Her sister let out a breath. “One night when Mitch was being brutally honest with me about his past, he told me he’d been pretty wild, and he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a knock on our door someday.” Shelly sighed again. “Maybe he was preparing me. The age of that kid sort of fits.”
Instantly, Ivy realized what Shelly was getting at.
“You think Mitch is his father?”
Shelly’s face paled, and she blinked hard. “Why elsewould he be hanging around here? Finding out something like that is enough to make even good kids lash out.”
“Maybe the likeness is just a coincidence,” Ivy said, but Shelly looked convinced. “Are you going to tell Mitch?”
A desperate look filled Shelly’s face. “That would change everything. I wish Mom were here. She always knows what to do.”
Empathy and compassion surged through Ivy, and she wrapped an arm around her sister. “Me, too, Shells. But I’ve got you.”
9
Bennett leaned against the stainless-steel prep counter, watching Mitch flip burgers at Java Beach. The kitchen was filled with the aromas of sizzling beef and caramelized onions, along with the omnipresent smell of coffee.
“Join us on Thanksgiving,” Bennett said, continuing their earlier conversation. “Ivy wants to have a big dinner for family and friends at the inn. We’ve also been talking about having a food drive for those who might not have much of a feast on their tables this year.”
Mitch pressed down on a burger, sending up a hiss of steam. “Count me in. I’ll help cook. Turkey, sides, whatever you need. As for a food drive, I could ask for donations from some of the local farmers I buy from.”
“That would be great. And Shelly already volunteered you to cook.” Bennett knew he could count on Mitch.
“Of course she did.” Mitch grinned, sliding the burgers onto waiting buns. “It’s what I do. Food makes folks happy.If people could come together over a good meal, I think we could solve all the problems of the world.”
“Maybe we’ll start here,” Bennett said, giving his friend a fist bump.
A soft, tentative knock at the back door interrupted them. Mitch and Bennett exchanged glances.
Bennett knew few people used the kitchen entrance except for deliveries. Those usually came in the morning. A thought occurred to him as Mitch wiped his hands on his apron and opened the door.
The teenager from the marina stood there, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked even thinner in the fading afternoon light, his face shadowed by exhaustion.
“Hey,” the boy said shyly. “Remember me?”
“Good to see you.” Without hesitation, Mitch stepped back, holding the door open. “Come in.”
“Smells good in here,” the boy said.
Bennett nodded and moved to one side, giving the kid his space.
“You showed up just in time,” Mitch said, walking back to the grill. “I’m making burgers, and I have an extra one. Hungry?”
The kid’s gaze locked onto the food with an intensity that answered the question. He nodded.
“Good. Give me a minute.” Mitch pulled out a fresh patty from the refrigerator and slid it onto the grill. He gave the teen a fist bump. “I’m Mitch, and that’s Bennett. What’s your name?”
The boy cast a quick glance at them. “People call me Vanz. With a z.”
“Cool name.” Mitch glanced down at the boy’s black-and-white checkerboard slip-on sneakers, now scuffed anddirty. These were popular with kids, especially around the beach. “Because of your Vans?”
A faint flash of pride flickered across the kid’s face. “Yeah.”
Mitch opened a display case near the door and tossed Vanz a blueberry muffin. “Start with that while I cook.”
Vanz snatched the muffin from the air. “Thanks.”
“You like avocado burgers?”
