Chapter 9
Maya
I'm pretending to study the coffee menu at June's bakery like it contains the secrets of the universe, when really I'm avoiding eye contact with literally everyone in Willowbridge.
Apparently, making a public not-so-subtle declaration about Lucas Mason means I'm now the subject of every conversation within a five-mile radius.
"The usual?" June asks, barely contained glee in her voice. She's dying to interrogate me about last night.
"Just coffee. Black. Strong enough to erase poor life choices."
"Aw, honey." She pours with theatrical sympathy. "Was it really that bad?"
I think about the way Lucas looked at me after I told him I wasn't backing down. Eyes dark and intense, like I'd issued a challenge he was eager to accept. The way we stood there staring until I panicked and fled, muttering about early mornings and needing sleep.
"It was... complicated."
"Complicated good or complicated bad?"
Before I can answer, the door chimes and Lucas walks in, looking infuriatingly well-rested and completely unbothered by my startled-deer impression last night.
"Morning." He nods to June before his gaze settles on me. "Maya."
The way he says my name makes my stomach flipflop.
"Lucas." I grip my mug like a lifeline. "Hi."
"Sleep well?"
Layers beneath the innocent question. Did I sleep well after declaring I wasn't backing down? After looking him in the eye and essentially saying I wanted him, complications and all?
No. I spent the night staring at Harper's guest room ceiling. Apparently fleeing to friends' houses after emotional declarations is my new coping mechanism. Alternating between replaying our conversation and convincing myself I hadn't made the biggest mistake of my life.
"Like a baby," I lie.
"Good." His mouth quirks like he knows exactly how full of shit I am. "Because we've got the Harvest Festival planning meeting this morning. Town hall. Ten o'clock."
I blink. "We?"
"You volunteered to help with digital marketing and promotion. Remember?"
I absolutely do not remember volunteering for anything, which means either I blacked out during last night's emotional revelation or someone volunteered me without my knowledge.
"June," I say slowly, turning to face my traitorous friend.
"What? You mentioned looking for ways to contribute to the community. I may have mentioned your tech skills to Mrs. Patterson, who runs the festival committee." June's smile is pure innocence. "She was thrilled. Their current promotional strategy involves photocopied flyers and word of mouth."
"And you thought I should fix that."
"I thought you should have a reason to stay busy. And involved. And..." She glances meaningfully at Lucas. "Collaborative."
For fuck's sake. My friends are actively sabotaging my emotional self-preservation.
"It's a good opportunity," Lucas says, something in his tone making me look at him more carefully. "For you to get involved. Show people you're serious about staying."
There it is. The challenge underneath his casual words. Last night I told him I was done running, and now he's testing whether I meant it.
"Fine." I drain my cup and stand. "Festival planning it is. But I'm not promising to be cheerful about it."
"Wouldn't dream of asking you to be," Lucas replies, but he's smiling now. Actually smiling, transforming his face from handsome to devastating.
We walk toward the door together, and I'm aware of every person watching us. Mrs. Henderson gives us a thumbs-up. Mr. Peterson winks at Lucas like they're sharing masculine secrets. The teenage barista looks like she's witnessing peak romantic tension.
"They're all staring," I mutter as we step outside.
"Let them stare." Lucas falls into step beside me, close enough that our arms brush. "You're the one who said you weren't backing down."
"I also said a lot of other things last night that I'm currently regretting."
"All of them?"
I glance at him sideways. "I'm still deciding."
"Fair enough." We're walking slowly, neither in a hurry to reach whatever awkward public teamwork awaits. "But Maya?"
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you said them."
Just like that, my careful damage control crumbles. Because Lucas Mason just admitted he's glad I declared war on my self-preservation instincts.
This is either going to be the best decision I've ever made, or it's going to destroy me completely.
Probably both.
The Willowbridge Town Hall looks exactly like it did when I was seventeen. Same folding chairs, same fluorescent lighting that makes everyone look ill, same faint smell of industrial coffee and bureaucracy.
What's different is that instead of slouching in the back row with Harper and June, rolling my eyes at civic duty, I'm walking toward the front like I actually want to be here. I don't.
"Maya! Lucas!" Mrs. Patterson waves us over with way too much enthusiasm.. "Perfect timing. We were just discussing the digital marketing disaster. I mean, challenge."
