Page 50 of Time After Time (Golden Sands #1)

Geneviève

E ven though my cream tank top had slits on the sides to let my skin breathe, the sun still beat down on me mercilessly.

Sweat gathered at my temples, daring to smudge the sunscreen I’d applied. Yet, no matter how much I tried to shield myself from the sun’s harsh glare, every exposed bit of skin felt like it was burning, tingling and prickling from the relentless heat.

My thoughts had been all over the place since last night.

I’d shifted in bed for what felt like hours, my mind running circles around itself, until I gave in and video-called Sebastian at 3 a.m. To my surprise, he picked up right away, looking just as awake as I was.

We talked for a while, but even then, I couldn’t shake the nerves about the festival.

I kept overthinking every little detail, wondering if the ideas in my head would turn out as perfect as I imagined when it came time to pull everything together.

“Geneviève.” I spun around to face Hanks’ irritated expression—our town’s postman—and I didn’t think I did a very good job atconcealing my grimace.

“Another three packages for you.” He placed the boxes in front of my feet with an annoyed grumble.

“I hope these are the last ones.” With that, he turned away, frustration showing in the tense set of his shoulders and the sharpness of his stride.

My ‘thank you’ went unanswered as he put as much distance between us as he could.

He was probably tired of showing up every five minutes with another package—especially since most of them were for me. But everything was being delivered to the town square, where we were already busy preparing for the summer festival.

The stalls would line the square and surround our city hall, which stood tall like a giant lighthouse, painted in white and blue. I was already picturing how stunning it could all look if I could bring to life what I had in mind.

“He’s like that with everyone.”

Startled, I turned to find Sylvie standing behind me, and a small grin tugged at my lips. The uneasy pounding in my chest seemed to ease the moment I saw her.

She must have sensed my tension, because she moved closer, handing me my straw hat and sunglasses. I’d packed them the night before, but in my rush to get to the town square early, I had completely forgotten about them.

“Thank you,” I whispered, closing my eyes for a moment to enjoy the relief the hat and sunglasses provided from the sun. When I opened them again, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to help you,” she said, her fists resting on her hips as she grinned at me.

The sun hit her just right, making one of her eyes squint even though she wore a baseball cap.

“I won’t be able to stay long—I promised Ava I’d check out her new car, and that’s going to take a while.

But,” she shrugged nonchalantly, “it’s no big deal. ”

Sylvie knew how anxious I was about this. She understood how much I wanted everything to be perfect.

These feelings were all too familiar from the past few days. I worried about meeting everyone’s expectations and whether my vision would hold up once everything was decorated.

Doubts swirled in my mind, making me question if I was the right person for this and whether I could still pull off something I’d always done with ease.

“Gen,” Sylvie’s hand on my shoulder made me look up from the ground.

She smiled, her lips pulling up at the corners as her gaze softened, the edges of her eyes crinkling just enough to make me feel like everything would be alright.

“You’re doing fantastic. I have no doubts.

No one questions how incredible this will look. ”

She gave a reassuring nod, and when I didn’t immediately respond, she nodded again, clearly hoping I’d mirror her gesture so she’d know her words had sunk in.

“Now,” she said, brushing her hands together, “where do you need me?”

I chuckled and pointed at the boxes.

Hanks had seemed pretty frustrated earlier, likely because he’d made four trips to the square today, delivering several packages addressed to me that were full of decorations for the festival.

“We need to open all of these, check that everything we ordered has arrived, and make sure all the decorations are in perfect condition.”

A sigh escaped me as I glanced at the mountain of boxes. There were so many to go through, but with Sylvie’s help, I hoped we’d get it all sorted before Robert showed up to help Mr. Pascal and Mr. Davidson with assembling the wooden stalls.

Sylvie let out a small grunt as she lowered herself onto the bench.

It was cool to the touch, shaded by a large tree, and I was grateful the metal wasn’t scorching my bare skin where my denim shorts left me exposed.

