CARRIE RUSHED DOWN the stairs into the conference room of the town hall building, where the business owners’ meeting was already underway.
First, she’d totally blown off last week’s dinner with her sisters and the two town council members, and tonight she was twenty minutes late. As a rule, Carrie was never late but she’d been painting for hours and lost track of the time. Again.
Returning from Dylan’s house, she’d only managed a few fitful hours of sleep before giving up. In the second bedroom of her rental, she’d picked up a paintbrush and put it to the canvas set up on her easel without much conscious thought. Years ago art had been both her escape and a path to emotional freedom. It was strange that it played the same role for her now, like slipping back into a comfortable pair of shoes.
She’d continued to paint as the light from the window went from shades of gray and pink to the bright morning sunshine and throughout the day. She hadn’t stopped for food or to go to the bathroom, propelled by some force she barely understood.
“I’m here,” she announced as if her arrival wasn’t obvious.
“Nice to see you, Carrie,” the mayor announced from where he stood at the podium in the front of the room. “We were about to adjourn to the square to test the lights before things really get rolling tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The biggest weekend of the festival—her festival—kicked off in earnest tomorrow with the elaborate LED and twinkle light displays she’d installed to be synchronized with a soundtrack of holiday carols, along with a twenty-minute snow show. And she’d blown off her entire to-do list in order to spend the day working on a new canvas. What was wrong with her?
She smiled and kept her head held high as the members of the committee filed past her on their way out the door, ignoring the strange looks she got from almost every person, including her sisters. She hadn’t seen Dylan yet but the way the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end told her he was in the room.
“Is everything all right, dear?” Josie Trumbell seemed genuinely worried as she looked Carrie over from head to toe.
“I’m fine,” Carrie answered and tried not to cringe as she glanced down at herself. The faded sweatshirt she wore was wrinkled and splattered with paint specks and the bulky boots she’d shoved her feet into were a glaring contrast to the patterned leggings she wore. She smiled at Josie and swiped a hand at the front of her shirt.
“Don’t bother,” Avery said, coming to stand next to her. “Your cheeks are streaked, as well. Embrace the eccentric artist mantle, sis. It looks good on you.”
“I’ve been painting, but I’m not what anyone would consider an artist,” Carrie protested automatically. “Eccentric or otherwise.”
“Then you do a great impersonation of one,” a deep voice said from behind her. She turned to find Dylan smiling at her, and not the smug grin she would have expected. He looked genuinely happy to see her and somehow satisfied that she was in such a state of disarray. “People who paint are generally known as artists,” he said, his voice pitched low.
“Captain Obvious strikes again,” Meredith said with a laugh as she joined them.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie murmured. “I lost track of time today and—”
“Don’t apologize,” Meredith interrupted. “We’ve got things under control for the festival.”
“Your sisters have your back,” Malcolm added as he approached.
“Carrie’s done the heavy lifting,” Avery said, and Carrie wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for the loyalty or embarrassed how clear it must be to everyone that she was shirking her responsibilities.
Maybe she had more in common with her father than she wanted to admit. He’d always professed his good intentions with regard to the town. At least he’d talked a good game about his commitment. But when push came to shove, Niall had been in it for himself. Carrie didn’t think of herself that way, but she couldn’t deny the tinge of resentment that had colored her mood as she’d finally put away her paint supplies in order to rush to this meeting.
No one had forced her to devote herself to making the holidays in Magnolia the biggest and best the region had ever seen. But how else would she prove that she wasn’t like her dad? That she hadn’t allowed herself to ignore how bad things had gotten, just as he had, because it was easier that way.
Dylan’s warm hand on her back snapped her out of her meandering thoughts. She darted a glance at him and then to the cluster of family and friends surrounding them. Her sisters and Malcolm watched her with the same curious expressions. Like they were questioning whether she’d lost her mind.
“Let’s go see the lights,” she said with a purposefully bright smile. “It’s going to be amazing.”
The mayor let out a relieved breath. “It sure is,” he agreed and led the way toward the staircase.
