Winnie shook herself, although she let her smile stay fixed in place.
“Not at all,” she assured Tyler. “You’re just on time.”
She would have to dwell on how grateful she was later, would have to take a moment before she could really address how amazing her life had become in just a few short months. She scarcely recognized the lonely woman she had been the previousspring, not when she compared herself to the person she was now.
But daydreaming would have to wait. For now, they had to set up an event, and see if Winnie’s professional goals would turn out as well as her personal ones.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Shane felt a welling sense of pride as he stood in the middle of Magnolia Shore’s town square and surveilled the historical society event, which had started a few hours earlier and was already hopping.
There were a dozen booths arranged around the center of the square, and each one had a cluster of attendees eager to see what was happening. Some of the more popular tables, like the apple-throwing area and the tree where Winnie had hung up the tree-dangling apple bobbing game, had long lines of people eager to give a shot at the colonial-era games.
The crowd was made up of all ages too, he was pleased to note. Yes, there were the little kids, who had come out with their parents, and there were the older folks who had long been supporters of the historical society. But the apple throwing had attracted even the elusive teenager crowd, which Shane knew Winnie had despaired of ever drawing in. Yet, there they were, perhaps half a dozen kids, wearing baseball caps and carrying backpacks and practically falling over themselves laughing over the novelty of throwing fruit.
Indeed, the entire air was convivial. There were people admiring the Civil War soldiers that Shane had battled in thecloset. The cornhole boards were a huge hit. Winnie had set up a model train that imitated how the first railroad in Magnolia Shore had cut through the landscape, and adult miniature enthusiasts pointed out the details to a group of young boys who were eating up every word.
And then there was Winnie herself, practically glowing with the happiness of a job well done. Shane wanted to congratulate her, but he hadn’t seen her alone for even a single moment, so he contented himself with watching from afar as an endless stream of people came up to praise her for the ingenuity and cleverness of her event.
He leaned against a tree and watched her, a faint smile on his face, as she chatted with an older lady that Shane knew from the opening ceremony-style conversation at the beginning of the event was a representative from a neighboring historical society. Before Shane had lost his sister in the crowd, she’d identified the town as another similarly small place about half an hour up the coast.
“But worse than Magnolia Shore, obviously,” she had said, her voice soft, lest she be overheard.
“Obviously,” Shane had agreed, just to make Eleanor laugh.
Now, Winnie and the other historian were standing with a group of people who had to be her family. A man who walked with a cane had his arm looped in hers, suggesting that he was her husband, and the younger woman standing beside her was her spitting image. Clearly a daughter. A couple of grandchildren darted around, playing some kind of chasing game, and every time one of the kids passed within reach, the grandmother reached out to caress a lock of hair or pat a shoulder, never once breaking eye contact with Winnie while she did so.
The whole thing could not have gone better. And Shane was so, so happy for Winnie. This was a huge professional success for her, of course, but he was even more delighted by the waysin which the event aligned with her personal goals. Inviting all ages had turned something that had once been a stuffy event for the over-fifty crowd into a true community event. And nobody deserved that community more than Winnie… at least, not in Shane’s humble opinion. He admitted that he might be a little bit biased.
He lingered, content to just lean against his tree, enjoy the perfectly crisp fall weather, and watch his girl as she basked in her triumph.
Not that Winnie was his girl. Or, at least not yet. But he hoped.
He flattered himself that things were looking up. He wasn’t in a rush, though, even if maybe he ought to be. His life was still very much up in the air. But he was happy where he was.
Briefly, Shane thought he would get his moment with Winnie. The lady from the neighboring historical society wandered away. She made it only a few feet before one of her grandkids tugged her by the hand toward the cornhole boards. Before Shane could even start in Winnie’s direction, however, she was mobbed by a group of the book club ladies and their partners.
Cadence, exuberant, threw her arms around Winnie’s neck. Winnie looked briefly startled and uncertain what to do with her hands, but the moment passed and she hugged Cadence back while Tyler and their daughter, Izzy, looked on indulgently.
Well, Tyler was looking indulgent. Izzy was eating a caramel apple that was about as big as her head.
Diana was with them, as was Anthony and his daughter, who had her nose in one of the informational pamphlets that Winnie had placed at strategic points around the event. Winnie would be thrilled. The only thing that would tickle her more than a successful event would be a budding historian in the making.
The group chatted excitedly, the two women gesturing at various scenes of the event, their animated faces suggesting that they had nothing but praise for Winnie. If he’d had any doubts, the pleased blush on Winnie’s cheeks would have confirmed it.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Shane startled slightly, then turned to see the man with the cane whom he had clocked as the historical society leader’s husband standing next to him. Up close, he was a dapper, gentlemanly sort of man. He was wearing a tweed coat and slacks, and though he leaned on his cane for support, it looked like a natural part of his outfit.
Shane smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “You caught me woolgathering.”
The older man followed the direction of Shane’s gaze, then turned back and gave him a knowing wink.
“Ah, yes,” he said slyly. “I too, like to ‘woolgather’ in my wife’s direction.”
Shane didn’t bother denying it.
“I’m Max Chandler,” the man said, offering his hand to shake, which Shane accepted. “My wife is Kathleen Chandler, the head of the historical society in Worthford Bay. Miss Winnie over there told us that you were the one who handled the publicity for this wonderful event.”
