Chapter 8 Lights, Camera, Starfall
The filming day dawned crisp and bright, the kind of sharp winter morning that made every edge of Starfall Bay look newly cut. Claire woke to a sky brushed in pale gold and a nervous flutter in her stomach that refused to settle, no matter how many deep breaths she took.
So this is what it feels like when your life becomes part of someone else’s story, she thought as she pulled on dark jeans, a soft cream sweater, and the navy jacket that made her feel just a little more put-together than she felt inside.
She tied her hair back in a low, loose twist and stood in front of the mirror for a long moment, studying the woman looking back at her.
Not just a designer. Not just a daughter who came back out of duty. Someone in between. Someone still deciding.
Downstairs, the inn was already awake. Voices drifted up from the lobby—Julia’s clipped efficiency, Emma’s bubbling excitement. The faint rhythm of hurried footsteps told Claire that the morning had started without waiting for her nerves to catch up.
She headed down the stairs, one hand skimming the smooth rail that Walker had helped sand last spring. When she reached the bottom, she paused to take in the scene.
The lobby looked beautiful.
The old Bayview sign over the desk had been polished until the carved letters caught the morning light.
Framed photos of Starfall Bay now lined the once-bare wall near the stairs—Emma’s handiwork from yesterday’s whirlwind tour of town with her phone camera.
The woven rug lay flat, every corner anchored, every thread looking somehow more intentional than it had ever appeared to Claire in all her years growing up here.
Julia stood behind the desk in a deep green blouse, hair pulled back neatly, a stack of neatly paper-clipped forms in front of her. Emma darted between the front door and the dining room, arms full of small details—an extra lantern, a dish of candies for the film crew, a small vase of fir sprigs.
“You’re up,” Emma said, spotting Claire. “How do you feel?”
“Nervous,” Claire admitted. “And strangely… okay.”
“Those can coexist,” Julia said without looking up from her tablet. “I’ve decided that’s our new normal.”
“What time are they coming?” Claire asked.
“Ten,” Julia replied. “Which means—”
As if on cue, the front door swung open. A rush of cold air swept in along with the sound of van doors closing outside.
“They’re early,” Emma whispered.
A woman in her thirties stepped into the lobby, carrying a camera bag over one shoulder and a clipboard in her hand.
Her dark hair was pulled into a practical bun, and her eyes flicked immediately to the sign, the front desk, the living room beyond.
Behind her came a tall man with a camera strapped to his chest and a shorter man with a case of lighting equipment.
“Hi,” the woman said, smiling warmly. “You must be the Hastings sisters.”
“Yes,” Claire said, stepping forward. “I’m Claire. This is Julia. That’s Emma.”
The woman offered her hand. “I’m Mariah,” she said. “I head up the field crew for the festival media team. This is Jonah, our primary camera, and Theo, lighting and sound.”
Jonah gave a friendly nod. Theo lifted a hand in greeting without setting down his equipment.
“We’re so glad you’re here,” Claire said, surprising herself with how much she meant it.
“We’re glad too,” Mariah said. “The committee’s been talking about your Wish Weekend nonstop. It’s nice to finally see the place in person. It already feels… special.”
Emma clasped her hands at her chest. “I like her.”
“We’re going to start with some establishing shots,” Mariah continued. “Lobby, sign, exterior. Then we’ll move into the living room and the chest, and finally the porch. We’ll save the interview for later, once everyone’s warmed up a bit.”
“Good plan,” Julia said. “We have all your forms ready to go. And local guests who volunteered to be on camera arrive in an hour.”
“Perfect,” Mariah said. “We’ll work around them.”
As the crew got to work, the inn shifted into a different kind of rhythm.
Jonah moved quietly around the lobby, capturing the way light fell across the front desk, the curve of the banister, the framed photos on the wall.
Theo set up a small soft light near the entrance, carefully avoiding washing out the warm, natural tones of the wood.
Claire stood back, watching it all unfold.
The inn she’d grown up in—once just the backdrop of her childhood—was suddenly the subject of someone else’s careful eye.
Every small detail she had agonized over these past weeks now existed in the frame, and each shot felt like a quiet affirmation that the work mattered.
“Claire?” Mariah called gently. “Would you mind standing by the sign while we grab a few reference shots? Just you doing what you’d normally do.”
