“The route works,” he said.“I estimate forty-three minutes at parade speed.”He smiled.“You know, if they don’t all cut their engines and talk for a bit.We should budget an hour to be safe.”
“I’ll update the schedule.”
He climbed onto the dock beside her.They stood there in the strengthening sunlight, neither quite ready to return to the demands of the day.
“Thank you,” she said.“For taking me out.For showing me the route.”
“You’re the co-chair.You needed to see it.”
“I meant thank you for the conversation.”
Something softened in his expression.“Yeah.Me too.”
He walked toward town, and she headed back to the lighthouse.She stopped for a moment and turned to watch him go.He moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew every inch of this place, who belonged here so completely that the town and the man were inseparable.
She envied his certainty of belonging and the deep roots that connected him to generations of history and community.
But maybe, she thought as she climbed the steps to Heron Cottage, belonging wasn’t something you were born into.Maybe it was something you built, day by day, connection by connection.Maybe she’d been building it here without even realizing it.
Inside the cottage, her laptop sat on the coffee table where she’d left it last night.She opened it and stared at her inbox.Sixty-two unread messages now.Steve’s name appeared multiple times.Her boss had sent a check-in email.HR wanted to schedule her return-to-work meeting.
Her old life, calling her back.
She thought about what Bryan said about not knowing where you’re going yet.You just have to know where you are.
She was in Heron Cottage, in Starlight Shores, working on a festival that mattered to people she was starting to care about.She was living a life that looked nothing like the one she’d planned but felt more real than anything she had experienced in years.
She closed the laptop without reading a single email.
