8. SKYE

Chapter eight

SKYE

Deep breaths, Skye. You've got this.

My hands are shaking as I grip the edges of the podium.

I scan the crowd packed into the community center. Familiar faces stare back at me, a sea of worry and determination. Mr. Jenkins gives me a thumbs up from the front row, and I manage a wobbly smile.

Yes, I can be extroverted but when I’m on an actual stage. I get full-on nervous.

"Thank you all for coming," I begin, my voice only slightly quivering. "As you know, we're here to discuss the threat of corporate takeovers in Seaside Cove."

A murmur ripples through the audience. I catch sight of Zoey, who nods encouragingly.

Right.

"Look, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. We're in trouble, folks. These big companies? They don't care about our history, our community, or the sand between our toes. They see dollar signs, not people."

I'm pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly. "They want to turn Seaside Cove into just another cookie-cutter resort town. But we're not gonna let that happen, are we?"

A chorus of "No!" echoes through the room.

That's more like it.

"We've got to fight back. With everything we've got. Because this isn't just about our businesses or our homes. It's about our way of life."

I take a deep breath and launch into our action plan.

"First, we need to make sure every single person in Seaside Cove knows what's at stake. I'm talking door-to-door campaigns, flyers, social media blitzes. We'll set up info booths at the farmers’ market and the boardwalk. No one in this town should be in the dark about what's happening."

I see people nod in the crowd, looking to one another.

Using that as encouragement, I continue, "Next, we're bringing in the big guns. I've been in touch with an environmental law firm that specializes in fighting corporate land grabs. Greenleaf & Associates has agreed to take our case pro bono.”

“Their legal team has already started reviewing the details of the potential buyouts, and they're confident we have a strong case to prevent these acquisitions on environmental and historical preservation grounds. We're going to challenge these buyouts on every legal basis possible with Greenleaf & Associates leading the charge.”

“Yes! That’s the right choice! That is what we must do!” Someone I can’t decipher from the crowd speaks out loud and a murmur picks up with people agreeing with the person.

"Here's the kicker –.” I walk out from behind the podium. “We're not just saying 'no' to their plans. We're creating our own. A sustainable development initiative that preserves our character while still allowing for growth. We'll show them we don't need their 'vision' for our future."

The words flow out of me like a tidal wave, fueled by passion and maybe a little too much coffee.

I can see eyes widening in the audience, heads nodding along.

They're with me.

"And remember," I say, building to my big finish, "we are Seaside Cove. We've weathered storms before, and we'll weather this one too. Together."

The applause is deafening. For a moment, I just stand there, heart racing, riding the high of it all.

We can do this.

We have to.

As I step down from the podium, people crowd around, patting my back, shaking my hand. I'm grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

Feeling eyes on me, I look up and then I see him.

Troy.

Standing at the back of the room, watching me with an unreadable expression.

My heart skips a beat, memories of our shared meal and walk back to the inn flashing through my mind.

For a split second, I'm back on that moonlit street, our hands brushing, that spark of connection I couldn't deny.

But reality crashes back in. What is he doing here?

My eyes narrow as suspicion creeps in. What is he here for? Did he come to spy on us? To laugh at our little rebellion? Or... could he actually care?

I force myself to keep smiling, shaking hands, and nodding at the folks crowding around me, but my mind's racing a mile a minute.

Either way, his presence here complicates things. And I've got a feeling our next conversation is going to be... interesting, to say the least.

Get it together, Skye. This is so not the time for schoolgirl crush nonsense.

I make my way through the crowd, aiming for Troy like a heat-seeking missile.

He watches me approach, face unreadable. Good grief, why does he have to look so good in that suit? It's honestly unfair.

"Well, hello," I say, crossing my arms. "Didn't expect to see you here, Mr. Big City. Come to scope out the local color?"

Troy raises an eyebrow. "Impressive speech, Skye. You've got quite the way with words."

"Thanks," I reply, caught off guard by the compliment. "But you didn't answer my question. What brings you to our humble gathering?"

He shrugs, all nonchalant coolness. "Maybe I wanted to see what all the fuss is about. You've got to admit, it's an... interesting situation."

"Interesting?" I repeat, feeling my temper flare. "Is that what you call it when people's livelihoods are at stake?"

"Now, I didn't say that," Troy starts, but I'm on a roll now.

"No, you just implied it. Do you corporate types ever think about anything besides profit margins?"

Troy's eyes flash. "That's not fair, and you know it. There's more to this than-"

"Than what?" I challenge, stepping closer. "Than turning our home into another soulless tourist trap?"

