“What are you doing?” Jake asked as they got close enough to hear over the wind. The fishing rod was huge—bigger than the ones she’d seen for fresh water. It was sitting in a white pipe-like holder that had been forced down in the sand. Beside it was a cooler and a radio.
“What does it look like I’m doin’?” he teased him, that all-too-familiar grin on his face just like his son’s. “I’m catchin’ supper.”
“Why are you catching supper on my beach?”
“I figured all the fish had probably migrated down stream away from that eyesore you put up.”
His father was kidding around, but Jake’s face had changed. He obviously didn’t find it very funny, and it seemed to almost annoy him. ”You’re here for something else.” She could hear the affection for his father in his words despite his irritation with his comment.
The man ignored his question and turned to Faith. “Jake, son, where’re your manners?” He reached out his hand toward Faith. “I’m Charles Buchanan. You can call me Chuck.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Chuck,” she said.
He gave her a grin and then raised his eyebrows at Jake as if to say, “Look at you, bringing home a girl.” He was teasing Jake, and she wondered if he’d done the same thing when Jake had brought home girls as a young man. It was playful and silly, but it had embarrassed Jake a little. It was interesting to see his father bring out yet another side of him.
“I’m here because the pier’s crowded this time of year with all the tourists, and my own beach is full of people right now too. All the vacationers have spread over to my little corner of the shore. ’Tis the season, I suppose.” He turned to Faith. “Now, if he’ll let me be, I’ll catch us some supper. You hungry?” He winked at his son.
She nodded politely.
“I’m making Faith dinner, Dad. If you catch something, we’ll grill it. Otherwise, you know I’ll save you some leftovers.”
Leftovers? Faith would feel very rude eating up at Jake’s house, knowing that his dad was waiting for dinner. “I wouldn’t mind if Chuck ate with us,” she suggested quietly, looking at Jake for approval. She worried a little about suggesting it, but, to be honest, she couldn’t wait to talk with his father and find out more about Jake. Perhaps she and Chuck could even talk some sense into him.
“Okay,” Jake said. “Dad, just come up when you’re done, and we’ll make you a plate. You can eat with us.”
“Well, that’s kind of ya.” He nodded thanks to his son and then winked at Faith the way he might if she were his own daughter.
They left Chuck on the beach and headed back toward the giant cottage of Jake’s. He led her up the stairs. As she followed, the sound of the restless sea was at her back, the screech of seagulls overhead. Chuck had switched on the radio as they left, but she couldn’t hear it anymore.
She stopped mid-step and took in the thick yard full of wiry grass that was perfectly cut. It eventually gave way to his private beach and the gorgeous, rolling, blue water of the Atlantic where Chuck was standing in the incoming tide. Faith forced her eyes from the view to look at Jake. She couldn’t imagine why one person would need all this. This was the kind of place that needed a family—a big, extended family—with children running in the yard and aunts and uncles filling those rockers.
“You’re the only one who lives here?”
He nodded.
“It’s huge!” she said before she could think the comment through. After the restaurant fiasco, she worried that it would offend him.
He didn’t seem overly bothered by her statement, thank goodness. She didn’t want to upset him. Despite what had happened at the restaurant, she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But this house was like something out of a home magazine. It was perfectly landscaped, the porches decorated with potted plants beside the rockers, bright pink and purple flowers flanking the door, and all the way around the porch were hanging ferns.
He opened the front door—an oversized wooden door with etched glass in the center. It was artistic and beautiful, and she could only imagine what it looked like from the inside when the sun came through it. That thought didn’t last long, though, as she entered the foyer. The room stretched back, past a formal living room and a dining room, to the other side of the house, where she saw an open kitchen, a second, huge living room, and even a pool table. The whole back side of the house was filled with windows from floor to vaulted ceiling, with a view of nothing but sand and sea beyond them. He gestured for her to walk first, so she made her way down the beautiful hardwoods to the living area, a swimming pool and tables—yes, plural tables—with dark green umbrellas emerging in her view as she looked out at the ocean.
Jake walked up beside her and led her to the kitchen. He pulled out one of the leather stools, neatly lined up at the bar for her. She sat down and rested her forearms on the granite countertop.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asked. His question sounded cautious, and she wondered if he was still upset by her behavior at the restaurant. She really wasn’t that hard to please—when she was in a place that made sense to her.
Trying not to gawk at the custom cabinetry and the chef-grade stainless steel six-burner stove, she asked in return, “What are my choices?”
“Ask me. I probably have it.”
“I’m not picky,” she said, wanting to eat her words immediately. “Why don’t you surprise me?” She didn’t know what to ask for.
He pulled a pan from one of the cabinets below. It was stainless, just like his appliances, without a single blemish. He set it on a burner and turned on the gas. The room was probably the size of the whole cottage where she was staying. She would have never guessed, meeting him that first day, that he had this much money. A sailboat, Mercedes, a beachside mansion, he built restaurants—what exactly did he do for a living? She had to ask….
“I’m sorry for what happened at the Tides,” she said. She was sorry, but she had her own thoughts about the restaurant that she needed to get out somehow. She wanted to love the Tides. She’d loved everything that she’d learned about him so far, and it was killing her that she didn’t love this. She wished she could be thrilled that he’d built a restaurant like that, but the truth was that she was mortified. The idea that he could ruin the landscape so carelessly made her question her feelings for him because, clearly, he didn’t think at all like she did.
“What did happen at the Tides, Faith?”
She bit her lip to try and get all her thoughts in order. How would she explain to him what she felt without offending him? But, then again, they’d been open with each other, and she felt like she had a connection with him. Perhaps she could make him understand. “Do you know what I love about the Outer Banks?” He turned to face her. “Places like Dune Burger.”
