“Exactly,” she says.
“Let’s brainstorm some ideas to elevate things,” Jake says. “How about a larger fireworks display? Or a celebrity guest? We could expand the dining hall and offer an outdoor fine dining area.”
“All of it,” I say.
“Although we need to stay within budget,” Jake replies with a straight face. He leans slightly in my direction, the heat of him hitting me in waves, my skin buzzing where we’re almost touching.
The mayor grins at us both. “I’m so happy the two of you are working together. Do whatever it takes. Make it spectacular. But within budget, of course.” She claps her hands together. “Alright, this has been a productive meeting, but I’ve taken up enough of your time. Let’s get back to work. Thank you both for coming.” She stands as we stand, watching us walk out together.
As I reach the door, I glance back—just for a split second—against my better judgment. Jake’s eyes are already on me, dark and unreadable. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my pulse spike, and for a moment, the air between us crackles. I swallow hard, forcing myself to tear my gaze away.
“Goodbye, Jake,” I say, my voice clipped.
His lips twitch. “See you soon. I’ll send you an email to arrange a visit to the workshop.”
I turn quickly, forcing myself to walk down the hallway, summoning every ounce of willpower not to look over my shoulder again.
Back in my office, I settle behind my desk. “Perfection or bust,” I say, flipping open my laptop. There’s no room for error—not if I want to make my mom’s memory proud, if I want to deliver everything the mayor’s expecting.
I start typing out a list:research eco-friendly fireworks, local vendors only, flawless execution, non-negotiable: zero waste policy,and remain at my desk until the sun goes down, making calls and typing out notes, occasionally staring at the wall opposite, thinking about Jake until I manage to get my thoughts back on track.
Soon it’s only the faint glow of my laptop in the otherwise dark office, and I get up to switch on the overhead light. Theclock on the wall has been ticking away the hours, but I barely noticed. There’s too much to do, too many moving pieces to juggle, and every detail could be the one thing that makes—or breaks—this festival.
I tell myself I’ll eat after I finish just this one more thing. Then one thing becomes two. Two becomes a hundred, and before I know it, my stomach growls loudly, reminding me it’s been hours since I last ate. I glance at the sandwich someone from the team brought in earlier, now sitting in a corner of my desk, untouched. My gaze sharpens on the bread. Too many carbs, too heavy. Not tonight.
Later, I tell myself. I’ll eat later.
I pull my focus back to the spreadsheet in front of me, tweaking the itinerary again. Everything has to be perfect. I need it to be perfect. If not, what’s the point?
My notebook is in front of me, and I obsessively cross-check every item, my fingers drumming the desk as I rewrite the schedule, shifting times by minutes, double-checking vendor contacts.
Charlie from accounts pops his head in through my open door—he’s also working late. “Hey, I’m about to order a pizza. You want a couple of slices?”
“I’ve eaten already,” I lie. “But thanks.”
I return to my work, hands jittery from too much caffeine and not enough food. As I look around the quiet office, it hits me. I’m slipping again. I should call my therapist and schedule an extra session, but I’ve been in recovery for so long, I’m sure I can handle this. It’s just the stress from work and my thoughts being hijacked by this thing between Jake and me.
I’m just about to shut down my laptop when a notification pings—a new email. From Jake Tanner. For a second, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the mouse. I shouldn’t let him affect me,but there’s no denying the thrill that shot through me when his name popped up.
Clicking it open, I skim the message. Jake’s asking if I’m free to inspect the festival installations at his warehouse tomorrow before they’re moved to the site. Straightforward, professional. Still, my pulse quickens as I read it again. He signed off withLooking forward to it—which could mean anything. Or nothing.
I lean back in my chair, biting my lip. I should just sayyes, confirm the appointment, and leave it at that. But I can’t help wondering if he’ll be there. Do I hope he’ll be there? Or would it be easier if he wasn’t?
Shaking my head, I type out a quick reply:Sure, I can make it.
Chapter 19
Kelly
I arriveat Jake’s workshop right on time, my heart already racing a little before I even step through the door. This is for work, I remind myself, squaring my shoulders.
The door swings open with a creak, and the smell of sawdust and metal machinery fills the air. Inside, the workshop hums with activity. I spot Jake immediately, bent over a piece of plywood, focused and completely in his element.
The sight of him—shirt rolled up, dark hair falling into his eyes as he works—sends an unexpected wave of nostalgia washing over me. I remember this version of him so well, the man whose skilled hands could make anything.
“Hey.” My voice is steadier than I feel as I approach.
“Right on time.” He glances up, wiping his hands on a nearby rag before a faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Of course you are. Always the punctual one.”
