Ipush my hair back into place, fingers combing through the freshly dyed pink strands that still smell faintly of conditioner. It’s brighter now, sharper, like me trying to reclaim some part of myself that I thought was gone.
I tug on jeans and a loose blouse, and as I button it, I catch myself in the mirror. There’s still the faintest flush to my skin, the ghost of Boone’s mouth on my throat. I look… different. Not fixed. Not whole. But softer. Alive in a way I haven’t been in years.
The memory of last night—and this morning—presses heat between my thighs, but I shove it away. I can’t walk into a meeting looking like I’ve just spent twelve hours wrapped around a man, even if I did.
By the time I sling my bag over my shoulder and lock my door, I’ve mostly wrestled my expression into something calm. Boone’s parting words still echo in my head, though:“Good luck with the mayor.”
He’d said it so casually, like he believes in me without hesitation. That’s new. That’s terrifying.
When I pull up outside the town hall, Jake is already waiting near the steps. He’s in his usual button-down and slacks, though his sleeves are rolled up, a look that makes him appear less like a mayor and more like the boy who used to sneak into bonfires with half the town following behind him.
His easy smile cuts through some of my nerves. But there’s someone standing beside him.
A man in a tailored navy suit, the kind of expensive that doesn’t scream luxury but whispers it. His shoes gleam like they’ve never seen dirt, and he holds himself with the calmconfidence of someone who knows people will listen when he speaks.
Jake spots me and waves me over. “Sadie! Perfect timing.”
I step forward, my tote bag bumping against my hip, and nod at both of them. “Morning.”
Jake gestures to the suited man. “This is Julian Vance. I don’t know if you’ve officially met.”
Julian offers his hand. His grip is firm, his smile polite but assessing, like he’s already cataloging me in some mental file. “Julian Vance. I run a few of the development projects around Driftwood Cove.”
I know the name. Hard not to, living here. It’s stamped across half the flyers for new housing proposals, storefront renovations, and something about a lakeside lodge resort that had people whispering over coffee last winter.
He’s not a stranger, even if we’ve never spoken.
“I’ve seen your name,” I admit, shaking his hand. “A lot, actually.”
He chuckles, smooth. “That’s the idea.”
Jake clears his throat, stepping back into the role of bridge between us. “We wanted to talk with you about the mural, now that it’s finished.”
Finished. The word makes my heart squeeze. For weeks, it’s been my world—the wall, the sketches, the paints. My body aches from the hours I’ve poured into it, but there’s a thrill too, a sense of accomplishment I’d forgotten I could feel.
Julian’s gaze sharpens. “The work you’ve done has been nothing short of transformative. People are talking, Sadie. Not just here in Driftwood Cove. Word’s spreading to the neighboring towns, and that’s exactly what we want.”
I blink. “It is?”
Jake smiles. “You’ve given us a face. Driftwood Cove is known for fishing and old diners, sure, but this”—he gesturesbroadly, as if painting the mural in the air—“this is something that makes people stop and look. It tells them we’re not just holding onto the past, we’re building something new.”
Julian nods. “And if we can build excitement around this beautification process, it helps everything else. Elias is spearheading the parks project—new trees, flowers, a whole focus on green spaces. I’ve got developments tied to revitalizing the waterfront and downtown. It all connects. Your mural is the anchor.”
Anchor. The word hits me in a way I can’t quite name. For so long, I’ve felt unmoored, drifting. Now suddenly they’re saying my art is holding something together.
Julian pulls out his phone, swiping quickly before holding it up. “I’d like us to do an official unveiling. Local news is already interested. If we can get coverage, it makes the whole beautification process more visible. More investors, more volunteers, more pride from the locals.”
I glance between them. “An unveiling?”
Jake steps in gently. “Tomorrow at midday. A short event. A few words from me, maybe from you if you’re comfortable, then we pull back the tarp and let people see it all at once. It’ll make a splash.”
Tomorrow. Midday. My stomach flips. That’s soon. Too soon.
But then something strange happens inside me. Instead of dread, there’s… a spark. Excitement. The kind that makes my hands itch for a brush, makes my chest feel lighter than it has in years.
I hear myself saying, “Yeah. Yes, I can do that.”
Julian smiles, satisfied. “Excellent. We’ll arrange press and make sure everything’s set. It’ll be the kind of thing people talk about all year.”