We're toe to toe now, the tension crackling between us like live wire. I'm so mad I could spit, but there's something else too – a heat that has nothing to do with anger.

Troy's voice drops low, a rumble that I swear I can feel in my chest. "You don't know everything, Skye. Maybe if you'd listen for once instead of jumping to conclusions-"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you!" I laugh, but it comes out breathless, almost a gasp.

When did he get so close?

The world narrows down to just us, the background noise fading away. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, smell his cologne – that woodsy fragrance that makes my head spin.

His eyes, those deep pools that I could drown in, flick to my lips. The air between us feels electric, charged with something I can't name but desperately want to explore.

My heart's pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

I find myself caught in his gaze, my eyes darting from his right eye to his left, then down to his lips – oh, those lips – before snapping back up.

There's hunger in his eyes now, raw and unguarded. It sends a shiver down my spine.

Troy lets out a low groan, barely audible, and sways closer. We're breathing the same air now, his exhales warm against my skin. I'm frozen in place, torn between the urge to close that last inch of space and the instinct to run far, far away.

For one electrifying moment, I think he might actually kiss me. Part of me – a bigger part than I want to admit – is screaming for him to do it. The other part is reminding me of all the reasons this is a terrible idea, but that voice is getting fainter by the second.

Troy's whole body seems to vibrate with tension. He leans in, achingly slowly, and I find myself tilting my face up to meet him, pulse racing, every nerve ending on high alert-

But then Mr. Jenkins appears, his hand landing heavily on my shoulder, shattering the moment. "Great job up there, Skye! You really rallied the troops."

I jerk back, feeling like I've been doused with cold water. Just like that, the spell is broken. I step back, feeling weirdly disappointed and relieved at the same time.

What the heck was I thinking?

"Thanks, Mr. J," I manage, forcing a smile. "Couldn't have done it …"

I mumble some kind of response to Mr. Jenkins, but honestly, I have no idea what comes out of my mouth. My brain's still short-circuiting from whatever just happened with Troy.

Speaking of Troy, he's gone.

Vanished into the crowd like some kind of annoyingly handsome smoke monster. Part of me is relieved, but another part – a part I'm trying hard to ignore – is disappointed.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. I smile, I shake hands, I answer questions about our plans to save Seaside Cove. But it's all on autopilot. My mind keeps replaying that moment with Troy on an infuriating loop.

By the time I finally make it back to the Seaside Cove Inn, I'm exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally – you name it, I'm drained. I should be able to fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.

But first, I have to make it to my room without running into Troy.

I tiptoe down the hallway, feeling ridiculous. I'm a grown woman, for crying out loud. Why am I sneaking around like a teenager past curfew?

And then I'm there, standing in front of Troy's door. My heart's pounding so loud I swear it's echoing in the quiet hallway. I hold my breath, straining to hear any sound from inside his room.

Silence.

I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed.

For a crazy second, I consider knocking. What would happen if I did? Would he answer? Would we finish what we started earlier?

"Get a grip, Skye," I mutter to myself, shaking my head.

I force myself to move, practically lunging for my own door across the hall. Once inside, I lean against it, letting out a shaky breath. Safe.

Well, safe from Troy, at least. Not so safe from my own messed-up thoughts.

I flop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. My brain won't shut up, and it's all Troy's fault.

I groan and flip onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow. "Get it together, Martinez," I mutter to myself yet again.

But it's no use.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Troy's face. That intense look in his eyes.

The way he leaned in, just a breath away from...

"Nope, nuh-uh, not going there," I tell myself firmly, flopping onto my back again.

But my traitorous mind has other ideas. It keeps pointing out inconvenient truths: how good Troy smelled, how the air practically crackled between us, how for a split second, I wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and kiss him senseless.

And then there's the other stuff. The way he listened during my speech. The spark of... something in his eyes when we were arguing. Almost like he respected me, maybe even admired me a little.

"He's the enemy," I remind myself. "He represents everything we're fighting against."

But even as I think it, I'm not sure I believe it anymore. There's more to Troy than I initially thought, and that scares me more than anything.

I roll over again, punching my pillow in frustration.

This is ridiculous. I'm Skye Martinez, for crying out loud. I’m the daughter, the granddaughter, and the great granddaughter of our town’s founders. I don't lose sleep over guys, especially not smug, irritatingly attractive corporate types who are probably here to destroy everything I love about my home.

...Probably.

I groan again. It's going to be a long night.