“I guess you’ll see.” Cade chuckled. “She might be there, you know.”
“What?” Noah hit the brake harder than he meant to at the stop sign. “She’s back?”
“Been back, bro. She manages the café.”
Impossible. “I thought she went off to culinary school.” Not that he kept up. But small towns talked, and some gossip threads strung all the way up the state to North Louisiana.
“She came back.”
Noah’s foot slipped off the brake pedal and he quickly stomped it again. “You could have warned me.”
Cade laughed. “What do you think this is?”
“I meant sooner.”
“If it’s water under the bridge, what’s it matter?”
If Noah could reach through the phone and wipe the smirk off his friend’s face, he would. With his fist. “Thanks a lot.” He eased off the brake and turned onto Village Lane, Magnolia Bay’s main drag, flipping his visor down against the mid-morning sun.
“You haven’t seen her around town at all the past few months?”
“Been keeping to the inn and the hardware store.” And eating enough Chinese take-out to merit his jeans fitting tighter, all to avoid public restaurants and the chance of running into…well, anyone.
“She didn’t come to the funeral, did she?” Cade asked.
“No. But I wouldn’t have expected her to. She owes me nothing.” And he probably owed her even less.
He coasted into a parking spot in front of the Magnolia Blossom Café, then killed the engine. The truck idled into silence. “I’m here, man. I’ll see you on the pier.”
“You got this,” Cade coached. “Get in, get the certificate, and get out.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.” Maybe the Lord would hear one of them.
Noah sat for a moment, slowly withdrawing the keys from the old ignition and stalling as he took in the café’s front. Not much had changed in the past decade plus. The turquoise curtains tied back in the front windows had faded and the welcome sign on the porch now hung slightly crooked. The potted flowers celebrating spring were new, though, as was the cheery yellow paint on the door.
His erratic heartbeat was also new. How many times that fateful summer had he coasted up to this very parking lot, waiting for Elisa to get off work so she could hop in his truck? Hit up the drive-in movie the park hosted every June, toss popcorn in each other’s mouth and miss. Share a large soda and fight over the last of the Milk Duds.
Noah reluctantly released his seat belt. Of course Isaac would choose this spot to meet—probably got free coffee from his daughter, if she ran things now—and Noah wasn’t in a position to argue the specifics.
He pushed through the front doors, the turquoise walls immediately closing in on him in a rush of memory. He avoided looking at the patrons seated at the spinning barstools at the serving counter—more so, at anyone potentiallybehindsaid counter—and scanned the crowded room for Isaac. The unmistakable aroma of waffles and syrup wafted over him like an air freshener someone needed to invent. He inhaled deeply, then moved through the maze of various-sized yellow tables toward the back, where Isaac was most likely to be seated. He definitely didn’t want to draw attention to himself lingering in the doorway.
The breakfast crowd was in full swing. Forks clanked against dishes, the abrupt holler of “order up” sounded through the swinging doors behind the bar, and the chatter from townsfolk eager to start their day filled the diner with a low hum.
Despite Noah’s determined attempt to keep his gaze away from the counter, it traitorously darted there anyway, ping-ponging back and forth until he was certain Elisa wasn’t one of the two aproned people pouring coffee.
Relaxing, he walked past Sadie Whitlock, owner of the local used book shop, who sat at a table reading a hardback and nursing a glass of chocolate milk. She’d always been kind, a little older than him, and usually had her face in a novel. “Hey, Sadie.”
“Noah! Good to see you out and about.” She looked up from her book with a smile, her green eyes bright. “How’s progress on the inn?”
“It’s getting there. You’ll be seeing less of me around here soon.” Noah’s grandfather had been a regular atSecond Story, devouring American history texts as far back as Noah could remember. He’d accompanied Grandpa Gilbert into that used bookstore more times than he wanted to that last summer spent on the island when he was eighteen.
“That’s too bad, but I understand. Not everyone can take over a business suddenly, like I did from my great-aunt.” Sadie gestured with her book—what looked to be a romance novel, judging by the cover. “Surely I’ll see you before you leave.”
Old Farmer Branson—who looked exactly the same as he had a decade ago—raised his head from a plate of bacon as Noah passed, but didn’t nod. The grizzled man had always been close with the Bergerons, taking their side in the ongoing feud over who rightfully owned the inn’s grounds. Most people in Noah’s generation seemed mature enough to realize the majority of that beef had occurred in the past, but some old-timers still liked to play favorites.
Especially if they’d only ever been told one side of the story.
“Noah! Fancy meeting you here.” August Bowman, his grandfather’s probate attorney, stepped in front of Noah and held out his hand. “Come for the pancakes?”
