18. SKYE

Chapter eighteen

SKYE

A few months have passed. It’s been active around here – and calm at the same time, if that’s possible. I step out of my food truck, hands on my hips, surveying the world like I own it.

Or at least, like I’m seriously considering taking it over. And today? Seaside Cove almost feels like it’s mine.

The air is warmer, the salty breeze a bit sweeter, and there’s this strange peace settled over everything.

It’s like the whole town is breathing a little easier—and maybe, just maybe, that has something to do with Troy’s new plan taking root.

I glance around, watching as Mrs. Delmar sweeps the sidewalk in front of her little café, humming a tune from the 60s like she’s twenty again. She spots me and waves with the hand not holding the broom.

“Morning, Skye! Don’t you love the new flower boxes?” She gestures proudly at the planters, now filled with bright blooms—pinks, purples, a splash of red—all lining the storefront. She says it like I didn’t spend two hours helping her pick them out, but hey, she deserves the spotlight.

I smile back. “Looks good enough to steal,” I call out, giving her a wink.

She chuckles, looking pleased. “Well, maybe just one or two flowers.”

That’s what I love about this place.

In Seaside Cove, flowers mean something. Faces mean something. I mean, where else could people run around barefoot half the year and call it "business casual?"

Now, even the town square feels… polished. But not in that “big money, big trouble” kind of way. It’s polished like it finally has the attention it deserves.

I walk down the street, nodding at folks passing by, taking in all the little changes.

The fountain near the square is actually working again. And Mr. Jenkins finally got a new sign painted for his old-school ice cream shop—a hand-painted one that reads “Sweet Treats.”

There’s something about seeing the old place dressed up with fresh paint that makes me feel all mushy inside. I bet it was Troy’s doing, a quiet little act of care that he knew I’d notice.

Funny thing about Seaside Cove: it doesn’t take much to make a difference. One small fix here, a little improvement there, and suddenly, the whole town looks ready to be in some coastal tourism ad.

It’s beautiful, really.

I take a deep breath, and the air’s filled with sea salt, fried fish, and just a hint of blooming wildflowers from the new patches planted near the boardwalk.

A little shiver of pride runs through me, sandwiched between contentment and joy.

And that’s because of him.

I shake my head. The thought of Troy has been creeping in way too often lately, like he owns some permanent space in my brain. Okay, he does.

Every time I see something in town that looks a little better, a little brighter, he’s there in the back of my mind, all smug and annoyingly thoughtful.

Just knowing he had a hand in all this, it’s… well, it’s confusing. I never asked him to swoop in and start fixing things. But here he is, changing everything. And now I know that he’s really, truly caring.

For us. For me.

I push the thought away and focus on the changes around me. The way Mr. Jenkins is handing out his famous fudge samples to kids by the fountain, the way Mrs. Delmar’s café is buzzing with customers, and the way the street vendors seem brighter and bolder with their setups today.

It’s like the whole town’s been lit from within.

But there’s a part of me that’s holding back, that keeps reminding myself.

Don’t let this get to you, Skye. Don’t let some billionaire CEO worm his way into your heart just because he’s playing nice.

Okay, I tell myself angrily. He’s already wormed his way in. And I don’t think I can handle all these feelings .

This might be the first day in weeks that I haven’t thought about fighting for Seaside Cove, and if that doesn’t throw me, nothing will.

I take one last look around, soaking in all the signs of change.

But the best part?

Seaside Cove still feels like Seaside Cove—just a little better, a little more… cared for.

***

It’s been almost a week since those thoughts.

The morning sun is warm, and Seaside Cove’s got that festival energy buzzing in the air. Banners hang from the old streetlights, locals are setting up tables filled with handmade jewelry and crafts, and every other person seems to be carrying food for the celebration.

Today, we’re honoring our town’s culture, and from the looks of it, we’re doing Seaside Cove proud.

I’m lugging a box of ingredients for the food truck, dodging Mrs. Wyatt’s basket of handmade soaps and the kid running around with a seagull feather in his hair, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I slide the box onto the food truck counter and pull it out, my heart skipping a beat when I see the name on the screen.

Troy: You look cute hauling those veggies.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling, and oh, the blush. Not something I can control.

I glance around, but I don’t see him anywhere. You’re ridiculous , I type back, shoving the phone in my pocket, trying to refocus.