Avery and Meredith shared a look that Carrie didn’t bother to try to interpret.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, stepping away from Dylan’s touch even though her first instinct was to move closer to him. There was no reason why he should feel like her ally at the moment. For all she knew, his insistence that she needed to devote more time to her art was a ploy to distract her from her duties on the festival committee. The number of visitors in town for the holiday events had been impressive so far, but they needed even bigger crowds to show up the next two weekends for the down-home holiday celebration she’d planned. A lack of visitors would help prove Dylan’s point that Magnolia needed an image overhaul instead of a simple enhancement.
“You should have kept painting,” Avery said over her shoulder. “Meredith and I could have handled this.”
“You both have enough going on in your own lives,” Carrie argued. “The town is my responsibility.”
“No, it’s not,” Dylan said, leaning closer.
“I hate to agree with him,” Meredith said, “but he’s right. Your dreams and goals are just as important as the ones that involve the town.”
Annoyance pricked along Carrie’s spine. “My goal is to see Magnolia thrive again.”
“But you’re painting.” Avery held the door open as Carrie walked through. “And not just silly sip-and-paint-themed canvases. That should be your priority.”
“Those silly parties were your idea,” Carrie reminded her half sister, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
“You should stage another show with your new works,” Meredith suggested. “Bring in some other artists and do a showcase of local talent.”
Carrie crossed her hands over her chest. “I’m not selling my new paintings.”
“We could put it on the town calendar for late January.” Malcolm tapped a finger on his chin, gazing at Carrie with those too knowing chocolate-brown eyes. “You’d be a great midwinter draw.”
“I’ll make fliers to hand out at the festival this weekend and next,” Josie offered. “My granddaughter is teaching me how to use templates on my computer. I’m very high-tech now.”
“I’m not a draw.” Carrie tried to keep the panic out of her voice when she realized every member of the festival committee—people she’d known her entire life—stared at her like she was some kind of second coming. “I doubt anyone wants to see my current art.”
“Yes, they do,” Avery argued. “Especially if we market the event the right way.”
“Your dad might have been a critical hack most of his career,” Phil Wainright from the hardware store said, “but he’s still famous. People will be curious to know whether you’re going to carry on the family tradition. Think of the publicity you got from the show of your old stuff, and we hardly did anything to market that but announce it on the town Facebook page.” His words earned nods of agreement from the group, making Carrie unsure of whether to laugh or cry.
Without thinking about it, she shifted nearer to Dylan. She should be angry with him. His encouragement had inspired her to begin painting for real again. She hadn’t even realized she missed it before he came back into her life. She hadn’t realized she missed a lot of things before his return.
“We need to keep our attention focused on the task in front of us,” he told the group as he stepped in front of her like some kind of buffer against a storm. “Let’s get these lights going and show the crowds who attend the festival a great time and then we’ll focus on what comes next.”
Carrie appreciated the reprieve from being the center of attention, even if something about the way he spoke about the future made her hackles rise. She ignored the clang of warning bells sounding in her brain. Dylan was here. True to his word, it felt like he was giving her and the other volunteers a chance to prove they had Magnolia on the right track.
If they stayed the course, things would keep moving forward with tourism and, hopefully, they’d forget about the idea of her doing a show. She should want to embrace the opportunity, but as much as painting filled her heart, the thought of putting her work out for public consumption remained a terrifying prospect. Her old high school paintings had been easy enough to display, especially when the sales had helped raise the money to pay off a few overdue bills and buy supplies for the paint-and-sip business.
But her new work felt different, more personal. In truth, it terrified her to think of sharing it publicly. There would be no way to prevent comparisons to her father, and Carrie had watched him struggle for years dealing with his career. The constant pressure to do more, sell more, be more to everyone. It was one thing to give her all to help Magnolia succeed. She imagined putting that much effort into a career as an artist might feel like constantly walking around with no clothes on.
Tamping down the panic that threatened to overtake her, she followed as Malcolm led the group across the street toward the center of the town square. She’d deal with the harsh reality of what it meant to truly embrace her art after the holidays. Carrie held her breath as he placed a hand on the control panel the electricians had set up behind the main bandstand.
