Chapter24
The morning after the storm arrived softly, filtered through the clean-washed air and the quiet murmur of a town assessing its wounds.Cassidy woke to silence instead of wind and stillness instead of chaos.Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache.
She should have felt terrible.Instead, she felt wonderful, alive.
The clock on her nightstand read 6:23 AM.Her phone sat beside it, screen dark and mercifully silent.No urgent pings from David.No passive-aggressive check-ins from Steve.Just blessed, temporary quiet.
She pushed herself upright and winced.Her legs protested the movement.She looked down at her hands, noting the raw patches on her palms, the broken nail on her index finger, and the smudge of what might have been grease or mud or both across her wrist.
These weren’t the hands of a Senior VP of Strategy.
She grabbed her phone and pulled on a pair of shorts and one of the t-shirts she’d purchased.Her reflection in the bathroom mirror stopped her cold.Hair was tangled beyond recognition and a streak of something dark crossed her cheekbone.Her eyes looked tired but clear, focused in a way they hadn’t been in months.
You look ridiculous.
The thought arrived in David’s voice, crisp and dismissive.She could picture exactly how he would say it, with that slight curl of his lip that suggested disappointment without ever stating it outright.
She splashed water on her face and clipped her hair back.She didn’t bother with makeup.There was too much to do.
When she got there, the festival grounds looked like a battlefield.
She picked her way across the muddy field, her sneakers squelching with each step.The main stage stood intact but listing slightly to one side.Vendor tents sagged under puddles of collected rainwater.Banners hung askew, their cheerful proclamations about the Harbor Festival now sodden and limp.
But people were already there, working.
Sally Morris directed a small army of volunteers hauling sandbags away from the general store’s entrance.Marty Fuller was up on a ladder, reattaching a section of bunting that had torn loose.Even the Harbor Ladies had arrived, armed with mops, buckets, and an impressive array of cleaning supplies.
“Cassidy!”Dorothy spotted her first, waving from beside a tilted information booth.“Get over here.This thing won’t budge.”
She jogged over and grabbed one side of the booth.Together with Dorothy and another woman whose name she couldn’t remember, she heaved it back into position.The wood was swollen from rain, and it took three tries before the structure finally settled with a wet thud.
“That’ll do,” Dorothy declared, wiping her hands on her jeans.“Now we just need to dry out everything inside.”
“I can help with that,” she offered.
Dorothy gave her an appraising look, taking in Cassidy’s rumpled clothes and bare face.“You stayed.”
It wasn’t quite a question.
“I stayed,” Cassidy confirmed.
“Good.”Dorothy handed her a stack of soggy programs.“Start spreading these out on the picnic tables.Sun’s coming out.They might be salvageable.”
Cassidy worked steadily for the next hour, falling into the rhythm of the cleanup.She squeegeed water from table surfaces, carted chairs to the edge of the grounds in hopes the mud would dry up and they could place them around the tables.She helped Cliff set up a new tent.The work was mindless in the best way, requiring just enough focus to keep her hands busy but leaving her thoughts free to wander.
She should call David.She knew that.He’d given her forty-eight hours, and that deadline was approaching fast.The corner office waited, but every time she thought about picking up her phone, something stopped her.
Maybe it was the way Sally had smiled at her when she’d arrived this morning, that warm look of approval that saidyou’re one of us now.Maybe it was the ache in her shoulders that came from honest work instead of hunching over a laptop for sixteen hours straight.Maybe it was the memory of Bryan’s hand in hers last night, solid and certain even as the storm raged around them.
Or maybe it was simpler than that.Maybe she just didn’t want to leave.
“Cassidy!”
She turned to find Bryan jogging toward her, and her heart did a silly, fluttering thing that had nothing to do with exertion.He looked as tired as she felt, his hair sticking up at odd angles and a fresh scrape across his forearm.He was beautiful.
“Hey,” she said, aware that she was smiling like a fool and completely unable to stop.“How’s The Sandpiper?”
“Dry.Mostly.”He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell sawdust and coffee.“Thanks to you.”
