Page 83 of Won't Back Down

WILLA

Sutter’s Ferry was under siege. At least, that was what it felt like to me. The central portion of the village had been blocked off all the way to the marina. A stage was set up at one end of Main Street, with a chalkboard announcing the different bands who’d be taking it over all day. The streets were lined with booths displaying everything from carved driftwood art to tidy jars from the Golden Dunes Honey Company. Interspersed throughout were tents for local restaurants serving pared down versions of their regular menus. I might have loved it but for all the people.

There were so many.

When I’d lived in the village proper with Bree, I’d deliberately pushed my own limits, working in public, or otherwise getting out and about some every day, even during prime tourist season. But since my grandfather had died, and Sawyer and I had moved out to Sutter House, I’d backslid. It had been so easy to stay holed up out there—first because of the stress and strain over the lawsuit and then simply because we were lost in our own little honeymoon world. That would have to change moving forward. I’d have to go back to making an effort.

“Willa! Sawyer!”

I turned toward the familiar voice and spotted Delilah waving from one of the booths. Relieved to see a friendly face, I cut through the crowd in her direction.

“Hey, sugar! How are y’all this morning?”

I accepted her warm hug without reservation. “Making it.” It was the best I could offer without lying.

Her dark eyes were knowing. “There are a lot of folks here today.”

“I think we have Miles to thank for that.”

Our mayor had taken what had once been effectively a party for the locals at the end of the summer season and turned it into an Event with a capital E.

“He did a big push this year around the homecoming theme, reaching out through social media and email to island residents who’ve moved elsewhere, encouraging them to come back to visit.”

There’d always been some who came home around this time. But this year, it felt as if they’d all said ‘Yes’ to his invitation. Ever since the 5K foot race had finished this morning, more and more people had appeared. I could barely move from booth to booth without someone encroaching on my personal space. Sawyer had done his best to stick close, shielding me with his bigger body, but he could only do so much, and I was very aware of the just-in-case dose of propranolol Gabi had pressed on me.

“Guess that was a success,” Delilah said. “I’ve seen some people today I haven’t seen in years.”

“How’s business?” Sawyer glanced around the tables, which already looked half-empty.

Delilah beamed. “Booming. I’ve already sold most of my canvases and quite a few prints. And a good portion of the pottery I had prepped is already spoken for. Nothing makes me happier than a reason to get back into the studio.”

From the next street over, I could hear the band changing out to something a lot louder and more raucous. So much input and noise. I missed Roy and his big, comforting presence. But he’d have been on high alert with all these people because I was, so it was best that he’d been left at home.

I dragged my attention back to the conversation. “Where’s Florence? I expected she’d be here with you.” There was no sign of the taller woman.

“Oh, she went to get us some lunch before the big rush.”

“That’s a good idea. Wren, you wanna get some food before it gets any worse? If we go now, we can probably eat before you’re supposed to report for the start of the regatta.”

The Founders’ Day Regatta was the first of several events I was expected to be present for. Some of it was ceremonial, and some was simply for the photo op. All of it meant I wouldn’t have my trusty emotional support husband for most of the afternoon. Being fortified with food would likely help.

“That’s probably a good plan.”

“Craving anything in particular? I think I saw the booth for Shell Yeah back around the block.”

“I’m not fussy. I’ll go for anything that’s not near the band.”

“You got it. See you later, Mimi.”

We ended up at the tent for the Shoreline Sandwich Shack, which was offering a limited version of its usual menu. A familiar, tall figure with silver-shot brown hair was waiting in line ahead of us. When he turned, I almost broke from the line and simply walked away to find somewhere else to eat. But this was my island, and I’d made my position clear.

“Miss Sutter. Good to see you.”

I forced a polite smile that I knew missed by at least half a mile. “Mr. Strand. Enjoying the festivities?”

“Indeed. It’s quite the turnout today.”

“So it is.”