#turtlebay.event

The streets downtown were crowded with locals drifting between booths and live music, children weaving through the sidewalks with sticky hands and too much sugar in their systems. String lights hung overhead despite the fading sunlight, casting everything in warm gold that made the town look almost cinematic.

Sebastian stood just outside one of the food stalls, jacket slung over his shoulder, sunglasses tucked into the collar of his shirt now that the evening light had softened. He’d come alone originally—mostly out of boredom, partly out of curiosity—but hours had passed without him noticing.

A nearby voice pulled his attention sideways, and Sebastian glanced over just in time to catch a woman maneuvering through the crowd with the kind of confidence that suggested she was either completely comfortable here—or refused to let anyone think otherwise. "Rocko’s Diner, right?" he asked, lowering his drink slightly as he looked at her properly now. "I’ve heard approximately six different people mention that place since I got here."

Sebastian had spent most of the evening pretending he wasn’t enjoying himself. The Country Western Friday theme had apparently given the entire town permission to become aggressively southern overnight. Boots echoed against the streets downtown, country music drifted from every corner, and somebody nearby was absolutely teaching line dancing to people with no business attempting it. And Sebastian, unfortunately, had been dragged directly into the middle of it.

Dark jeans. Black cowboy hat. Boots that cost more than they should. Sleeves rolled to his forearms. The entire thing looked less costume and more "wealthy ranch owner in a drama series," which Isaac had been far too amused by since they left.

"You know," Sebastian drawled as they wandered past another crowded vendor stall, "I’m starting to think you invited me here purely for your own entertainment." His gaze slid sideways toward Isaac beneath the brim of the hat, faint amusement tugging at his mouth. "And if you even think about trying to make me line dance," he added after a beat, pointing lightly at Isaac with his drink, "I need you to understand I will disappear dramatically into the night."

Sebastian still wasn’t entirely sure how Isabella had talked him into this.

Now, standing in the middle of downtown Turtle Bay dressed as Flynn Rider—with the dark vest, boots, rolled sleeves, and enough smug charm to make the costume feel dangerously natural—Sebastian questioned every life decision that had led him here.

A child nearly ran directly into him before stopping short, eyes widening dramatically. "You look just like Flynn Rider!"

Sebastian blinked down at the kid before glancing toward Isabella with a slow, disbelieving look. "I hate that everyone keeps saying that like it’s a compliment," he muttered dryly, turning to look at the brunette. "You know, for someone who claimed this would be ‘good for me,’ you failed to mention I’d spend the evening getting psychologically evaluated by children."

Bree moved slowly through the festival crowd, one hand curled loosely around a cup of wine she suspected was mediocre at best, her gaze drifting between vendors and strangers with quiet, practiced observation.

Her gaze lingered for half a second too long before she finally stepped beside him near one of the food stalls, glancing briefly toward the crowd gathered around the live music nearby. "You look exactly how I imagine someone looks when they’re deciding whether a small-town festival is charming…" A faint pause as her eyes shifted toward him fully. "…or deeply concerning."

The corner of her mouth curved—not quite a smile yet, but close. There was something about him she couldn’t place immediately, and that alone was enough to hold her attention. "Bree Martin," she introduced smoothly. "And before you ask—no, I don’t normally attend events involving funnel cake and public line dancing. But tonight appears to be an exception."

The festival was louder than the kinds of events Bree usually attended. Not unpleasantly so—just alive in a way that couldn’t be choreographed. It was charming. Earnest. And a little chaotic.

Bree adjusted the sleeve of her coat as a cool evening breeze swept through the street, her attention catching briefly on the way Charles moved through the festival. The live music swelled somewhere nearby, pulling laughter from a nearby crowd.

"You know," she said smoothly, walking up to him, "I used to think men like you only existed in restaurants with reservation lists and overpriced bourbon. Seeing you at a street festival eating fried food feels vaguely surreal."

The Founder’s Festival had a way of making Turtle Bay feel frozen in time.

The same booths lined the boardwalk every year. The same local bands played slightly off-key covers near the pier. The same families crowded around the food stands while children ran wild on too much sugar and too little supervision.

"You know," Daisy mused, weaving through the crowd with a paper cup of sangria in hand, "I’m pretty sure this exact ferris wheel looked ancient when we were in high school."

Warm ocean air curled through loose strands of strawberry blonde hair as she glanced sideways toward Gabriella with a soft, familiar smile. Seeing her here felt oddly natural.

"I still can’t believe you ended up owning half of uptown," she teased lightly. "Meanwhile I stayed exactly where everyone expected me to."

The Turtle Bay Founder’s Festival always smelled like saltwater, grilled food, and nostalgia. Daisy could taste summer in the air before she even stepped onto the crowded boardwalk. String lights swayed overhead in the evening breeze while live music drifted from somewhere near the pier, soft and crackling through old speakers. Children darted between booths with sticky hands and painted faces, locals greeting one another with the kind of familiarity that only existed in small coastal towns where everyone carried a piece of everyone else’s history. She loved it. Even after everything.

'You know," Daisy mused, glancing sideways at the brunette with a soft smile tugging at her lips, "I always forget how loud this thing gets," she admitted softly. "You spend all year romanticizing it in your head and then suddenly there’s a man in cargo shorts aggressively selling kettle corn." A laugh lingered quietly in her voice.

She handed one of the wine cups over to Liberty before brushing windblown blonde hair behind her ear. "You surviving so far?" she asked warmly.

The evening air still held traces of warmth from the day, softened now by the ocean breeze drifting through downtown. Somewhere behind them, a live band was playing something loud enough to shake the pavement beneath their feet while the smell of fried food, saltwater, and smoke tangled together in the air.

"You know," he said after a moment, voice low enough that it barely competed with the music around them, "I can’t decide if this place feels more alive tonight… or if everyone’s just trying very hard to remember a version of it that doesn’t exist anymore."

The corner of his mouth lifted faintly as he glanced toward a group of teenagers sprinting past with paper cups and bad coordination. "You used to come to this every year?" he asked, looking back at her now.