Chapter 18 #2
She grabbed his arm before he could turn away. Pulled him close. Kissed him right there in the middle of Main Square, in front of half the town.
"What was that for?"
"For being practical." She was almost smiling now. "I'll go talk to Patricia."
Patricia Odom stood on the platform with the ceremonial switch in her hand and looked out at the crowd.
She cleared her throat. Glanced down at the switch. Back up at the crowd.
"So," she said. "I had a speech prepared.
It was about resilience and community and all the things you're supposed to say at events like these.
" She paused. "But half our lights aren't working, and I'm told the electrician is stuck in traffic on Highway 42, and honestly, I think we've all had enough of things not going according to plan this year. "
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.
"Here's what I know." Patricia's voice steadied.
"This town has been through something hard.
We trusted people we shouldn't have trusted.
We lost people we shouldn't have lost. And we're still standing here, in the cold, waiting to see a tree light up.
Because that's what we do. We show up. Even when half the lights are broken. "
She looked at the switch in her hand.
"This is half a tree. The rest will come when the electrician gets here. I figure that's about right for where we are as a town." She flipped the switch. "We'll take what we can get and wait for the rest."
The lights came on. Half the tree blazed against the darkening sky, the empty branches stark beside the glowing ones.
For a moment, no one moved. Then someone started clapping. The applause spread, building, until the whole square was filled with it.
Ronan stood at the back of the crowd and watched. Around him, people hugged each other, wiped their eyes, lifted children onto their shoulders to see. An old man next to him was crying openly, not bothering to hide it.
This was what he'd never understood about small towns. The way they turned ordinary moments into something larger. The way a half-lit tree could mean something, not because anyone planned it, but because people needed it to.
The electrician arrived at 5:47.
By six o'clock, the whole tree was blazing. But people kept talking about the half-lit version. Someone had already posted a photo to the town's social media page with the caption: "We'll take what we can get."
Lila found him near the cider stand, two cups in her hands.
"Patricia wants to make that the town motto."
"It's not a bad motto."
"It's a terrible motto. It sounds defeatist." But she was smiling. "She also wants to know if you're available for crisis management consulting."
"I'm not actually a consultant."
"I told her you’ve retired." Lila handed him a cup. The cider was warm, too sweet, exactly the kind of thing he would never have chosen for himself. "What do you want to do now?"
"Now?"
"With your life. Now that you're retired from consulting, or whatever, and living in a cottage with a woman who has too much stuff." She bumped her shoulder against his. "What's next?"
He thought about it. The question wasn't casual. She was asking something real, and she deserved a real answer.
"I don't know," he said. "I've never not known before. There was always a mission. A target. A next thing."
"And now?"
"Now there's just... this." He gestured vaguely at the market, the tree, the people milling around them. "Days. One after another. No objective."
"That scares you."
"Terrifies me."
She nodded slowly. "My dad used to say that the hardest part of civilian life wasn't the boredom. It was the freedom. Having to decide for yourself what mattered, instead of someone telling you."
"Your dad was in the military?"
"No. But he had friends who were. He listened to them." She took a sip of her cider. "He was good at listening."
"You got that from him."
"Maybe." She looked out at the crowd. "I've been thinking about what I want. After the trial. After all of this is really over."
"And?"
"I want to stay in Blossom Springs. I want to keep working for the town, but maybe not in permits. Maybe something bigger." She paused. "Patricia mentioned the council seat again. The one Warren offered me before everything happened."
"Are you going to take it?"
"I don't know. Part of me thinks I should stay small. Keep my head down. Not draw attention." She turned to look at him. "But another part of me thinks that's exactly what they'd want. The people who killed my father. They'd want me to be afraid. To shrink."
"What do you want?"
"I want to matter." The words came out fierce, certain. "I want to do something that makes a difference. Not just process permits and plan events. Actually change things."
Ronan looked at her. The lights from the tree reflected in her eyes. The wind had pulled more hair loose from her ponytail, and there was color in her cheeks from the cold.
"Then do it."
"Just like that?"
"Why not? You've already taken down a corruption ring. A council seat should be easy."
She laughed. A real laugh. "That's not how it works."
"That's exactly how it works. You decide what you want. You go after it. You deal with the obstacles when they show up." He finished his cider and tossed the cup in a nearby trash can. "You're not someone who shrinks, Lila. You never have been."
She didn't say anything. Just looked at him for a long moment, something shifting behind her eyes.
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You said you don't know what's next. But you must want something."
He thought about the question. Really thought about it.
He was quiet long enough that she looked over at him. "There are things from before. Operations. People I went up against who aren't in custody." He kept his eyes on the water. "One in particular. I'm not going to pretend there's no risk to you — to this. I want you to know that going in."
She watched him. "How bad?"
"Unknown. That's the honest answer."
Lila was quiet for a moment. "Thank you for telling me."
"You're not scared?"
"I'm terrified. But I've been terrified for five years. I can function in it." She shifted to face him. "Don't use this as a reason to push me away."
"I want to learn how to be bored," he said finally.
"I want to have days where nothing happens, and that's okay.
I want to fix things around the cottage and argue with Sid about boat lifts and drink terrible cider at holiday markets.
" He met her eyes. "I want to figure out who I am when I'm not the guy with the mission. "
"That sounds hard."
"Harder than anything I've ever done."
"But worth it?"
He reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were cold. He warmed them between his palms.
"Ask me in a year."
They walked home along the beach.
The market was winding down behind them, the vendors packing up their wares, the fully-lit tree glowing against the night sky. The sand was cold beneath Ronan's shoes, the wind off the Gulf carrying the salt-sharp smell of winter.
Lila had taken off her heels and was carrying them in one hand, her bare feet leaving prints in the wet sand near the waterline.
She'd been quiet since they left the square, but it wasn't an uncomfortable quiet.
More like she was working something out in her head.
He reached his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
Kissing her temple his heart stuttered. This was his life now. It was incredible.
"I'm going to do it," she said finally.
"The council seat?"
"Yeah." She kicked at a shell in the sand. "I'm going to tell Patricia yes. After the trial. When things settle down."
"Good."
"You think so?"
"I think you'll be good at it. I think you'll hate parts of it. I think you'll make people angry and make mistakes and wonder why you ever said yes." He glanced at her. "And I think you'll do it anyway, because that's who you are."
She was quiet for a few steps. Then: "Will you help me? When I'm in over my head?"
"I don't know anything about town councils."
"You know about strategy. About reading people. About figuring out what someone wants before they say it out loud." She stopped walking and turned to face him. "I'm not asking you to do it for me. I'm asking you to be there. To tell me when I'm being an idiot. To help me see what I'm missing."
"That I can do."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He pulled her close, her shoes bumping against his leg. "I'm good at telling people when they're being idiots."
"I've noticed."
The cottage came into view around the bend, the string lights casting their warm glow across the porch. The boxes were still stacked by the door, waiting to be unpacked. The bookshelves were still empty, waiting to be filled.
Tomorrow, they'd unpack the rest of her things. Put his father's books on a shelf where he could see them. Figure out where the coffee maker should go and whose towels would hang in the bathroom, and all the small negotiations of two lives becoming one.
But tonight, they just walked up the porch steps together, the sand still clinging to their shoes, the sound of the waves fading behind them.
Lila unlocked the door with her key. Her key. Still strange, still new.
"Home," she said.
Ronan followed her inside and closed the door behind them.