Snowflakes and Second chances

Chapter 6: Festival Planning Meeting

Chapter 6: Festival Planning Meeting

The morning sun painted Bell & Brew's windows with golden light as Emma approached. Fresh snow crunched beneath her boots, and her breath formed delicate clouds in the crisp air. She'd arrived twenty minutes early, hoping to claim a quiet corner table before the committee members arrived.

"You came." Katie's smile brightened as Emma entered. "David said you might, but I wasn't sure."

"Neither was I." Emma unwound her scarf, scanning the nearly empty café. "The usual?"

"Already brewing." Katie gestured toward a collection of mismatched armchairs arranged in a circle near the fireplace. "We meet over there. More comfortable for long discussions."

Emma chose a high-backed leather chair facing the door. Her advertising portfolio sat heavy in her bag - brought along just in case, she'd told herself. The warmth from the crackling fire seeped into her bones, making her shoulders relax despite her nerves.

David arrived next, carrying a box of fresh pastries from the restaurant. "Mom insisted," he explained, setting them on the coffee table. "She said no one makes good decisions on an empty stomach."

Other committee members trickled in as nine o'clock approached. Mrs. Thompson from the library, Mr. Peterson from the hardware store, and several faces Emma recognized but couldn't name. Each greeting felt genuine, wrapped in welcome rather than surprise at her presence.

"Here's your coffee." Katie delivered Emma's cup along with a conspiratorial whisper. "He's always exactly on time, by the way. Never early, never late."

Emma didn't need to ask who Katie meant. Her fingers tightened around the warm cup as the door chimed one final time.

Ryan Mitchell stepped into the café, snowflakes melting in his darker blonde hair. His blue eyes swept the room with practiced ease, faltering only slightly when they met Emma's. He wore a cable-knit sweater and dark jeans, looking more like a local business owner than the ambitious architect she remembered.

"Good morning, everyone." Ryan's voice carried the same quiet confidence she remembered, though deeper now. "Thanks for coming out in the snow."

He moved toward the circle, choosing a seat that put the coffee table between them. Emma watched him spread papers across the wooden surface, noting how his hands looked stronger, marked by small scars and calluses that hadn't been there before.

"For those who haven't heard," Ryan continued, "we have a guest today. Emma Gardner has graciously offered to help with our publicity strategy."

Emma straightened in her chair. "Actually, I haven't-"

"Your mother mentioned you might have some ideas." Mrs. Thompson smiled encouragingly. "We could certainly use fresh perspective."

"The festival starts in ten days," Ryan added, his tone carefully professional. "And ticket sales for the lantern release are lower than expected."

"Because no one knows about it outside town limits," Mr. Peterson grumbled. "My nephew in Portland had never even heard of us."

Emma's marketing instincts kicked in before she could stop them. "Have you considered social media influencers? The town's aesthetic is perfect for i********: - historic buildings, Christmas lights, artisanal shops."

"We tried f*******: ads," someone offered.

"f*******: targets older demographics." Emma set her coffee down, warming to the topic. "You need younger platforms. t****k, i********: Reels. Short videos showing authentic winter moments - Katie making lattes with snowflake art, Linda teaching dumpling classes, children skating on the pond."

Ryan watched her with an unreadable expression. "Sounds expensive."

"Not necessarily." Emma pulled her tablet from her bag. "May I?"

He nodded, and Emma stood to connect her device to the café's display screen. Ten years of professional experience took over as she pulled up successful campaign examples.

"Small towns like ours are trending." The words flowed easily as she flipped through images. "People crave authenticity, tradition, connection. Evergreen Hollow offers something unique - a genuine small-town Christmas experience."

"Our lantern release tradition began as a way to honor loved ones," Mrs. Thompson reminded them. "It's sacred to many families."

"Then tell their stories." Emma turned to face the group. "Interview residents about what the tradition means to them. Create emotional connections that make people want to be part of something meaningful."

Ryan's expression softened slightly. "You always did understand the heart of things."

Their eyes met across the circle, and for a moment Emma felt seventeen again - presenting ideas in their business class while Ryan watched with pride and encouragement. She looked away first.

"What's your budget?"

The meeting flowed more easily after that. Emma found herself taking notes as Ryan outlined the festival schedule - ice skating competitions, gingerbread house displays, carol singing in the town square. His passion for the community showed in every detail.

"The lantern release happens at midnight on New Year's Eve," Ryan explained. "This year, we're adding live music and a commemorative film about the tradition's history."

"Ten years," Katie mused. "Hard to believe it's been that long since that first night."

Emma pretended to study her notes, but memories flooded back. Hundreds of paper lanterns rising into the dark sky, carrying hopes and dreams and broken hearts toward the stars. She'd left for New York the next morning, watching the town disappear in her rearview mirror.

