“We need people to appreciate tradition, not chase after Instagram-y nonsense.”
Cassidy’s attention sharpened.Were they talking about the same festival from the flyer she’d picked up yesterday?
A festival with declining attendance and a resistance to innovation.This was a problem she could solve in her sleep.
Not your problem, she reminded herself.You’re here to rest and disconnect.
She picked up the cinnamon roll and took a bite.It was still warm, sticky with icing, and better than it had any right to be.
A woman entered like she owned the place.A man followed in her wake, looking like he didn’t really want to be there.They ordered and sat at a table near the window.
She couldn’t help overhearing their conversation.
“—can’t keep pretending it’s fine.Last year’s crowd was the lowest we’ve had in a decade.”
She glanced over.
The woman sat across from the man, her posture tense despite the casual setting.She had short silver hair, sharp eyes, and the kind of presence that suggested she was used to being listened to.A leather portfolio sat open on the table between them, pages of notes visible.
“I know the numbers,” the man said.He sounded tired.“But what do you want me to do?We’ve tried posters, we’ve tried social media?—”
“Posters,” the woman repeated, flat.“Marty, we’re trying to save a festival withposters.”
“We don’t have the budget for anything else.”
“Then we find the budget.Or we find someone who knows how to do more with less.”She tapped the portfolio with one finger.“If we can’t turn this around, we’re not just losing the festival.We’re losing the tourists who come for it, the weekend foot traffic, and the restaurant bookings.Do you know what that does to the waterfront businesses?”
She told herself, again, to stop listening.This wasn’t her problem.
“I know,” the man said quietly.“But unless you’ve got a marketing firm willing to work for free?—”
“We don’t need a firm.We need one person who can think beyond what we’ve always done.”The woman sat back, frustration visible.“This town can’t afford to be seen as just another dying small town.We need to prove we’re still worth visiting.”
Cassidy’s fingers twitched toward her phone.She could sketch a preliminary audit in her head already: identify target demographics, assess current brand perception, build a tiered engagement strategy with measurable?—
She stopped herself.She should go.She gathered her wallet and tablet and stood.She made it three steps before her mouth betrayed her.
“Excuse me.”
The woman at the table looked up, eyebrows raised.
She paused, already regretting it.“I’m sorry, I overheard you talking about the festival.If you’re looking at audience engagement strategies, you might want to segment your messaging by visitor type.Families, couples, locals—they all respond to different value propositions.Posters are fine for broad awareness, but if you’re trying to drive attendance, you need targeted digital campaigns with clear CTAs—um, calls to action.”
The woman blinked.Then she smiled, slow and assessing.“And you are?”
“Cassidy Wren.I’m—” She hesitated.“I’m staying at the lighthouse cottages.”
“Linda West.I’m the mayor.”She gestured to the man across from her.“This is Marty Fuller.He runs Tides & Tales Bookshop and is on the festival committee.”
Marty nodded, looking wary.“You work in marketing?”
“I’m a marketing executive.”She paused.“Or I was.”
“Was?”The mayor’s gaze sharpened.
“I’m on a bit of a break.”
The mayor leaned back in her chair, studying her.“Have you ever handled something like this?A local event, limited budget, declining attendance?”
