you were fine at the fundraiser. That’s the problem. You looked happy for the first time in months, and now you’re back to this.”
“Back to what?”
“Carrying everything alone.” She reached up to pat his cheek. “I saw you dancing with Cassidy. I saw the way you looked at her.”
“She’s leaving after the festival.”
“Is she?”
“Her sabbatical ends. She’s got a whole life in Chicago.”
“And you’ve got a whole life here.” His mother smiled gently. “Sometimes those things work themselves out. But only if you give them a chance.”
The delivery buzzer sounded from the back entrance. Bryan grabbed the opportunity to escape. “That’s the produce.”
He left his mother shaking her head and went to deal with the late shipment. The driver apologized for the delay, blamed traffic on the coastal highway, and helped Bryan haul the crates in. By the time everything was stored properly and logged into inventory, the morning rush was starting.
Bryan worked the line, falling into the familiar rhythm of prep and plating. The physical work helped quiet his thoughts. He filleted fish, seasoned portions, and coordinated with his line cooks on timing. This he understood. This made sense.
Unlike whatever was happening between him and Cassidy Wren.
The lunch shift blurred past in a haze of orders and coordination. By the time the last table cleared, his feet ached and his shoulders burned from tension. He should go home and sleep before the dinner service. Instead, he found himself walking toward downtown.
Harbor Brew sat on the main road, its large windows offering a view of the marina beyond. He told himself he was just grabbing coffee, it definitely wasn’t that he was hoping to run into Cassidy. It was pure coincidence he was heading to her favorite spot during her usual afternoon work session.
He pushed through the door and scanned the room automatically. The familiar faces of the Harbor Ladies clustered at their usual table. Marty Fuller sat in the back corner with a stack of books. Jan worked behind the counter, chatting with a tourist couple about the best beaches.
And there, at the table in the far corner with her back to the door, sat Cassidy.
Relief flooded through him before he could stop it. She was here. She was still here. Her laptop was open and papers were spread across the table in organized stacks. She held her phone to her ear and nodded at something the person on the other end was saying.
Bryan started toward her table, already imagining her surprised smile when he appeared. Maybe he’d convince her to take a break. They could walk down to the pier, talk about the final festival preparations. Or maybe they’d just sit together and not talk about the festival at all.
He was halfway across the room when her voice carried over the ambient noise.
“Yes, I can have the preliminary framework to you by Monday.” She paused, listening. “The target demographic for Phillips skews younger than Marnetti, so we’ll want to adjust the messaging strategy accordingly.”
He stopped walking.
“Digital integration will be key,” she continued. “I’m thinking we lead with social media influencers before the traditional campaign rollout.” Another pause. “Yes, sir, the break did me good.”
The words hit him hard.
She was going back. Of course, she was going back. Why had he let himself believe anything different?
He turned and walked out before she could see him.
The bell above the door chimed his exit, but he didn’t look back.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he strode down Main Street without any particular destination in mind.
His feet carried him toward the marina, toward the one place that had always made sense when the rest of his life fell apart.
The Mary Catherine rocked gently at her slip, the afternoon sun warming her deck. He climbed aboard and sat in the captain’s chair, staring out at the Gulf without really seeing it.
He’d been such a fool.
All those conversations about her corporate life, the pressure, and burnout. He’d thought she was talking about leaving that behind. He’d thought when she closed her laptop to sit with him on the beach and danced with him at the fundraiser that she was choosing something different.
Choosing here. Choosing this town.
Choosing him.
But she’d just been killing time until her real life started up again. The festival was a portfolio piece. The town was a quaint distraction. And he was what? A pleasant interlude before she went back to big city life and her fancy marketing words?
Bryan’s phone buzzed. A text from Cassidy.
Committee meeting at four. Storm system headed our way. Mayor wants to discuss contingency plans.
He stared at the message. Professional. Efficient. Exactly what you’d expect from a co-chair keeping her partner informed.
Nothing more.
He typed back a single word. Fine.
