Dean and I jump apart, both of us having forgotten we have an audience. His face is flushed, and I’m pretty sure mine is the same.
The door chimes. Mads walks in, takes one look at us—at our still-joined hands, at our faces, at the lit candle on the table—and her entire expression lights up like Christmas morning.
“Oh my,” she breathes, already pulling out her phone.
Dean and I exchange panicked looks.
“Mads,” I start. “This isn’t?—”
But she’s already typing furiously, a huge grin on her face. Across the room, someone’s phone buzzes. Then another. Then three more in rapid succession.
“The whole town is going to know by dinner,” Dean mutters.
“The whole town knows right now,” I correct, watching the phones light up around us like dominoes.
He looks at me. I look at him. And despite everything—despite the complications and the gossip and the fact that we still haven’t solved the festival problem—we both start laughing.
Because maybe, just maybe, this disaster is turning into something beautiful.
Even if it is happening in front of literally everyone we know.
SIX
DEAN
Nine at night finds me at my kitchen table, surrounded by building codes, permit applications, and architectural diagrams that Rex keeps trying to sleep on.
“Move,” I tell him for the third time, sliding a blueprint out from under his head.
He groans but relocates to my feet, where he proceeds to snore loud enough to wake the dead while I try to figure out how to give Jo Lennox everything she wants without compromising every principle I’ve built my career on.
The smart thing would be to walk away. Let her find someone else to approve her festival. Remove myself from this situation before I do something stupid like fall for a woman who argues with me about occupancy limits and looks at me like I’m simultaneously her biggest obstacle and her last hope.
Too late.
I’m already doing the stupid thing.
I’ve been doing it since she opened her mouth and called my clipboard “little.” Since she bit her lip while concentrating on her notes. Since she held my hand in her boutique like she was drowning and I was her lifeline.
Since she admitted she’s been alone for seven years and I realized I want to be the one who changes that.
The codes blur in front of me. I blink, refocus, and suddenly see it. The angle I’ve been missing. Not changing the rules—following them in a way that actually expands what’s possible.
My pulse kicks up as the solution crystallizes.
Multiple venues. Rotating groups. Outdoor components with proper permits. A Valentine’s Trail that turns Jo’s single-location event into a town-wide celebration that’s not only legal but actually better than her original vision.
I reach for a fresh sheet of paper and start sketching. Traffic flow patterns. Occupancy calculations for each space. Timeline showing how groups rotate through venues. My hand moves faster as the plan takes shape, and somewhere around four a.m., I realize I’m smiling.
Actually smiling while doing paperwork.
Sarah would have laughed at that. Would have said something about how I need to loosen up, enjoy life, stop being so serious all the time. She’d been trying to get me to relax for years before?—
I stop. Take a breath. Let myself think about Sarah without the crushing guilt that usually follows.
She wouldn’t want me alone. Wouldn’t want me using her memory as an excuse to keep everyone at arm’s length. She’d want me happy.
And Jo—stubborn, passionate, glitter-covered Jo—makes me want to be happy again.