He flipped the switch and for a moment the entire square was flooded with light. Thousands of light strands twinkled from where they’d been strung across the wide expanse of park, around the trunks of trees and along the perimeter of the square. Every building that bordered the park was lit in festive colors. Overhead there was a canopy of light in the shape of Santa in his sleigh, complete with reindeer and a giant bag of toys.
Tears sprang to Carrie’s eyes as the lights danced like stars overhead and all around them. She heard the rumble of the snowmaking machine and seconds later flurries gathered in the air around them. The effect was everything she’d imagined and more.
A collective gasp went up from their group. It was like a holiday fairy tale for a few seconds. Then it all went dark.
“THE LIGHTS WERE overkill anyway,” Stuart Moore, the crotchety owner of the bookstore, told Carrie as he awkwardly patted her shoulder. “People don’t want to be wearing sunglasses at night.”
She gave a halfhearted laugh at his attempt to make her feel better. Even to her own ears it sounded just this side of hysterical.
“We’ll fix this,” Avery assured her.
“It’s a disaster,” Carrie murmured, pressing two fingers to her pounding heart. “I shouldn’t have gone so crazy with the lights.”
Her plan for the biggest light display on the coast seemed to have overloaded the main circuit, plunging the entire town into darkness, or maybe it was the whole county. Shae had called Meredith from the rescue to report they’d lost power and ask about any possible electrical storms.
No storm on the horizon other than the tornado blowing apart Carrie’s confidence.
Even now all she could seem to do was stand in place as people moved around her, putting in calls to the utility company and unplugging cords to ease the pressure on the system.
“I saw this on an episode of that Christmas light fight show,” Josie reported. “But they only knocked out the block.”
“It was beautiful while it worked,” Mary Ellen offered. “At least we tried it before the entire festival was ruined.”
“It was too much anyway,” Stuart said, shaking his head. “Should have listened to Dylan in the first place. Who would have thought he’d be the rational one in all of this?” He gave a long look at Carrie, Avery and Meredith. “I guess we should have expected it with you three.”
“Expected what?” Meredith demanded. “That we would have turned things around in this town in the course of a few short months. Between Avery’s marketing and the work that Carrie has put in to make the holiday events special, we’re still going to have the best holiday celebration this town has ever seen. Which will mean sales for you.”
“Back in the day we didn’t have to work so hard. People flocked to this town just because...” Stuart shrugged, as if realizing he’d gone too far. “Anyway, I’m going home. We should post something to the town’s Facebook page that everyone needs to bring flashlights tomorrow night in case the power goes out.”
“No one is posting about flashlights,” Avery said then turned to Mary Ellen. “Would you check in with Malcolm and see if there’s a time frame on getting things back to normal?”
“Sure thing.”
“Ruined,” Carrie whispered when she was alone with her sisters. “What if I ruined everything with my stupid need to go overboard?”
“Nothing you do is stupid,” Avery assured her.
“The same can’t be said for Stuart. That guy is inbred for sure.”
“Maybe he was right.” Despite the cool temperature as night fell, a bead of sweat trickled down Carrie’s back, and her stomach ached from her embarrassment at the scene she’d caused. “I’m creating a lot of work for myself and everyone else with no guarantee it will pay off.”
“It’s going to pay off.” Avery gave her a quick hug. “I talked to Miriam at The Magnolia Inn. She’s at full occupancy this weekend and almost half of her guests are visitors returning to spend a second weekend in town. According to her, the local bed-and-breakfasts are experiencing the same thing. That never happens this time of year.”
“I can’t remember the last weekend of no vacancy in Magnolia.” Malcolm gave her an approving nod as he approached. “You’ve done good here and we appreciate it.”
“I’m sorry about the power.”
At that moment the lights flicked back on, and Carrie breathed a sigh of relief. Relief tinged with a smidge of disappointment. Power had been restored to the buildings she could see from where they stood, but the town square remained dark.
“We had to unplug,” the mayor explained. “At least until someone from the utility company can figure out how to light the whole thing without other disturbances. They’re sending a crew out first thing tomorrow morning.”