His finger hovered over the send button. He wanted to type more. Wanted to ask if she’d already started packing. Wanted to demand why she’d let him fall for her when she knew all along she was leaving.
But that wasn’t fair. She’d never promised to stay. She’d been clear from the beginning about her sabbatical having an end date. He was the one who’d built castles in the air, imagining she might want to make a life here.
Bryan deleted the message and typed a new one. I’ll be there.
Professional and efficient. Exactly what a co-chair should send.
He spent the next hour on the boat, ostensibly checking equipment but mostly just sitting. The sky remained optimistically blue with no sign of the storm system Cassidy had mentioned. The Gulf waters rolled with gentle waves.
But a storm was coming. Of course it was.
At ten to four, Bryan forced himself off the boat and headed to the Bayview General Store. He arrived exactly on time, not early enough to have to make small talk, not late enough to draw attention.
Cassidy was already there, standing near the front with papers in hand and that focused expression she wore when she was in professional mode.
She’d pulled her hair back and was wearing one of those crisp blouses she’d favored when she first arrived before she’d softened into linen and casual cotton.
She looked up when he entered and smiled. “Hey. I was hoping we could talk before the meeting starts.”
“I’m here for the meeting.” He moved past her to take a seat in the back row.
Her smile faltered. “Okay. I just thought we could coordinate on the storm response plan.”
“I’m sure you’ve got it handled.”
Mayor West called the meeting to order before Cassidy could respond.
He watched her stand at the front, her professional mask firmly in place as she walked everyone through the weather forecast. A storm system was intensifying in the Gulf, expected to make landfall tomorrow, a day before the festival.
Heavy rain, high winds, and possible flooding in low-lying areas.
“We need to decide if we’re postponing,” Mayor West said.
“We can’t postpone,” Dorothy spoke up. “We’ve already got vendors traveling in. The tourism board is sending representatives.”
“We also can’t hold a festival in a tropical storm,” Marty pointed out.
Cassidy pulled up a detailed weather map on her laptop. “The storm should pass through quickly. If we’re lucky, we can still have the festival as planned.”
“That’s a lot of contingency planning for a maybe,” Bryan heard himself say.
Everyone turned to look at him. Cassidy’s expression was carefully neutral.
“The forecast is pretty clear,” she said evenly. “We’re definitely getting the storm. The question is how we adapt.”
“Right. Adaptation.” Bryan stood. “That’s what you’re good at. Adapting to local conditions until it’s time to move on to the next project.”
Cassidy’s eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m sure you’ve got the strategy all worked out.” He got up and headed for the door. “I’ve got to get back to the restaurant.”
“Bryan, wait.” Cassidy started after him, but Mayor West interrupted.
“We really need both co-chairs for this discussion.”
Bryan kept walking. He heard Cassidy call his name again, but he didn’t stop. He pushed through the door and outside, leaving her to handle the meeting alone.
The way he’d be handling everything alone soon enough.
He made it halfway down the block before his phone started buzzing. Cassidy calling. He declined it and kept walking. She called again. He declined again.
A text appeared: What was that?
He shoved his phone in his pocket and headed home. His small house sat three blocks from the waterfront, a modest bungalow that had belonged to his grandmother. He let himself in and stood in the empty living room, surrounded by furniture that had been in his family for generations.
This was his life. This house, the restaurant, the boat, the town. This was what he had to offer.
And it wasn’t enough. Not compared to corner offices and big city life.
His phone rang again. This time it was his mother.
“Did you just walk out of the committee meeting?” she demanded.
“I had to get back to the restaurant.”
“The one you’re not at right now? That restaurant?”
He sank onto the couch. “Mom, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“But Bryan—”
“I’m fine. Mom, I’ve got to go.” He hung up the phone and turned it off for good measure.
The house felt too quiet. He’d let himself hope. That was the real mistake. He’d let himself imagine that someone like Cassidy Wren might want to build a life in a town like Starlight Shores with a man like him.
But she’d been right that first day they met. He was just a guy trying to hold onto the past while the world moved forward without him.
And she was always meant for bigger things than this small town could offer.