I exhaled, a small shiver running up my shoulders, thankful for the relief from the heat.

Around us, everyone involved in the festival was busy checking in with the mayor, sorting out their roles for the upcoming days of preparation.

Everything had to be perfect.

As the last package settled between Sylvie and me, an unexpected silence fell over us.

I could sense her tension. Her lower lip caught between her teeth.

I tried to ignore it while carefully unpacking the items, handling each one with care and checking for any damage.

I turned them over in my hands, scrutinising every detail to make sure they were intact.

But her restlessness only grew worse, making me break the silence without looking up. “What’s wrong?”

I couldn’t understand how Sylvie wasn’t sweating more than she already was, especially since she was wearing a black t-shirt under one of her favourite denim dungarees.

The dungarees were spotless and free of grease, clearly not the ones she wore while working on cars.

Her hair looked fantastic too, pulled into a messy ponytail with a black and white bandana wrapped around it.

There was something about Sylvie that made her look effortlessly stunning, no matter what she wore—she was simply beautiful.

“I’m leaving.”

Furrowing my brow, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the time before slipping it back in. “I thought you weren’t leaving until 12.”

I resumed unpacking, pulling out white shell-shaped jewellery trays from the box.

I planned to place these in each stall for tips, hoping to fund our annual beach clean-up.

Taking care of the environment was important to us—especially with how much more littered the beaches had become thanks to careless tourists.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sylvie said, while taking the last shell-shaped bowl, scrutinizing it to make sure it wasn’t broken, and then setting it beside the others.

I stopped her and took the trays from her hands, explaining that I had brought two extras: one for our mum, who would adore the white exterior and blue interior, and another for Cora.

Then, with a sudden shift in tone, she added, “I’m leaving Golden Sands.”

Sylvie’s shoulders sagged so low they almost seemed to touch the ground, and her gaze remained fixed on it, as if she were seeing it for the first time after 22 years of living here.

I shook my head, trying to dissipate the whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. “What? Leaving? Where?” I fired off the questions without giving her a chance to answer. “I thought you wanted to stay here, and that you hated cities—with all the crowds and buildings and?—”

Sylvie was leaving.

Sebastian was leaving.

Two of the most important people in my life were so driven by their passions, both the positive and the challenging, that they were leaving this place in search of what they truly wanted.

They had their reasons, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“Remember the car convention you came to with me a few weeks ago?” Sylvie hesitated as she spoke, and I nodded, trying to steady my trembling fingers by attempting not to focus on the thought of my sister leaving and the impact it would have on our relationship.

But focusing on the convention wasn’t helping either, because it had been the day on which Sebastian had broken his humerus.

“Do you remember that man who was talking about his metallic blue 1977 Pontiac Firebird Formula? He mentioned he’d taken it to three different car workshops, but no one could figure out what was wrong with it?

” I nodded, recalling the elderly man with the striking blue eyes and an impeccably tailored suit.

His grey hair had been slicked back with gel, and everything about him seemed to be in place.

“I gave him my email, remember?” She blinked rapidly, eager to continue. “He emailed me the other night about what was wrong with the car. I sent him a detailed list of three possible issues, and he took it to another workshop. They focused on those problems and found that I was right.”

I wasn’t surprised.

Sylvie was like a mother with a newborn when it came to cars—her instincts were flawless, always knowing exactly what they needed.

She’d never been wrong about her assumptions.

“He offered me a job. He sells antique cars and prepares them for exhibitions.” My eyes widened, and I couldn’t help but smile, thrilled for her.

“He had someone working for him who did the repairs and other tasks. That person was his best worker, but he had a baby and decided to stay home while his wife went back to her business.”

Sylvie set the box on the ground, ensuring nothing inside was disturbed as she leaned closer to me, her hands resting on my knees.

“He wants me to take his place. Not start from the bottom. He wants me to be...” She paused, clearly still astonished by the offer.

“The one directing others and working on the cars, of course.”

“Sylvie, that’s-.”