"A friend. Runs a restaurant on the waterfront. His solution to every situation—good, bad, or indifferent—is food. You'll gain ten pounds just from being adjacent to him."
"Sounds like my kind of guy."
"That's because you and he share the same pathological need to feed people."
"Speaking of people…who was this Sam? Old boyfriend? High school sweetheart?"
"Old boyfriend, yes. And no sweetheart," Clara answered, hating how just the mention of Sam's name reactivated her shame for allowing him to break her so completely. "But I don't want to talk about my personal stuff, okay?"
"Say no more. I got you." He pretended to lock his lips and throw away the key.
She refused to be even a little charmed by his easy acquiescence but it was hard not to budge. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so prickly but everyone at Beacon's End has no life, so they stick their noses in mine. I'm aprivate person by nature so all this attention makes me want to jump off the harbor."
"Seems kind of sweet, actually. They care about you."
"They do." Clara kept to herself that Beacon's End had been the softest place to land when her heart shattered into a million pieces. "It's just a lot sometimes…even if they mean well." She needed to change the subject. "If you're going to be my temporary roommate, I have rules—and they're non-negotiable."
"Noted." Jack's mouth curved. "For what it's worth, your prickly is kind of cute."
Despite herself, Clara's lips twitched. "I seem to remember you calling me bossy."
"And I stand by it," he said without apology. "But I like you, Clara Hawkins."
"Don't worry, it'll pass," she retorted around a wry smile.
He laughed—low and genuine—and the sound did something strange to her chest. Made it feel lighter and tighter all at once.
Stop that. You know how this ends.
Maeve arrived with plates piled high—eggs, bacon, toast, home fries. The smell made Clara'sstomach growl.
"Clean plates," Maeve commanded. "Or there'll be words."
"This looks incredible," Jack said, eyeing the plate with appreciation.
"Mmhmm." Maeve lingered a beat too long, her gaze moving between them. Clara recognized that look. It was the look Maeve got when she was plotting something. "You two need anything else, you holler."
They ate in companionable silence. Outside, Beacon's End continued its morning routine, oblivious to Clara's internal crisis.
A week. Maybe more. Jack Callahan in her lighthouse, in her space, disrupting her carefully constructed world.
She should be panicking.
But she wasn't.
If anything, she was eaten up by curiosity. Where he came from. Why he thought buying a boat with minimal sailing skills was a solid plan. Why he never stayed in one place.
Jack looked up, catching her stare. He smiled—small and crooked—and Clara felt something tremble inside her chest.
She swallowed, jerking her gaze away to focus on literally anything else.
This is how it'd started with Sam. The curiosity. The flutter. The stupid, treacherous wonder if she'd just met The One.
Looking back, she cringed at the memory.
And Jack Callahan, with his easy smile and nomadic lifestyle and irritating competence? Was he basically Sam 2.0?
Even though he seemed nothing truly like Sam, was that just the Universe testing her to see if she'd learned her lesson?