“We’ll find a way to turn on at least some of the lights,” Avery promised. “I’m sure Gray will think of a solution.”
“He’s a firefighter,” Carrie reminded her sister, “not an electrician.”
Avery’s expression took on that dreamy look Carrie had come to expect when Gray was the topic of conversation. “He can do anything.”
“Her own personal superhero,” Meredith added, deadpan.
“I’ll call Gray in the morning,” Malcolm promised. “Any ideas are good ones at this point. Right now the three of you should head home. It’s all hands on deck first thing tomorrow.”
“We’ll make sure the weekend is great no matter what.” Avery gave Carrie another hug and even Meredith joined in. Carrie knew things must be bad if her normally flippant sister was offering solace.
“Want to grab dinner?” Meredith asked. “I’ve got to get back to check on Shae and the animals, but if we got something quick...”
“I told Violet I’d help with her costume for the Christmas pageant,” Avery said.
Carrie stared at her sophisticated, former city-girl sister. “You can sew?”
“No, but I bought a glue gun.” Avery grinned. “You can make anything with a glue gun.”
“Just don’t glue your fingertips together,” Meredith warned. “My dad did that once when he was trying to fix my favorite piggy bank after Theo broke into it.”
Carrie felt her chest pinch at the sadness in Meredith’s voice. Discovering their connection and the secrets Niall had left behind affected each of them in a different way. She knew Meredith had struggled with her new identity and what that meant for the father she’d grown up with and who’d raised her on his own for so many years.
“How is your dad?” she asked gently, feeling Avery go still next to her. Meredith rarely opened up to either of them.
“Still staying with Erik down in Wilmington,” she said casually. “He might be back for Christmas.”
Avery tsked under her breath. “Will you go there for the holiday if not?”
“Hard to find animal sitters at that time. We’ll see.” Meredith made a show of checking her watch. “If we’re not getting dinner, I’m going to grab some carryout and head home. I’ll see you both bright and early tomorrow.”
Carrie said goodbye to Avery, as well, and headed across the darkened town square on her own. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go—any of it.
The warring emotions of guilt and resentment crept along her spine like dueling spiders making her skin itch with discomfort.
She’d planned to test the lights on her own before tonight to ensure everything worked the way they should. How many other details had she overlooked? Between the time she spent with Dylan and the hours in front of a canvas, she hadn’t given nearly as much to the festival as she’d planned.
Now it felt like the whole thing was in jeopardy. But the piece of her that had spent the past decade catering to her father’s every whim and need rose up inside her like some kind of stubborn weed. What would happen if she really changed her mind about dedicating all of her energy toward the town?
Avery and Meredith worked hard, too, but they were doing it to help make sure the properties they’d inherited would be worth something. They didn’t seem to have the same driving compulsion to right the wrongs of their father in the same way Carrie did.
She paused as she caught sight of Dylan near the entrance to his building. He’d disappeared after the town went dark, and she’d figured he’d headed home to celebrate the fact that her plan seemed to be falling apart just when it counted the most.
His back was to her and she could see the cell phone against his ear. She thought about backtracking through the park and taking the long way home around the far side of downtown.
But that would just prolong the inevitable gloating. Why not pull up her big-girl panties and deal with it while her mood was already in the toilet?
She wasn’t sure whether he heard the heels of her boots clicking on the sidewalk or simply sensed her approach. Either way, he turned and held up a finger then pointed to the phone at his ear.
“Just get down here with the generator first thing tomorrow,” he said, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I don’t care about the overtime, Cody. Make it happen.”
He ended the call and shoved the phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. Once again Dylan proved he could look good in any situation. He wore a nondescript gray sweater and his worn leather jacket. Somehow, he managed to appear like he’d just stepped off the pages of a magazine spread featuring men of alpha style.
Carrie bit down on the inside of her cheek, hoping the pain would keep her focused on what she needed to say to him and not how he made her feel. Yet, she couldn’t help but remember how he’d come to her defense with the committee members earlier. “Do you want to start with the ‘I told you so’?” she asked, proud that her voice didn’t waver. “Or should I go first?”
