Chapter 25
The day of the festival, the sun broke through the clouds as if it were singing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Bryan stood at the edge of the harbor, watching the water settle into calm after the storm’s fury, leaving behind clear skies and the sharp, clean scent of salt air.
Festival banners that had survived the wind snapped cheerfully in the breeze.
Volunteers moved through the downtown area, sweeping up any remaining debris and setting up vendor tables with the kind of easy cooperation that came from generations of weathering Gulf storms together.
They’d done it. Despite everything, the Starlight Harbor Festival would open on time.
Pride and relief surged through him, along with a connection that had roots in his grandfather’s stories and his father’s steady hands teaching him to tie proper knots on the Mary Catherine’s deck.
“Coffee’s ready at the booth if you want some.” His mother appeared at his elbow, already dressed in her festival volunteer shirt. She looked tired but satisfied, the way she always did after a long night at The Sandpiper during tourist season.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll grab some in a minute.”
“You should eat something too. It’s going to be a long day.”
“I will.”
His mother didn’t move. Bryan knew that stance, the particular quality of her silence when she had something to say and was waiting for the right moment to say it.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just watching my son pretend he’s not scanning the crowd for a certain marketing executive.”
Heat crept up his neck. “I’m checking the setup. Making sure everything’s in place.”
“Uh huh.” His mother’s smile was gentle. “She’s over by the main stage. Been there since dawn, organizing the sound check.”
Bryan didn’t ask how his mother knew who he was looking for. His mother had always possessed an uncanny ability to read her children, a talent that had been both comforting and deeply inconvenient throughout his life.
“I need to check the vendor permits,” he said.
“Bryan.”
Something in her tone made him stop. His mother reached up and straightened his collar, a gesture so familiar it made his throat ache.
“You know you should tell her,” she said quietly.
“Tell her what?”
“How you feel about her.”
The words hung in the salt air between them.
He looked away, toward the festival grounds where early arrivals were already claiming spots along the parade route.
A group of kids chased each other around the gazebo while their parents set up folding chairs.
Captain Roy sat on his usual bench, surveying the harbor with the satisfied expression of someone who’d seen seventy festivals and expected to see seventy more.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” Bryan said. “She’s got a life in Chicago. A career. That guy showed up yesterday and offered her everything she’s worked for.”
“And she didn’t leave with him.”
“Not yet.”
“Bryan Lucas, I didn’t raise you to be a coward.”
The sharpness in her voice made him turn.
His mother’s eyes were fierce, the same look she’d worn when she’d told him at fifteen that he was going to apologize to the Harrison boy for that ridiculous fight, and again at twenty-three when she’d insisted he was capable of running The Sandpiper after his father’s stroke.
“I’m not being a coward,” he said. “I’m being realistic. She’s got a corner office waiting for her. Everything she’s worked years to achieve. What am I supposed to do, ask her to give that up for a struggling restaurant and a fishing boat that barely makes expenses?”
“You’re supposed to tell her the truth and let her make her own choice.”
“I already know what choice she’ll make.”
“Do you?” His mother crossed her arms. “Because from where I’m standing, I see a woman who turned down a job offer to stay and finish a festival.
Who worked through a tropical storm to help a town she barely knew two months ago.
Who looks at you like you hung the moon when she thinks no one’s watching. ”
Bryan’s heart kicked against his ribs. “Mom.”
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t point out that you’re in love with her? Don’t mention that she might feel the same way? Don’t suggest that you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life by letting her leave without a fight?”
The word hung between them. Love. Bryan hadn’t let himself think it, much less say it out loud. But standing here in the morning sun with the festival coming to life around them, he couldn’t deny it anymore.
He loved Cassidy Wren.
Loved her sharp mind and sharper tongue, and the way she’d transformed from a rigid executive in business suits to someone who’d kicked off her heels to wrestle tent poles in a storm.
Loved how she listened to Dorothy’s recipe stories with genuine interest and how she’d learned every vendor’s name.
Loved the vulnerability in her eyes when she admitted she didn’t know what she wanted, and the fierce determination while she figured it out.
He loved her, and she was probably leaving in two days.
“Even if you’re right,” he said quietly, “even if she does feel something, I can’t ask her to stay. Her whole life is in Chicago.”
“Her whole old life? Seems to me she’s been building a new one here.”
“For two months on a sabbatical. That’s not the same as actually choosing this place.”
“Then give her a reason to choose it.”
He shook his head. “What if I tell her and she leaves anyway?”
“Then at least you’ll know you tried.” His mother’s voice softened. “Baby, I watched you build walls around your heart so nothing sidelines you from what you think is your responsibility to your family. To the town. But maybe it’s time to let your guard down. To open up.”
Before Bryan could respond, a commotion near the main stage caught his attention.
He turned to see David Wilde, Cassidy’s boss, standing near the sound booth in the same expensive suit he’d worn yesterday, now slightly rumpled.
The man looked profoundly out of place among the festival volunteers in their casual clothes and sun hats.
And there was Cassidy, clipboard in hand, dealing with him.
He couldn’t hear the conversation from this distance, but he could read her body language.
The straight spine, the professional smile, and the subtle way she angled herself to keep Wilde at arm’s length.
This was Corporate Cassidy, the version of her he’d met at that first disastrous committee meeting.
Then Sally Morris approached with a question about the recipe competition setup, and everything about Cassidy changed.
Her shoulders relaxed, her smile turned genuine, and she touched Sally’s arm with easy affection while they talked.
When Sally laughed at something Cassidy said, Bryan saw the woman who’d sat at his family’s dinner table and charmed his mother with questions about their grandmother’s sauce recipe.
Two versions of the same person. The executive and the friend. The corporate strategist and the woman who’d honestly admitted to not knowing what she wanted.
Which one would win?
“You see it too, don’t you?” his mother murmured.
He nodded. He saw it. Saw Cassidy navigating between two worlds, two versions of herself. Saw the strain of it in the tight set of her jaw when Wilde said something that made her hands clench on her clipboard.
“I have to get back to the restaurant,” his mom said.
“Lucy’s handling the first shift, but we’ll be slammed by noon.
But Bryan, listen to me. That woman over there is fighting a battle with herself, and she’s doing it alone.
Maybe what she needs is someone in her corner.
Someone who sees her, really sees her, and wants her anyway.
All of her, not just the polished executive or the festival coordinator, but the whole complicated person. ”
She kissed his cheek and headed toward The Sandpiper, leaving Bryan alone with his thoughts and the growing crowd.