Only… now my mind’s tangled up in him, and I know it. No point in pretending otherwise. Not with my cheeks feeling like they’ve been slapped by the sun and my stomach doing somersaults like I’m back in high school.

But every time I let myself think, Okay, this is something real, the little voice in my head throws up the warning signs: Corporate tycoon. Billionaire with more suits than you’ve got salsa jars. Headed back to the city at any time.

“Get a grip, Skye,” I mutter to myself, grabbing a bag of onions and heading into my truck to start prep.

The celebration’s in full swing now, the air smelling like freshly baked bread, grilled shrimp, and the floral notes of Mrs. Wyatt’s soaps. It’s one of those perfect days that reminds me why I’ll never leave Seaside Cove. Not for anything. Not for anyone.

And then, just as I’m about to chop my first onion, my phone buzzes again.

Troy: You look cute AND serious. Don’t work too hard, alright?

This time, I actually laugh. I tell myself not to answer back, to ignore him for just five minutes, but my fingers betray me.

Me: Stop stalking me, you creep.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Troy: Can’t help it. Just keeping an eye on my favorite local business owner.

And I feel my face go full tomato, which is not helping with the whole denial of my feelings situation. I try to refocus on my chopping, but it’s pointless. Because every little laugh, every smile from him has my heart doing ridiculous things.

“Skye!” Zoey’s voice pulls me back to reality as she hops up to the counter, a look of pure mischief in her eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t see that smile. Spill, who’s got you blushing like a sixteen-year-old?”

I shrug, but my cheeks are flaming. “Oh, please. You know exactly who.”

She gasps, smacking my arm. “No! Tell me that this isn’t about Mr. Grumpy Billionaire himself?”

I give her my best mind your business look, but it’s no use. “Alright, fine. Maybe he sent me a text.”

“Or two. Or three.” She snickers. “Girl, you’ve got it bad.”

I roll my eyes, even though she’s not wrong.

Not wrong at all, my brain whispers, and I shove it aside before the feeling settles.

Because that would mean actually admitting to myself that I’m seriously falling for him. And I’m not ready to face what that means yet.

Instead, I finish up my prep work and push through the crowd to the stage in the center of town square. There, local artists and musicians are starting up, and I can see folks crowding around, everyone from the youngest kids to the oldest Seaside Cove regulars.

It’s perfect.

The festival, the people, the energy, it’s everything I love about this place. And the way the town looks today, all dressed up with flowers and banners and little touches of charm? It feels like a dream come to life.

I catch sight of the mural Mrs. Delmar helped paint last year, a colorful collage of Seaside Cove’s history, and I can’t help but feel that warm pride again.

But again, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

Troy: I’ll be there soon. Got a surprise for you.

A surprise? I don’t even know what that means, but my cheeks are back to tomato-red, and I feel the biggest, stupidest grin spreading across my face. I tuck the phone away, trying to calm my racing heart.

And in that one moment, I feel it - all the walls I’ve built up around my heart slowly starting to crumble.

The crowd’s bustling around me, laughter and music filling the air, and I’m doing my best not to keep glancing at my phone.

He’ll be here soon , I remind myself, he said he’s got a surprise . Which, knowing Troy, could mean anything.

I turn back to my food truck, trying to focus on stacking plates and organizing everything for the afternoon crowd, but my heart is in my throat, doing all kinds of ridiculous flips.

Who would’ve thought that the town’s “big corporate threat” would turn out to be the same guy who makes my stomach do somersaults just from a text?

Skye, you are being ridiculous.

Just then, I catch a glimpse of him across the square. He’s not wearing a suit and hasn’t for a while now. He looks perfect in a pair of jeans and a fitted dark shirt, his sleeves rolled up. The man looks like he’s stepped right out of one of those romantic movies where the brooding guy finally realizes he cares.

But it’s his smile that really does me in—soft, genuine, and entirely aimed at me.

He weaves through the crowd, holding something behind his back, and my curiosity practically bursts out of me. He stops just in front of me, eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and mischief.

“Alright, Bellamy, what’s the big mystery?” I try to keep my voice casual, like my pulse isn’t racing.

Without a word, he brings his hand forward, revealing an old, slightly worn photo frame. Inside is a beautifully faded picture of Seaside Cove’s main street, probably from the 1950s, with vintage cars and shop signs.

