Where Your Heart Is (Lilac Bay Book 1) by Rachel Schurig

for the night’s activities. “So this is a pretty big deal around here, huh?”
    Posey shot me an incredulous look. “Seriously?”
    “What?”
    “You came to the island every year until you were sixteen. You honestly don’t know the significance of the fish fry?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here this time of year.”
    She shook her head, the incredulity on her face growing deeper. “Mimi hosts this event every few years,” she said. “I know she’s told you about it before.”
    I looked down at my feet, feeling uncomfortable. It was, of course, entirely possible that Mimi had mentioned it to me at some point without me remembering. I had never been able to make myself care too much about the goings on in town. Not when I lived hundreds of miles away. Not even when I had lived here, if I was honest.
    “Sorry, Posey,” I finally mumbled. “Maybe she did? I just don’t remember.”
    My cousin sighed before shaking her head a little. When she looked back at me, her face was more neutral. Like she was determined to give me the benefit of the doubt, even if she found my disinterest in island affairs rude.
    “The fish fry is the last big town event before the season starts,” she explained. I knew that by “season,” she meant the arrival of the tourists. They would start trickling in over the next few weeks as spring and Memorial Day approached. By the time school got out, the trickle would turn to droves. The ferry schedule would increase from four trips a day to every half hour, bringing day-trippers and vacationers alike. They would come for the charm and the nature and the fudge, filling up the hotels and B&Bs and the restaurants and cafés. The money the islanders took in during the summer months needed to last for most of the year, though the visitors would continue to come in smaller numbers through fall hunting season. Winter months saw some tourism, the hardy types who wanted to ice fish or cross-country ski in the miles of unspoiled forests. But it was summer when the real money was made.
    “So this isn’t a tourist thing?” I asked.
    Posey shook her head. “A few of the summer home owners are here by now—like Mae—but mostly, this is for the year-rounders. One last chance to spend time together before we all get so busy and crowded.”
    Crowded. I shook my head. Even with the arrival of the tourists, the island could only comfortably hold around twenty-thousand people. If that was crowded, I wondered how she would describe the streets of a real city.
    We were nearing Town Square now, and as the scene came into view, I did a double take. There really did seem to be a lot of people here. Like, pretty much everyone who lived on the island full time. Tables surrounded the center of the square, each filled with a different item of food or drink. A bonfire was burning in the middle, people milling around, drinks in hand, laughing and talking. Someone had set up speakers and soft bluegrass music filled the air. Strings of lanterns stretched from lamppost to lamppost, adding to the cheery glow of the fire. It looked…well, it looked really nice, actually.
    “Wow,” I murmured, causing Posey to turn to me with a grin.
    “It’s great, isn’t it?”
    I nodded, eyes darting around the space. I didn’t remember anything like this when I lived here. But then again, I didn’t get out too much back then.
    Posey slipped her arm through mine. “Come on. Cora Hanson has mulled wine over there. It’s pretty fantastic. Let’s go get some.”
    Apparently, Posey wasn’t the only one excited about Cora’s mulled wine. By the time we reached the table, the line had stretched down to the edge of the square. “Do you mind waiting?” she asked. “It’s worth it, promise.”
    As my attention had just been captured by Jerry walking his new chicken around in what appeared to be a flannel-lined picnic basket, I figured alcohol was going to be a necessity to get through the evening.