His thick brows drew together as he stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
She hitched a thumb at the town square behind her. “The mess I’ve made of the light ceremony. I went too big, too far, too bright. Just like you probably knew I would.”
“It’s not a mess. We just need a backup power source. I’m having my company’s master electrician drive down with a portable generator tomorrow. I’ve already contacted the local utility company, so they know it’s on the way. We’re meeting here first thing in the morning and it will be ready by the time the ceremony is scheduled to start. Magnolia is going to be the brightest town on the eastern seaboard for your Merry Magnolia Festival.”
Carrie felt her mouth drop open. She could barely contain her shock. Dylan told her the plan like it was nothing. As if they were really on the same team.
“I don’t understand,” she said when she regained enough control to speak. “Why? Why would you go out of your way to make it work instead of using the issue against me?”
He moved closer, cupped her cheeks in his large hands. “I’m not the bad guy,” he said simply. “I gave my word that I’d help with the festival and that’s what I’m going to do. It’s important to you, which makes it important to me. We might have different ideas for the future of the town, but we can deal with that later.”
Her mind whirled. Not only was he not the bad guy. At this moment Dylan Scott was her personal hero. She didn’t say that, knowing it would make him uncomfortable. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed him.
“Thank you.”
He smiled against her mouth. “If you let it slip that I’m not the villain everyone wants me to be, I’ll deny it.”
“I don’t understand.” She pulled back and looked into his eyes, trying to figure out why he wouldn’t admit that he cared about things.
“I’ve gotten used to people around here having low expectations of me.” He flashed a self-deprecating grin. “I kind of like it that way.”
“You don’t mean that,” she argued. “Especially because I know you love the bakery’s sticky buns. Wouldn’t it be nice if Mary Ellen let you in the front door? That way you wouldn’t have to bribe people to smuggle baked goods out to you.”
“How do you know I pay for pastries?”
“I know a lot of things.”
“Not everything,” he said, and the low timbre of his voice made sparks dance along her skin.
She wanted to know more. At this moment she wanted Dylan to open up and admit that his feelings for the town and for her had changed.
His willingness to pitch in when she needed him the most made her believe in her vision for her home in a deeper way than she had before. Magnolia was a place of community, not some generic wealthy vacation destination. Dylan might not want to concede yet, but she knew he saw how special it was here. Otherwise he wouldn’t work to help.
“You look good covered in paint smudges,” he told her.
“I feel bad that I lost track of time,” she admitted, tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow as they walked down the quiet street.
“You can’t take care of other people if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”
Carrie laughed. “Are you a closet Oprah Winfrey fan?”
“Not exactly,” he said, giving her a playful nudge. “Sam and I went to a therapist together for about six months after the accident. I did a couple of solo sessions at her suggestion, and that was one of the main pearls of wisdom she dropped.”
“Dylan,” she breathed, feeling like a jerk for making light of his advice.
“Trust me, the lesson didn’t exactly stick. But I think it applies as much to you as it did to me.”
“You’re right.”
“Say that again,” he urged, amusement lacing his tone. “I like the sound of it.”
She laughed again, amazed at how easy it was to relax and let down her guard with this man who should raise her hackles instead. They came to the corner where her Volvo was parked.
“I walked,” he told her, “so I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
He seemed as reluctant to leave her as she was to let him go. Neither of them spoke about the way last night had ended. She didn’t want to go there, not after he’d just stepped up to help save her vision for the festival. Most of her life was complicated, but at the moment her feelings for Dylan were the most straightforward thing she could imagine.
She wouldn’t ruin this, too.
“Do you want a ride home?”
“Sure. Sam’s at a movie so he won’t be back for another hour or so.”
An hour. Imagine all the things that could happen in one hour. Carrie’s body hummed with the possibility of it. They climbed into the station wagon and she pulled away from the curb.
“Would you like to see what I’m working on?” she asked, her awareness immediately replaced by nervous energy. She had an opportunity for sexy time and instead had offered to show him something that revealed every hidden shred of her vulnerability.
“More than anything,” he answered before she had a chance to take it back.
She swallowed down the anxiety rising up in her throat.
“Great,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”