“Truce,” he agreed.“But I have conditions.”
“Of course you do.”She hid a smile.“Let’s hear them.”
“First, you actually listen when people tell you why something matters to them.Not just nod and then do what you were planning to do anyway.”
“Fair.”
“Second, any changes we make have to honor what the festival’s always been about.This isn’t just a tourist event.It’s how this town celebrates itself.”
“Agreed.”She nodded.“What else?”
“Third, you stop wearing heels to the waterfront.You’re going to break your neck.”
She laughed, surprised by the concern hidden in his gruff tone.“I’ll add it to my list of new rules for small-town living.”
“There are a lot of those.”He released her hand and leaned back against the cabin wall.“You’re going to need a longer list.”
The rain had slowed to a drizzle.Through the gap in the clouds, she could see a strip of lighter sky on the horizon.The storm was passing, leaving behind wet wood and clean air.
She looked down at her ruined blazer, her bare feet, and her scraped hands.A few weeks ago, she would have been horrified by her appearance and would have rushed back to her car and driven straight to the nearest hotel to clean up and restore order.Now she just felt tired and oddly satisfied.
“I should get back,” she said reluctantly.
“I’ll walk you.”He pushed away from the wall.“The pier’s slippery after a storm.”
“I’m barefoot.I think slippery is the least of my problems.”
“All the more reason.”He grabbed another towel from the cabin and handed it to her.“At least dry off a little more first.”
She took the towel and did her best to squeeze some of the water from her hair.It was a lost cause, but the effort made her feel slightly more human.When she looked up, Bryan was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.
“What?”
“Nothing.”He shook his head.“Just trying to figure you out.”
“Good luck with that.”She wrapped the towel around her shoulders, layering it over the blanket.“I’ve been trying to figure myself out for a lot of years, and I’m still working on it.”
They made their way back across the pier together.Bryan’s hand hovered near her elbow, not quite touching but ready to steady her if she slipped.It was an old-fashioned gesture, protective without being patronizing, and she found she didn’t mind it.
The storm had left everything washed clean and gleaming.The boats rocked gently at their moorings, and the smell of rain mixed with salt air created something fresh and new.She breathed it in and felt some of the tension she’d been carrying for weeks finally start to ease.
Maybe this sabbatical wasn’t career suicide after all.Maybe it was something else entirely.
“Same time tomorrow?”he asked when they reached the end of the pier.“For the committee meeting?”
“I’ll be there.”She glanced back at the secured tent.“And I’ll bring better ideas this time.Ones that actually take your concerns into account.”
“I’ll try to be less of a jerk about shooting them down.”
“Deal.”
They stood there for another moment, neither quite ready to walk away.The easy hostility that had defined their previous interactions was gone, replaced by something more complicated.Partnership, maybe.Or at least the potential for it.
Finally, he cleared his throat.“You need a ride back to the lighthouse?You can’t walk all that way barefoot.”
She looked down at her feet, then at the long stretch of road leading back to Heron Cottage.He had a point.
“That would be great, actually.Thank you.”
As they walked toward Bryan’s truck, she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window.She looked like she’d been through a hurricane—soaked, disheveled, covered in grime.Her carefully maintained professional image had been completely destroyed.
And somehow, she didn’t mind.