“What I’d normally do?” Claire repeated.
“Exactly,” Mariah said. “Straightening brochures, checking the reservation book—whatever feels natural. Don’t worry about the camera. We want honesty, not performance.”
Claire stepped behind the desk and picked up a stack of welcome cards, straightening them in their holder.
She glanced toward the door, where the bay could be seen just beyond the glass, then back at the screen of the old monitor.
She tried to breathe evenly, forcing herself not to think about the lens watching her.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Jonah adjust the focus. Theo dimmed the light a touch. Mariah smiled encouragingly.
“That’s great,” Mariah said. “Just like that. This place suits you, you know.”
The comment caught Claire off-guard. “What do you mean?”
“You fit here,” Mariah said. “Some people stand behind a front desk and look like they’re waiting to leave. You look like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”
Claire swallowed, unsure how to respond, and focused instead on straightening a brochure that didn’t really need straightening.
After a few minutes, Mariah called it good. “Let’s move to the living room and the chest,” she said. “We’ll set up for the interview there later, but for now, we just want the space.”
They carried equipment down the short flight of steps into the living room.
The Starfall Chest seemed to draw the crew’s attention immediately.
Jonah circled it in slow, careful arcs, capturing the curve of the wood, the way the sunlight traced a soft line across the lid, the ceramic bowl waiting beside it.
“This is beautiful,” Theo said quietly. “You can feel the history.”
“My mamma loved this chest,” Claire said before she could stop herself. “She used to call it a lighthouse for hopes.”
Mariah glanced at her. “That’s going in the interview,” she said. “If you’re comfortable sharing it.”
Claire nodded. “I think she’d like that.”
A few minutes later, while the crew adjusted equipment in the living room, the back door opened, and Walker stepped into the lobby, bringing with him a crisp breeze and the faint smell of pine. He carried a coiled extension cord in one hand and a small box under his arm.
He stopped short when he saw the camera gear.
“I come bearing backup lights,” he said, holding up the box. “Didn’t realize we’d gone full Hollywood.”
Emma popped up from the dining room doorway. “Walker, you’re just in time. We needed a rugged, emotionally stable background extra.”
He gave her a wary look. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” Claire said, smiling despite her nerves. “But they might catch you in a few shots if you’re around. Is that all right?”
“Fine by me,” he said. He looked toward the living room. “They with the chest?”
“Yes,” Claire said softly.
“Good,” he replied. “Feels right.”
As they spoke, Mariah appeared at the doorway—camera bag now slung crossbody, clipboard tucked against her hip. She took in Walker’s presence with an experienced eye that missed nothing.
“You must be Walker,” she said. “The sky expert, right?”
“That’s what they tell me,” he said.
“We may ask you a question or two on camera,” she said. “About the meteor shower. And maybe what the inn means to the town, if you’re willing.”
He looked unexpectedly thrown by that and glanced toward Claire.
“It’s up to you,” Claire said. “You don’t have to.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I can do that.”
“Wonderful,” Mariah said. “We’ll grab you after we chat with Claire.”
After the crew moved back into the living room, Walker stepped a little closer.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Mostly,” she said. “You?”
“I didn’t plan on being interviewed today,” he admitted. “But I do have a few things I could say. Might even be true.”
The playful glint in his eyes calmed her more than any deep breathing exercise. She felt her shoulders loosen.
“You’re going to be great,” she said.
“You first,” he replied.
A beat of silence stretched between them, calm and charged all at once. Then Emma barreled through again, handing Claire a glass of water.
“Hydration,” Emma said. “Very important for on-camera poise. I read that in an article.”
“You read the headline,” Julia called from the desk. “You didn’t read the article.”
“Details,” Emma said.
Claire took a small sip of water and laughed softly, the sound surprising even her. Surprising because it felt unforced, alive, grounded in something more than nerves.
She was still nervous. She was still unsure where all of this—Wish Weekend, the festival, the second chance at the inn—would lead.
But as she looked around at the polished lobby, the chest in the next room, her sisters fussing with the details, and Walker, steady and solid, beside the door, she realized something quietly important.
For the first time in a very long time, the shape of tomorrow, whatever it turned out to be, didn’t terrify her.
It felt like a story she might actually be ready to live.