Chapter 1 #2
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lila caught his expression. "I know what you're thinking. Too perfect. Like a movie set."
"I wasn't thinking that."
"Liar." But she said it without heat. "Everyone thinks it when they first see it.
And honestly? It kind of is. The entire downtown is a preserved historical district.
There are codes about paint colors, signage, and which streetlights we're allowed to use.
Some people think it's charming. Others think it's oppressive. "
"Which do you think?"
She considered the question as they walked, her stride brisk enough that he had to adjust his pace to match.
"I think it's home. Which means I see all the cracks that the tourists don't notice.
The building on Fourth Street that's been empty for three years because the owner can't afford the renovation requirements.
The families who've been here for generations but can barely make rent because property values keep climbing.
" She shrugged. "It's beautiful, it's broken, and it's mine. That's how I think of it."
They'd reached the town square. A bandstand in the center, surrounded by manicured grass and benches occupied by elderly couples and young mothers with strollers.
Lila gestured toward the bandstand. "The mayor's welcome speech happens here on Saturday morning. Then the parade starts at eleven. Route goes down Main Street, turns at Harbor Road, ends at the waterfront."
Ronan scanned the square automatically. Sight lines. Cover points. The narrow alley between two buildings that would be perfect for someone who wanted to disappear. The second-floor windows of the shops that faced the square—any one of them could be a vantage point.
"How many people are you expecting?"
"For the welcome speech? Maybe a thousand. For the parade?" She blew out a breath. "Three thousand. Maybe more. It's the biggest parade we've ever done."
"What's your crowd control plan?"
"Barriers along the route. Volunteers at the intersections. The police will be on patrol, plus whatever additional support you recommend."
"Two officers can't manage three thousand people."
"I know." She sounded tired. "That's why you're here."
They walked the parade route together. Lila knew every building, every corner, every business owner who waved at her through their shop windows.
She introduced him to the woman who ran the antique store, the man who owned the hardware shop, and the teenager behind the counter at the ice cream parlor.
This is Ronan. He's doing security for the centennial. Be nice to him.
They were nice. Friendly, curious, exactly what you'd expect from small-town residents meeting an outsider. But Ronan noticed the way some of them looked at him—evaluating, assessing. Trying to figure out what he was really doing here.
They turned onto Harbor Road, and the breeze picked up, carrying salt and the distant sound of boat rigging clanking in the wind.
"The harbor festival is Sunday," Lila said. "Everything happens on the waterfront. Food vendors, boat races, and fireworks at nine. It's always our biggest crowd."
"And your highest risk."
"Because of the water?"
"Because of everything. Open space. Multiple entry points. Fireworks involve pyrotechnics, which means controlled explosions in a crowd of people. You've got food vendors, which means propane tanks and cooking equipment. You've got boats, which means—"
"Okay, okay." She held up a hand. "I get it. Everything is a potential disaster."
"I'm not trying to scare you."
"You're doing a great job anyway."
He stopped walking. After a few steps, she stopped too, turning back to look at him.
"I'm trying to help," he said. "That's my job. Identify the risks so we can mitigate them."
"I know." She was silhouetted against the harbor, the sunlight catching the loose strands of her hair.
"And I appreciate it, I really do. It's just—" She sighed.
"I've been working on this for two years.
Two years of planning and negotiating and convincing people that this celebration matters.
And every time someone points out another thing that could go wrong, it feels like—"
"Like the work isn't enough."
"Yeah. Exactly."
"The work is never enough. That's not a criticism of you—it's just reality. Bad things happen no matter how much you plan. All you can do is prepare for what you can anticipate and build flexibility into the system for what you can't."
"Is that from a textbook somewhere?"
"Experience."
She studied him for a long moment. The wind off the water pushed at her hair, her clothes. She didn't seem to notice.
"You're not what I expected," she said finally.
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Clipboard. Checklist. That tone that security people use when they're telling you everything you've done wrong." She paused. "You actually seem like you're listening."
"I am listening."
"Most people don't."
"I'm not most people."
It came out more honest than he'd intended. More intimate. The kind of thing you said when you forgot you were playing a role.
Lila blinked. For a second, he thought she might call him on it—ask what he meant, push him to explain. Instead, she said, "The marina is this way. I should show you where the boat races start."
She turned and walked toward the water, and Ronan followed, grateful for the reprieve.
But he could feel it—the ground shifting beneath him. The careful boundaries he'd drawn around this mission were blurring at the edges.
She was supposed to be a resource. An access point.
She was not supposed to feel like a person he could talk to.
By the time they finished the tour, it was past one o'clock. Lila's phone had buzzed at least a dozen times, but she'd ignored every notification except one—a text that made her grimace and type a quick response.
"I have to get back," she said as they returned to the town square. "Budget meeting in twenty minutes. Very exciting stuff. You're welcome to join if you enjoy watching people argue about napkin costs."
"I'll pass."
"Wise choice." She hesitated, her hand on the strap of her bag. "This was helpful. Really. I know I complained a lot, but—it's good to have someone who takes this seriously."
"That's what I'm here for."
"Is it?" She tilted her head, studying him. "I haven't figured you out yet, Ronan Cross. But I will."
"Let me know when you do."
She smiled—that full-face smile he'd glimpsed at the bakery yesterday, the one that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Deal."
She walked away, toward the town hall, disappearing through the front doors without looking back.
Ronan stood in the square, watching the building's windows.
Three weeks until the centennial. Three weeks to investigate, gather evidence, and determine whether Blossom Springs was a hub or a coincidence.
Three weeks to figure out what Lila Bennett had noticed that she wasn't telling him.
Three weeks to keep his distance from a woman who made him want to close it.
His phone buzzed. Caleb.
Meeting go okay?
Ronan typed back:
She's smart. Suspicious. And she's noticed something about the property records.
Something she told you?
Something I saw in her files. Margin notes. Questions about irregularities.
A pause. Then:
Interesting. Can you get access?
Another pause.
Working on it,
he typed. And left it at that.
He walked to his rental car, parked on a side street where he'd have a clear view of the town hall exits. Old habit. Always know who's coming and going.
He sat behind the wheel and didn't start the engine. Just watched. Thought about Lila's sharp eyes and sharper questions. The way she'd said, “I haven't figured you out yet,” like it was a challenge she intended to win.
She was going to be a problem.
The dangerous kind.
The kind you didn't see coming until it was too late.