"Emma?" Ryan's voice pulled her back to the present. "Would you be willing to help with the video? We need someone to conduct interviews, shape the narrative."

"I don't know if-"

"Please." Mrs. Thompson reached over to pat Emma's hand. "You understand what that night meant to people. We need that perspective."

Emma looked around the circle at familiar faces filled with hope and expectation. These were her people, her community. She'd built her career helping clients tell their stories - maybe it was time to help tell her own town's.

"Alright," she agreed softly. "I'll help."

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, with action items assigned and follow-up sessions scheduled. Emma gathered her things slowly, watching others drift toward the door with friendly goodbyes.

"Thank you." Ryan's voice came from behind her. "For helping, I mean. The festival means a lot to these people."

Emma turned to face him properly for the first time. Age had carved subtle lines around his eyes and mouth, but his smile still hit her like summer lightning - brief and brilliant and full of dangerous power.

"Why did you come back?" The question escaped before she could stop it.

"Same reason you did, maybe." Ryan shouldered his messenger bag. "Sometimes you have to leave a place to understand what it meant to you."

"I came back because I had a panic attack in the middle of a client meeting." Emma hadn't meant to admit that, but honesty fell from her lips like snow from heavy branches. "Sarah practically forced me onto the train."

Concern flickered across Ryan's face. "Are you okay?"

"I will be." Emma wrapped her scarf around her neck, needing its soft armor. "It's just temporary. I'll be back in New York after the festival."

"Of course." Something shifted in Ryan's expression, a door closing. "The committee meets again on Friday. Nine AM."

He left before she could respond, the bell above the door marking his exit. Emma watched through the window as he crossed the street, snow settling on his shoulders like a mantle of responsibility.

"Well, that was interesting." Katie appeared beside her, collecting empty coffee cups. "You two always did have chemistry."

"We have history," Emma corrected. "There's a difference."

"Honey, in this town, they're often the same thing." Katie's smile turned thoughtful. "He asked about you, you know. When he first came back. Wanted to know if you were happy in New York."

Emma's heart stuttered. "What did you tell him?"

"That you were successful, which is what he asked. But not what he really wanted to know."

Outside, children ran past throwing snowballs, their laughter carrying through the glass. Emma remembered other winter mornings, other snowball fights. Ryan's hands cold against her cheeks as he kissed her, both of them breathless and young and certain of forever.

"I should go." Emma gathered her coat. "Mom needs help with the cookie workshop this afternoon."

"Emma?" Katie called as she reached the door. "Success and happiness aren't always the same thing either."

The walk home gave Emma time to sort through her tumbling thoughts. Ryan's presence felt both familiar and strange, like a favorite sweater that no longer quite fit. She'd spent years building defenses against memories of him, but nothing had prepared her for the reality of his steady gaze and quiet confidence.

The inn's kitchen welcomed her with warmth and the scent of vanilla. Margaret looked up from her mixing bowl, reading Emma's expression with maternal clarity.

"Committee meeting went well?"

"Ryan's different." Emma hung her coat by the door. "More..."

"Grounded?" Margaret suggested. "That's what happens when you stop running from who you're meant to be."

"I'm not running, Mom. I'm building a career."

"And we're proud of you for that." Margaret handed her daughter an apron. "But sometimes the hardest part of finding yourself is admitting you might have been looking in the wrong place."

Emma tied the apron with practiced movements, her mind still in the café. Ryan had looked at home there, surrounded by community and purpose. The ambitious young man who'd chosen Chicago over small-town life had somehow become someone who understood the value of tradition and connection.

"The video project," Emma said slowly, measuring vanilla into a fresh batch of dough. "It's actually a good idea. Telling the town's story, preserving memories."

"Including yours?" Margaret's question held no judgment, only gentle understanding.

"Maybe it's time." Emma watched butter and sugar cream together in the mixer, becoming something new. "Ten years is long enough to hold onto old hurt."

"And the new hurt?" Margaret touched her daughter's cheek. "The one that drove you home?"

"That's different."

"Is it?" Margaret turned back to her baking. "Or are you just better at hiding it under designer suits and corner offices?"

Emma had no answer for that. Outside the kitchen window, snow continued to fall, softening the edges of the world. Somewhere in town, Ryan was probably planning festival details, building something meaningful from memory and hope.

The mixer hummed steadily, and Emma lost herself in the familiar rhythm of baking beside her mother. But part of her mind lingered in the café, remembering how Ryan's eyes had softened when she spoke about emotional connections.

Some stories, it seemed, refused to end simply because you closed the book.