Laughing, Addison and I exchange an amused glance, our shared amusement deepening the warmth between us. Whatever hurdles lie ahead — bureaucratic or otherwise — they suddenly feel smaller with Addison beside me. The idea of overcoming obstacles no longer feels daunting; instead, it’s an adventure I eagerly anticipate.
“Ready to brave the antique stores?” she asks, draining her cappuccino.
“I think I can handle it,” I say dryly, dramatically pushing my cup aside.
She laughs softly, gathering her things. “Just try to keep up, Smyth.”
“I’ll do my best.” And somehow, I know with absolute certainty that as long as Addison is at my side, my best will always feel achievable.
* If you enjoy Lucas, get to know him in his own story, Love and Cinnamon Buns
26
PERMITS, TREASURES, & CHANCES
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 29
Addison
The afternoon sun spills warmth across Birch Harbor’s quaint Main Street, bathing the old brick buildings in golden hues. Beside me, Dylan falls into step, his easy stride matching mine as we approach Town Hall. Even with my carefully organized binder tucked under my arm, nerves prickle at the edges of my confidence. Dylan seems to sense it, nudging my shoulder lightly.
“We’ve got this,” he murmurs reassuringly.
I glance up, catching his steady gaze, and my anxiety eases just a fraction. “I know. But bureaucratic battles aren’t exactly my favorite part of event planning.”
He chuckles softly. “You handle it better than anyone else could.”
The warmth of his words spreads through me, lending strength as we step inside Town Hall. The sterile fluorescent lighting and echo of clicking heels greet us. At the counter, a young woman adjusts her glasses and peers over paperwork at us expectantly.
“Permit issues?” she guesses flatly, clearly familiar with the frustration that frequently visits her counter.
I offer a bright smile, determined to charm our way to success. “Exactly. There’s a bit of a hiccup regarding the dunk tank for the fundraiser.”
Her lips thin slightly. “Let me guess. Mayor MacDonald?”
I wince. “Afraid so.”
Dylan leans against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “He’s not exactly a fan of fun. Or change. Or public gatherings that involve whipped cream and dunk tanks.”
She smirks despite herself. “No kidding. Let me see what I can do.”
With a sigh, I pull the permit folder tighter under my arm. “We’ll need to convince him it’s in his best interest. Damage control, optics—he cares about how this town sees him, especially during election season.”
A flicker of determination crosses her face. “Then let’s give him a reason to say yes.”
Ten minutes later, we’re ushered into the mayor’s cramped office—walls cluttered with outdated plaques and photos of ribbon-cuttings, his expression already pinched with resistance.
“Miss Bennett,” he says flatly, barely looking up. “I assume you’re here about the dunk tank.”
“Yes, sir,” I say evenly, stepping forward. “I understand the permit was held up. But this event is already bringing in record support for the fundraiser. Pulling the dunk tank now would make you look... out of touch. Or worse, like you’re sabotaging a community initiative.”
His eyes narrow.
Dylan chimes in smoothly. “It’s not just about fun—it’s about Birch Harbor showing up for its own. People are talking, Mayor. It won’t look great if the only thing stopping this event is your signature.”
There’s a long pause. A clock ticks obnoxiously loud in the silence.
Finally, Mayor MacDonald exhales through his nose, then grabs the pen off his desk like it personally offended him. “Fine. But I expect all safety measures followed to the letter.”
