“Let me give you a hand,” said Levi, already moving to help Tom with the crate of water and iced tea. Lucy held the door open for Tom and Ralph, who filed out with platters of steaming food.

The three men put the cookie and sandwich platters on the tables that stretched through Main Street. Each platter looked even more delectable than the last.

Lorcan’s tables were next to ours. He’d placed grilled tilapia and catfish on an enormous bed of parsley rice. The smokiness of the fish made my mouth water. The next platter held snow crabs dripping in a garlic butter sauce, ears of grilled corn lightly coated with a lime salt and paprika seasoning, and yellow baby potatoes. The last platter held a variety of skewers: grilled pineapple and honey-ginger scallops, tricolored bell peppers, and charred red onion and shrimp.

The food was the piper’s song, luring townspeople and tourists alike to the party. Within minutes, people crowded around our tables, jostling elbows as they placed orders and handed over cash.

Local businesses had taken over the entire length of Main Street, the seating spilling into side streets. Gingham tablecloths fluttered in the summer breeze, homemade signs and streamers billowing overhead in a riot of colors.

The park, usually full of squalling children and dogs, had now been transformed into an adults-only beer garden. Tables were loaded down with burgers, lagers, and wines. People milled around, waiting for spare seats, but the shared picnic tables weren’t having a quick turnover. Nearby, the historical society volunteers were setting up the gazebo for live music, and some local bluegrass legends were plucking away at their mandolins and banjos. Bunting was strung up on streetlights and storefronts, coastal blue and white flapping in the breeze.

A huddle of children was grouped in front of the toy store, where the owner and his wife were giving away free balloon animals. Next door, the bookstore had placed huge signs in the window advertising a fifty-percent-off sale on the books of local authors.

“Can’t believe we’re still not old enough for the beer garden,” said Lucy. She eyed the park enviously. It had been roped off with plenty of signs that said 21+ ONLY. “Another two years until we won’t get carded.”

“It’s two for Babe, three for you,” said Tom, wincing as he straightened his back. “Ladies, I need to sit myself down. Might head on over to the park for a bit.” He clapped Ralph on the shoulder.

“Beer sounds good,” said Ralph, and the two of them moved off.

While Lucy took over the flurry of customers, Levi and I headed inside to pull the French presses out of the fridge. “These are pretty heavy,” he said, hefting two in his arms as I began mixing drinks at the counter.