“We waste no time celebrating here,” I muttered, almost slopping my drink as Mrs. Crawford wrapped her arms around us from behind, her breath smelling of whisky.
“I’ve known Weston since before he was in trousers,” she said. “Just a wee little guy.”
“You don’t happen to have any pictures?” Lena asked, playing along.
“Don’t hog the newlyweds, Miriam,” a sharp voice said, snagging Lena and me and dragging us away. “Honestly, the woman has one dram and ends up absolutely blootered. Every. Single. Time. Anyway, I’m Josephine. Everyone around here calls me Old Jo.”
“Old Jo?” Lena mouthed in my direction.
I shrugged, vaguely remembering the woman.
“Don’t worry about Miriam. She’ll have her fill and toddle home. But do keep an eye on Mr. Philpott over there. If any of the good silverware goes missing, it’s his pocket you want to check.”
Lena laughed uncertainly as Jo led us around the room, blathering on like the town’s personal busybody.
“We’re all heartbroken to say goodbye to Pete,” Jo continued. “Though I suppose if it was me in his shoes, I’d rather it be sudden than suffer. Still, it does my heart good to see a young couple taking up the reins here. It was never quite the same after we lost your gran.” Jo patted me on the chest. “And of courseyou’ll be taking over where Pete left off organizing the annual Braeburn Summer Festival, I suppose?”
Hell no, I thought, though I had the good sense not to say it out loud. But truly, of all the shite on my to-do list, that wasn’t one of my concerns. I cleared my throat. “Actually, that won’t be possible. With the estate and my business responsibilities back in Houston?—”
“He’d be delighted,” Lena said, cutting me off.
I glared at her. Jo beamed. “That’s grand.”
“Excuse us,” I said, catching Lena’s arm and tugging her aside. Lowering my voice, I hissed, “Why did you say that? I don’t have time to plan an entire festival in a week!”
“Then we’ll need to stay a little longer,” she said. “PR is all over your inbox right now. Thanks to Narissa, youneedsome good press more than anything, and what could be better than planning a charming small-town festival?”
“I’ll sort her mess out when we get back.”
Lena shook her head. “You’re not getting it. Even if everything goes through with the estate and you gain access to the seabed rights, the local authorities will still need to sign off on development before the wind farm plans can move ahead”
The local authorities, meaning the local townsfolk, who were welcoming me warmly,for now,but who could change their minds in a heartbeat.Bugger.
“Now would be a good time to start building up some good will with the locals, don’t you think?”
She was right. I rubbed my face and gritted my teeth. I didn’t know where I was going to find the time for festival planning right now, but I’d be carrying on Grandad’s tradition—a tradition he’d never get to see through again. An ache stirred in my gut at that thought. What could be better PR than that?
“Okay,” I muttered.
“He’ll do it,” Lena said, whirling around with a charming smile and clutching my hand in a good show of newlywed affection. For a beat, even I was convinced.
“Cheers to the couple!” Mrs. Crawford shouted, grabbing hold of us again to stop herself from wobbling. She found a half-empty glass and hoisted it into the air.
Agnes beamed like a proud aunt, and there were plenty of enthusiastic cheers from the group as a whole, but I noticed that there were a few wary eyes that kept watching me, perhaps wondering what exactly I had to offer. Whether I could live up to Grandad’s example.
“I’m sure you remember the festival from when you were a boy,” one woman said, her nose turned up like she’d gotten a whiff of something unpleasant.
“Aye,” I said.
“I remember him and his friends running around, lifting pies off my stand,” an older gentleman said, his mustache ruffling. “Tyrants, the three of you!”
Part of me wanted to argue, but I bit my cheek. No need to offend the man—especially since he was right. That truly did sound like younger versions of Locke, Alastair, and me.
Lena laughed politely. “I can assure you he’s put his pie-thieving days behind him.”
I forced a smile, but the man was clearly far from won over. There was a small but determined contingent who seemed to be unsure what to make of my return. Regardless of whether I wanted to or not, I was going to have to pull this festival together. It was the only way I’d have any hope in moving forward with Kincaid Energy’s wind farm project.
“Don’t worry about any of that right now though,” Jo said. “You just focus on Pete’s affairs for the next few days. After that, we’ll get you up to speed on the festival.”