She gestures toward a folding table covered in the saddest promotional materials I've ever seen. Photocopied flyers with clip art pumpkins. Hand-drawn posters advertising "Fall Fun!" in rainbow marker. A signup sheet that looks typed on an actual typewriter.
"This is our current marketing strategy," Mrs. Patterson says proudly. "Very authentic. Very... grassroots."
"Very 1987," I mutter, and Lucas coughs to cover a laugh.
"Maya's going to help us modernize," he says diplomatically. "Bring us into the twenty-first century."
"The twenty-first century sounds expensive," pipes up Mr. Henley from the treasurer position. "The budget's already tight."
"Most digital marketing is free," I explain, settling into the chair Lucas pulls out for me. The gentlemanly gesture destroys my concentration completely. "Social media, email newsletters, basic website updates. We just need to leverage platforms people already use."
"Leverage," Mrs. Patterson repeats reverently. "Very professional."
Lucas sits beside me. He smells incredible. Distracting and entirely unwelcome when I'm trying to appear competent.
"So what's the timeline?" I ask, forcing myself to focus on the disaster spread across the table instead of how Lucas's presence seems to consume all available oxygen.
"Six weeks until the festival," Mrs. Patterson says. "We're behind schedule because our usual coordinator moved to Florida."
"Six weeks is plenty." My mind spins with possibilities. "We can create a comprehensive digital strategy. Social media campaign, email marketing, maybe even a simple website if budget allows."
"Website?" Mr. Henley looks like I suggested space travel. "Seems like overkill for a small-town festival."
"Actually," Lucas says, surprising me with his support, "a lot of our bar customers ask about local events. Having everything in one place online would be useful."
The fact that he's backing me up sends warmth flooding through me. This is what partnership looks like. Having someone in your corner, supporting your ideas, making you look good when it matters.
Did Derek ever do anything like that?
"If Maya thinks we need a website, we should listen," says Mrs. Wilson from decorations. "She's the expert."
Expert. The word settles over me like a comfortable sweater. In Seattle, I was another corporate cog. Here, I'm the expert. The person people turn to for solutions.
"I can have a basic site up by tomorrow," I hear myself saying. "Nothing fancy, just event information, schedule, vendor listings. Easy to update and maintain."
"Perfect!" Mrs. Patterson claps. "See, I told everyone you were exactly what we needed."
She says it like I'm already part of the community. Like I belong here, contributing and planning for the future. The assumption should make me panic. I'm not ready to commit, not ready for roots that might need tearing up again.
Instead, it makes me feel something I haven't felt in years. Useful. Valued. Home.
Lucas catches my eye and smiles, and I realize he can see it too. The way I'm starting to fit into this place, this life that wasn't planned but suddenly feels impossible to leave.
Which is exactly what makes it terrifying.
"So," Mrs. Patterson continues, consulting her clipboard with military intensity, "Maya will handle digital promotion. Lucas, you're coordinating vendors for food and beverage logistics. And you'll both work together on the entertainment schedule."
Work together. Of course.
"The entertainment schedule?" I ask, trying to sound professional instead of like someone whose pulse just accelerated.
"Live music, activities for kids, that sort of thing." Mrs. Patterson waves vaguely. "Lucas usually handles it, but we thought you might have ideas about... engaging content?"
"I can help with that." The words come out before I think them through, but I'm already thinking about possibilities. "We could live-stream performances, create social media challenges around festival activities, maybe set up a photo booth with a custom hashtag."
Lucas turns to look at me, pride or admiration in his expression. Like he's seeing me in a new light and likes what he's seeing.
"That sounds perfect," he says. "I know local bands who'd be interested. We could coordinate digital promotion with the booking schedule."
"Exactly." I lean forward, enthusiasm overriding awareness of how close we're sitting. "If we plan it right, we could get people posting about the festival before they arrive. User-generated content is incredibly powerful for community events."
"User-generated content," Mr. Henley repeats slowly. "Is that expensive?"
"It's free," Lucas and I say simultaneously, then look at each other with matching grins.
The moment stretches between us, warm and electric, and I realize the rest of the committee is watching with barely concealed delight. Mrs. Patterson looks like Christmas came early.
"Well," she says brightly, "it sounds like you two have everything well in hand. Maya, dear, we'll need you to stay through the festival, of course. Can't promote an event and then disappear before it happens."