Swallowing the lump in my throat, I scribbled the highlights of his impassioned speech. It wasn’t anything that I didn’t already know; Bluebell Cove was looking at over a month before another tourism boom, and without the Summer’s End Festival to bridge the gap, many businesses would struggle to survive.
“We can’tallget a small business grant,” Dot—one half of the Button Jar—chimed in, narrowed gaze trained on me.
My grandmother never liked her.
I fought to keep my retaliation at bay and turned. “I’m sorry. I’m as upset as all of you.”
Dot huffed and crossed her arms, leaning across the table to her co-owner with hushed whispers.
Every head in the diner turned as Joe stood, conversations ending in a ripple as he set his glasses in his shirt pocket and wrung his hand together. He shifted on his feet, dark eyes landing on me. “I’ll be honest. Books are already a hard sell nowadays, and—even with the projected business from Fallfest, I won’t survive a dry spell.” Joe paused as gasps spread across the restaurant. “I’d have to move in with my cousin down south,” he added quietly and slipped back into his booth.
Joe’s chin dipped away from all the attention. Guilt began to dig its familiar claws into my chest as hot tears pricked the corner of my eyes. How had I always thought that I was the only one struggling? Had I really been that selfish?
As fast as silence fell on Captain’s Table, the noise resumed tenfold. I flinched as conversations rapidly unraveled into arguments, accusations being flung as the desperation seeped into everyone’s voices.
“Please,” I started. No one noticed. I jumped off my barstool and tried again, but I was pretty sure the fighting only intensified.
My hands flew to my ears as a raucous clatter sounded behind me.
“Hey!” Ruth hollered, wooden spoon banging against the pot over her head until the diner quieted. “My, my. Y’all ain’t better than a classroom of toddlers. What’s all that yellin’ going to accomplish?” She set her instrument on the counter andsmoothed her hair. “Now. Georgie’s in charge, not y’all. She’s the one to listen to.”
I was sure my attempt at a smile looked a lot like a grimace. Why did Janice think I’d be good at this?
“Alright.” I cleared my throat and glanced down at the notebook, but the words seemed to swim.
“We can’t hear you!” Someone shouted from the back.
My throat went dry.
Years of Spirit Club had taught me all about confidence—chin up, shoulders back, project from the diaphragm and force a blinding smile. But this wasn’t that—I was leading a room full of business owners who actuallyknewwhat they were doing. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong here at all.
“I know the carnival fell through, but we’re not out of options,” I began, smoothing my notebook paper. “The Summer’s End Festival deserves more than fluorescent lighting in an empty gymnasium. So I’ve made a list.”
A dozen eyes blinked back at me.
“First idea: releasing lanterns on the shore. Families could—”
“Not safe,” Dot interrupted. “And what are we supposed to do if the storm still lands?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Okay. Um, second idea: we pool resources and host an auction.”
“That excludes all of the kids,” Mrs. Holloway said. “And those of us who can’t afford to just give our things away.”
“But it could raise money—”
A low chorus of head-shaking.
I swallowed hard and pressed on. “Talent show? A retro arcade night? A chili cook-off?”
One by one, each idea landed with the grace of Easton greeting someone new at the door. The silence after my last suggestion stretched until it was unbearable.
Then the bell on the door chimed.
Janice strolled in, followed leisurely by Rhett. His hair was speckled with sawdust, boots squeaking against the floor as he leaned against the doorframe behind Janice. Sweat glistened on his forehead like he’d come straight from the workshop. He wore that old, bored expression, unfazed by his interruption or the diner full of spectators.
“What’s this?” Janice asked, eyes flicking from my crumpled notes on the counter to the booths of unimpressed faces.
“Brainstorming?” I squeaked.
