Chapter 1 Homecoming #6
“Start with sleep,” Julia said. “You’re no use if you fall over halfway through saving the inn.”
“Bossy,” Emma muttered fondly.
Claire stepped out of the kitchen and into the dimmer light of the hallway. The murmur of her sisters’ voices followed her, warm and threaded with something that might—if she were brave enough to name it—be called hope.
The lobby was quieter now. The older couple had gone up to their room.
The young mother had vanished, presumably to coax her baby into sleep.
The front desk lamp cast a golden circle over the guest book and the small ceramic bowl where Mamma had always kept wrapped caramels “for anyone who needed a little sweetness.”
Claire paused, fingers resting on the edge of the desk.
The inn hummed softly around her. The creak of settling beams. The distant rush of the tide. The faint clatter of pans as Emma rummaged deeper into the cabinets.
Give that yes, one year, the letter had said.
She straightened, reached for the door handle—
And stopped.
Through the glass, she could see Walker at the bottom of the steps, half-lit by the porch light. He stood with one foot on the first stair, as if unsure whether to come up. His jacket was unzipped, sea breeze tugging at the edges. He looked like he belonged there and also like he was trying not to.
For some reason, that made her breathe easier.
She opened the door. The air outside was cooler now, carrying the briny tang of low tide and the distant hum of a boat’s engine.
“Thought you’d gone home,” she said.
“Needed to fix a loose board on the dock before the night ferry comes in,” he said. “Figured I’d check if you were still standing upright.”
“I am.”
He studied her face. “You look… less like you’re about to bolt.”
“That’s a low bar.”
“Still counts.”
She stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her. They simply stood there, side by side, looking out at the dark water. The clouds had thinned just enough to reveal a patch of sky near the horizon, a few faint stars pricking through.
“You heard?” she asked. “About the year?”
“Small town,” he said. “News travels.”
“Emma calls us a meteor strike team.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course she does.”
“She wants T-shirts.”
“I’ll pretend you’re going to say no.”
“I’m not,” Claire admitted. “But I’ll make her at least hire a decent designer.”
He glanced at her. “So you’re staying.”
“For now.”
The words felt strange and right at the same time.
“Your mamma would be happy,” he said.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better or more pressured?”
“Depends on the day,” he answered. “Today I’m going with better.”
They fell quiet again. The bay breathed in and out. A gull cried somewhere in the dark.
“Dalton mentioned film crews,” Claire said, surprising herself. “Movies. People falling in love under string lights and meteor showers.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like I said, scouts sniff around. Your mamma always told them no.”
“She might not have, if it were us,” Claire murmured.
Walker turned, leaning his shoulder against the porch post so he could see her better. “Is that you saying you’ve thought about it?”
“I design spaces people want to be in,” she said. “Starfall Bay is already one of those spaces. The inn… could be more. Weddings. Retreats. Maybe one day… something on camera. Stories that start here and go out into the world.”
“Seems fitting,” he said. “Stars fall here. Stories rise.”
She met his gaze. “One thing at a time. First the year. Then the festival. Then… we’ll see.”
“Fair enough.”
He reluctantly pushed away from the post. “I should get back to the dock before the ferry pulls in. If someone falls through that loose board, my insurance goes up, and your year gets a lot more complicated.”
She almost told him to wait, to stay, to walk the dock with her like they had countless nights as teenagers. But some instincts were meant to unfurl slowly, not be yanked open.
“Thanks, Walker,” she said instead. “For looking out for the inn.”
He gave a small nod. “For the record, Hastings… I’m glad you’re here.”
He jogged down the steps, footsteps soft on the gravel, and disappeared around the side of the building, leaving the air vibrating with all the things neither of them had said.
Claire stayed where she was for another moment, eyes on the patch of sky above the water.
A faint streak of light traced across it—quick, barely there.
Too early for the official Starfall. A stray meteor or maybe just her imagination.
Either way, she let herself take it as a sign.
Tomorrow would bring budget meetings and bank calls and a thousand decisions she hadn’t planned to make. The year ahead would demand more of her than she knew how to give.
But tonight, standing on the porch of the inn that had written the first chapters of her life, with her sisters in the kitchen and the sea at her feet, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
Not certainty.
Not control.
Possibility.
She turned, opened the door, and stepped back inside.
The Bayview Inn had a year. So did she.
Whatever story the stars were about to write, she was finally ready to stand under the sky and see it begin.