Chapter4
The Bayview General Store smelled like old wood and coffee.Cassidy stood just inside the entrance on Thursday morning, ten minutes early, scanning the space for a back room that wasn’t immediately obvious.
The store itself was a cluttered maze of practical goods: canned food, fishing tackle, sunscreen, and beach towels with dolphins on them.A refrigerator case hummed near the counter, and postcards spun on a wire rack by the window.
Sally Morris looked up from behind the register.“You came.”
“I told the mayor I’d think about it.”
“And you thought about it.”Sally’s grin was knowing.“Back room’s through there.”She pointed toward a doorway half-hidden behind a display of pool noodles.“Coffee’s already on.Mayor got here twenty minutes ago.She’s been pacing.”
She nodded and made her way through the store, weaving between shelves that seemed designed to maximize confusion.The back room, when she found it, was surprisingly spacious.A long table was surrounded by mismatched chairs.A whiteboard hung on one wall, covered in faded marker, and a window looked out onto a small parking lot.
Mayor West sat at the head of the table, a legal pad in front of her covered in notes.Marty Fuller was there too, nursing a cup of coffee and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.Two other people Cassidy didn’t recognize occupied chairs near the middle, a younger woman and an older man with weathered hands and a skeptical expression.
And at the far end of the table, arms crossed, sat a man who looked at her like she’d just tracked mud across his floor.
“Cassidy.”The mayor stood, gesturing to an empty chair.“Glad you could make it.Everyone, this is Cassidy Wren.She’s staying at the lighthouse and has some experience in marketing.She’s agreed to sit in and offer a fresh perspective.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything.I’m just here to listen.”But she sat anyway.
The man at the end of the table made a sound that might have been a laugh.“Fresh perspective.That’s what we need.Someone from out of town to tell us how to run our own festival.”
“Bryan.”The mayor’s voice carried a warning.
“What?I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”He unfolded his arms and leaned forward.“No offense, but we’ve had consultants before.They come in, throw around buzzwords, charge a fortune, and leave us with a plan that doesn’t fit who we are.”
She met his gaze.“I’m not a consultant.And I’m not charging anything.”
“Then what are you?”
“Someone who overheard a conversation and made the mistake of opening her mouth.”
The young woman snorted.The older man’s expression didn’t change.
“Bryan is the festival committee head,” the mayor explained.
Great, just great.
Bryan studied her for a moment.He was maybe her age, early forties, with dark hair going gray at the temples and the kind of tan that came from years of outdoor work rather than beach vacations.His eyes were sharp and assessing.
“Fair enough,” he said finally.“But if you’re just here to listen, then listen.Don’t tell us what we’re doing wrong until you understand what we’re trying to do.”
“That seems reasonable.”
The mayor cleared her throat.“Good.Now that we’ve established ground rules, can we actually start the meeting?”
For the next forty minutes, Cassidy listened.
She learned that the Starlight Harbor Festival had been running for seventy-four years.That it used to draw crowds from all over the Gulf Coast—families, day-trippers, people who came for the lighthouse tours and stayed for the food and music.That attendance had peaked about fifteen years ago and had been declining steadily ever since.
She learned that the budget was tight.They relied on local sponsors who were increasingly reluctant to commit.The committee was made up of volunteers who had other jobs and other lives and couldn’t devote the hours needed to do real outreach.
She learned that Bryan cared deeply about authenticity, and he’d grown up coming to this festival with his parents.His family’s restaurant had been a vendor since the beginning, and he saw the event as more than just a tourism draw.It was a piece of the town’s identity.
And she suspected he was terrified of losing it.
Not that he said so.But she could hear it in the way he talked about preserving what made the town special.His resistance wasn’t stubbornness.It was fear dressed up as principle.
