Only because we never know if Noah is gonna bother to show.
Noah winced. Yet lately, the accusation wasn’t inaccurate. He typed back.
NOAH
I’ll be there this time, I promise.
OWEN
Hey guys, I might need to borrow some bait again.
Noah dropped his phone into the console cup holder. The familiar scent of Armor All mixed with the evergreen air fresheners he kept dangling from the rearview mirror wafted over him. Partly his scent now, partly his grandfather’s. Grandpa Gilbert used to keep candy orange slices in the glove box. There were probably still melted traces of them clinging to the interior.
Noah gripped the steering wheel and took a breath. Time to get this over with. He started the engine just as his phone rang.
Noah grunted as he reluctantly hit the speaker feature. “Yeah?”
Cade’s voice filled the cab. “Just making sure you’re really coming tonight and not blowing smoke.”
“I’ll be there. I could use the break…after I get this certificate and slate blue paint, anyway.”
“Sure you don’t want to stick around Magnolia Bay a little longer? Enjoy the hard-earned fruits of your labor at the inn?” Cade’s grin was evident in his voice.
Noah looked both ways at the end of the drive. “I’m sure. This town is too small for Bergerons and Heberts to coexist again.”
“Especially with a certain blond one?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to.” Noah turned off the private road, the bay in his rearview. “Three months of working on the inn has been plenty. I need to get back to Shreveport ASAP.”
For several reasons, and fine, maybe one of those reasons was blond. Not that Elisa Bergeron lived in the Bay anymore—she was probably a famous chef somewhere on the mainland by now.
But he’d seen her memory more around town in the time he’d been back than he had in the twelve years prior combined.
Cade sighed. “That’s too bad, man.”
Noah cleared his throat. “You know I was just here long enough to get the Blue Pirogue fixed up for tourist season.” He ignored the pinch of guilt that always followed that fact. Heshouldkeep the inn—it was his favorite childhood landmark, his safe space growing up during his parents’ tumultuous marriage. It was his grandfather’s legacy.
But he couldn’t live in a town that judged him. Judged his family.
He pressed the gas. “I have a real job in Shreveport.” One he’d been on hiatus from. He didn’t have a boss to go back to, since technically, he was self-employed as a landman, but the project manager might not trust him with future projects if he stayed gone too long.
“Running an inn is a real job. Regardless, you’re good at construction—I’ve seen what you’ve been doing at the inn.”
The compliment might have sunk in if there hadn’t been so many mistakes made the past few weeks. “Don’t worry. I’ll hire someone to keep the Blue Pirogue running for me. I definitely don’t want to sell.”
Cade’s voice dropped in understanding. “To Isaac?”
“To any Bergeron, but definitely not to him.” The thought of Noah’s beloved childhood inn going to that man was inconceivable. Grandpa Gilbert would flip over in the grave.
“Don’t worry about meeting Isaac today, by the way. I think he’s mellowed a little over the years.”
“Maybe to you. You’re not a Bergeron…and you didn’t break his daughter’s heart.”
Cade snorted. “I think that breaking part was a bit mutual, if I recall.”
Noah’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Water under the bridge.” And if that statement didn’t remind him of the time he and Elisa would walk the beach to the coastal bridge onto the island, picking up seashells, throwing back the broken ones and collecting Elisa’s favorite in a little mesh pouch he’d bought her just for that purpose…
