As he started to wonder what he’d gotten himself into, his blood pressure inched upward. He took the thick binder to the living room couch. Peaches got up off her dog bed in the corner of the room and snuggled next to him, resting her head on his thigh.

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. Then he opened the binder. The first page was dated back more than fifty years. The date had been crossed out and replaced with a new year. That was repeated all the way down the left margin.

He noticed there were more than a dozen colored tabs with labels. The first he noticed was Bloomin’ Tulips. And if it had just stopped there, he would have been okay. But there was the jelly bean relay, the Easter egg hunt, and the tabs went on.

Was he expected to organize all of this?

“I think I’m in big trouble,” he told Peaches.

She lifted her head, let out a big whiny yawn before settling her chin back on her paws and once more closing her eyes. He focused on the pages. The more he read, the more he felt out of his depth.

Five pages into it, he closed the binder and set it aside. “I’ll deal with it later.”

Buzz. Buzz.

He glanced at his phone. It was his mother. Why was she calling so early? His body tensed.

He pressed the phone to his ear. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just feel guilty that you’re missing work to take care of things for Aunt Birdie.”

“I told you I’m happy to help out.” His thoughts turned to Spring Fling—maybe he wasn’t happy to help out that much.

“But?”

His mother knew him so well. “There is no but.”

“Are you sure because we could catch the next flight home—”

“No.” This was exactly why he hadn’t mentioned his reservations about planning a festival. “Don’t you dare come home early.”

She sighed. “If you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“You’re so stubborn, just like your father.”

“Isn’t that something like the pot calling the kettle black?”

His mother laughed. “I’m pleading the fifth.”

They went on to discuss Aunt Birdie’s improving condition and his parents’ plans for the rest of the day. By the time he got off the phone, he was hungry.

With Peaches fed and walked, he decided to head to The Lighthouse Café. It might not be the fanciest place on Bluestar Island, but it by far had the best food—certainly better than anything he could cook. He shrugged on his jacket and then headed for the door. His mouth salivated at the thought of over-easy eggs, hash browns, and sausage links.

His long legs made rapid strides along the walk. He noticed how different Bluestar Island was from the city where people pretty much kept to themselves. But here the islanders said hello and smiled or asked him how he was or inquired about his aunt’s health. It slowed his pace but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed getting to know Bluestar’s residents.