Chapter16
Cassidy stood on the dock at six in the morning, watching Bryan prepare theMary Catherinefor departure.The sun was barely up, and the sky was tinted with shades of pale coral and gold.She’d worn sensible shoes this time.Boat shoes, actually, purchased from the general store after Sally had informed her that heels and boats didn’t mix.While she was in town, she’d picked up some shorts and a couple of t-shirts, not that she’d ever been a t-shirt type of person.
“You’re here early.”Bryan looked up from the rope he was coiling.“Coffee’s in the cabin if you need it.”
“I’ve had two cups already.”She stepped carefully from the dock to the boat, pleased when she didn’t stumble.“What are we doing exactly?”
“Testing the boat parade route.”He secured the rope and moved to the helm.“I want to make sure the timing works before we commit to it in all the promotional materials you’re designing.”
She settled onto the bench near the cabin as the engine rumbled to life.The harbor was quiet at this hour.A few other fishing boats were heading out, and their captains raised hands in silent greeting as they passed.Bryan returned each gesture with the easy familiarity of someone who’d known these people his entire life.
They cleared the harbor entrance, and the Gulf opened before them.The water was calm, with barely a ripple disturbing its surface.She breathed in the salt air and felt a simple peace flow through her.
“We’ll follow the proposed route.”Bryan adjusted their heading.“Start at the harbor mouth, loop around the lighthouse point, and come back along the beach.Should take about forty-five minutes at parade speed.”
“And at regular speed?”
“Twenty minutes.But we’re not in a hurry.”He glanced at her.“Unless you have somewhere to be?”
She thought of her color-coded sabbatical schedule, abandoned weeks ago in a drawer, and the urgent emails still piling up in her inbox, unread.
“No,” she said.“I don’t have anywhere to be.”
They motored along in comfortable silence.She watched the shoreline slide past with beach cottages, the lighthouse rising white against the morning sky, and the pier where she’d wrestled that tent in the storm.Everything looked different from the water.Smaller somehow, but also more connected.
“Can I ask you something?”Bryan kept his eyes on the water ahead.“What made you agree to help with the festival?The real reason.”
She could have deflected and given him the polished answer about professional development or portfolio building.But something about the morning, the quiet boat, and the way he’d asked without looking at her made honesty feel easier.
“I was afraid of disappearing,” she said.“At work, I mean.Steve, a co-worker, was taking over my accounts.My boss was making decisions without me.I could feel myself being erased while I sat in that cottage doing nothing.”She wrapped her arms around herself despite the growing warmth.“The festival gave me something to do.Proof I still existed.”
Bryan slowed the boat slightly, adjusting their course around a channel marker.“And now?”
“Now I’m not sure.”She watched a pelican plunk down on the water.“I started this as a project.Something to put on my resume.But it’s become something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.Something real maybe.”She looked at him.“Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.”He nodded slowly.“It makes sense.”
The lighthouse was growing larger as they approached.She could see the cottages arranged around the courtyard and the keeper’s quarters where Winnie probably already had coffee brewing.
Home.When had she started thinking of Heron Cottage as home instead of temporary housing?
“I’m terrified I’m going to fail,” Bryan said suddenly.“The festival, the restaurant, the fishing business.All of it.I lie awake at night running numbers, trying to figure out how to make everything work.”He shrugged.“And I can’t.”
She turned to face him fully.His jaw was set, and his hands gripped the wheel.
“I see my grandfather standing at that grill,” he continued.“My father working the dining room.Three generations of Lucas men building something that mattered.And I’m the one who’s going to lose it all because I can’t figure out how to adapt fast enough.”
“You’re not going to lose it.”
“You don’t know that.”He glanced at her, and the fear in his eyes was raw.“Morton’s offer is still on the table.The bank is still deciding about my loan extension.One bad season, one health inspection violation, one festival that doesn’t bring in enough revenue, and it all collapses.”
She understood that fear.Had lived with its twin for years.The terror of not being enough, of failing to meet impossible standards, and disappointing everyone who’d invested in your success.
“What would you do?”she asked.“If you weren’t afraid of failing?”
