Page 28 of When We Are Complete

“Well, this is the spot,” he says finally, gesturing out toward the open space beyond the lighthouse which is going to be the new festival site.

“It’s going to be great. Very atmospheric.” I open the door and climb out before I can let his presence get any deeper under my skin.

Jake meets me at the front of the truck, hands tucked casually into his pockets, watching me with that same irritating, calm expression.

“Let’s get to work, then.” I square my shoulders and march toward the site.

“Here’s where we’re thinking of setting up the main stage,” Jake calls from behind me, businesslike, as if he’s remembered there’s an invisible line he shouldn’t cross.Good. There is. I keep it drawn firm in my mind.

“Sounds good,” I reply without looking directly at him. I point to a spot near the lighthouse. “Food trucks over there, maybe? And a covered dining area for dining in case of inclement weather.”

“Works for me.” His footsteps crunch on the ground as he walks beside me.

“Great.” I scan the area, seeing the festival come to life in my mind. “We’ll need power hook-ups for the food trucks, lights and outdoor heaters.”

“Already on it,” Jake assures me. “Anything you need, we can make it happen.”

I glance at him, the ocean breeze teasing strands of hair across my face. I tuck them behind my ear. “Thanks.” The word comes out a little softer.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s map this out.”

“Let’s,” I agree as we get back to his truck, pulling out my notebook, which is already filled with plans and lists. It’s tangible proof that I’ve got this, that I can handle anything—including working with Jake. Because this is about the town, about the festival. Not us. Never us. Not again.

I flip to the page filled with my initial sketches for the festival layout. “Okay, so here’s the vision…” I spend five minutes speaking in specifics about my plan for sustainable installations, eco-friendly displays, reusable materials, and minimizing our environmental impact.

I tell him that we want to be able to reuse many of the installations for subsequent events, and that I want some of the seating to become a permanent fixture at the site, so people can continue to enjoy this space after the festival. When I stop, I glance at Jake, expecting some acknowledgment of how brilliant it all is.

Instead, he leans against the truck, arms crossed, his brow slightly furrowed. “This is all great stuff, really great, but it’s going to take twice the time and blow the budget.”

Of course, he has to ruin the vibe. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “This isn’t just any festival—it needs to be perfect. You heard the mayor.”

Jake scratches the scruff on his square jaw. His cheeks have gone a little pink in the wind, and he’s flipped his jacket collar up. “Perfect’s overrated, and I doubt the mayor expects things to actually be perfect. We need to be practical.” He pauses, looking right at me. “But if you’re the one pushing for it, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Practical means the same festival that’s been happening for decades,” I fire back, a smile lifting the corners of my lips despite myself. I forgot how much I loved the back and forth we used to have, the way we could disagree one minute, then be kissing and making out the next. “Compromising means settling. The mayor said this needs to be the best festival we’ve ever held, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s the boss.”

“Compromising means we have a good festival ready on time that still blows the previous festivals out of the water,” Jake replies, his voice calm, as though I’m some kind of over-caffeinated hurricane. “It’ll still be great, even if we compromise a little.”

That word—compromise—rubs me the wrong way. My voice goes a little sharp, even though part of me is enjoying the clash between us. “I don’t want great. I want unforgettable.”

Jake gives me a look and holds my gaze, unexpected heat coiling in my core as the seconds stretch. The cold wind blows that caramel scent that clings to him right at me, and for a moment, I forget to breathe. That night at the wedding comes back to me in full force, his hands, gripping and greedy, his mouth.

Right now, he’s too close, and I can almost taste the tension between us, the way it hums in the space that’s too small but somehow a canyon.

Damn him. This is supposed to be business. Not whateverthisis. This stupid pull that’s always existed between us. My heart lurches in my chest, caught between the urge to punch him and the impulse to... well, kiss him, to spend another night doing something stupid together.

He presses his lips together. He’s trying not to smile. He knows what I’m thinking. I can tell by the gleam in his eye. Smug bastard. “You know, you’re a lot more fun when you’re not tryingto save the environment in one afternoon,” he says, before giving me a crooked grin that sends my pulse skittering.

Before I can respond—because obviously there’s a good comeback on the tip of my tongue—Jake glances at his watch. “Shit. Sorry, I’ve got to go. I need to pick Adele up from school.”

And just like that, the bubble bursts. Hearing his daughter’s name is a douse of ice water. Adele—the reason Jake walked away all those years ago, the reason everything fell apart between us.

I snap my notebook shut, forcing my expression back into neutral territory. “Right. Of course.”

The ride back to town is quieter than before, the playful tension between us replaced by the awkward weight of old memories. I stare out the window, willing my heart to stop racing.

As Jake pulls up to the office, he glances at me with a small, almost apologetic look as I turn to face him. “I’m sorry about earlier. About focusing on the budget and practical issues. I know how much heart and soul you’re going to pour into this, and if anyone can pull off the mayor’s grand idea, it’s you.”

I gather my things. “Thanks.”

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