I’m speechless. It’s like a piece of Seaside Cove’s heart, captured in a single image.

“It was my mom’s,” he says softly, looking at the photo like it’s something precious. “She grew up in a small town like this one, loved everything about it. And one of the many small-town pictures she had stashed away was this one. When I realized it’s actually a scene of Seaside Cove I thought it might feel at home here.”

I swallow, the words thick in my throat. “Troy… this is beautiful.”

He reaches over, gently taking my hand. “I figured you might find a good spot for it. Maybe in your truck, so you never forget what you’re working for.”

I glance up at him, feeling that stupid grin spreading across my face again. Here he is— Mr. Fancy Pants the CEO , the guy I once thought had a heart made of pure corporate steel—and he’s handing me a piece of his own family’s past, something real and deeply personal.

And I realize, at this moment, I’m completely gone. One hundred percent gone.

The last of my walls crumble, leaving me feeling both exhilarated and terrified.

I run my fingers over the faded photo frame, the soft edges and old sepia tones showing a scene of Seaside Cove from decades ago. It’s beautiful—like he’s just handed me a piece of his own heart, or at least of his history.

I glance up at him, stunned, and that’s when I catch his gaze. There’s no teasing smirk this time, no walls between us. Just a warmth in his eyes that, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been waiting for since the day he stumbled out of that plane and into my life.

“Troy… I don’t even know what to say,” I murmur, my voice soft.

He doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he steps a little closer, eyes locked on mine. “You don’t have to say anything, Skye. Just… know that this place, you, all of it—it matters to me. More than I ever thought it could.”

Before I know it, I’m on my toes, leaning in, and his arms come around me as our lips meet, soft and slow at first, then deeper, like everything we haven’t said is pouring out in that one perfect moment.

When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless, and he’s smiling at me, one of those rare, real smiles that makes my heart do that ridiculous skipping thing.

“Come on,” he says, still holding my hand. “Let’s explore the rest of this festival.” I don’t hesitate. I close the truck’s windows and let him pull me away.

And for the next few hours, we do just that, wandering through the booths and stands, checking out the crafts, and chatting with everyone we meet. He fits right in, greeting neighbors and laughing at jokes he probably doesn’t even understand but pretends to. At one point, he insists on buying me a bright flower crown from Mrs. Delmar’s booth, setting it on my head like it’s a real crown and calling me “Queen of Seaside Cove.”

It’s silly, ridiculous even, but by the end of it, I don’t care. I’m too busy just feeling—like I’m floating, like this is something I could get used to.

As the festival winds down, we make our way back to his car. He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide in, stifling a smile at how natural this feels. He drives us through the quiet streets, the sky darkening into twilight, the scent of salt and wildflowers drifting through the open window.

“So… back to the inn?” he asks, glancing over at me, one eyebrow raised.

I shake my head, grinning. “Actually, I moved back to my house yesterday. Renovations are finally done.”

He nods, a pleased look flickering in his eyes as he turns onto my street. “Then I’ll take you home.”

In front of my little house, he stops the car and turns to me, his hand reaching for mine. I lean toward him, and just like before, he’s there, catching me in a soft, lingering kiss that somehow feels both like a beginning and a promise. We pull apart, and he brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek.

“Thank you for today,” he murmurs, his voice low.

I smile, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for showing up.”

With one last kiss, soft and slow, I pull away and head up to my door. He waits until I’m inside, and as I turn back to wave, I see him still watching, his expression unreadable but warm.

Inside, I flop onto my sofa, the day’s excitement still buzzing through me. But I’m exhausted, every bit of my energy is spent in the best possible way. I curl up under a blanket, and just as I’m dozing off, I hear a knock.

I open the door to find Troy standing there, looking a little sheepish. “I was halfway to the inn,” he says, “but I just… I had to see you one more time.”

Before I can respond, he’s wrapping me in his arms again, pulling me close. His warmth surrounds me, his fingers tracing gentle circles on my back, and I let myself sink into the comfort of it. We move to the sofa, where he settles beside me, his arm draped over my shoulder and pulls a blanket over us both. I feel him gently stroking my hair, and as my eyelids grow heavy, he whispers, “I could get used to this.”

I smile, barely awake now, my heart full. “Me too.”

And as I drift off, safe in his arms, I finally let myself believe it—believe in us, in whatever this is becoming, and in the little dream I never knew I wanted.