When dinner ended, they stood near the railing, warm air wrapping around them. Jonah rocked Atlas gently. Meredith leaned against the wood, watching the water.
“You’ll figure it out,” she said to Lacey.
“Or you’ll just choose,” Jonah added. “And then figure it out after.”
Lacey smiled at both of them.
They walked back toward the parking lot together, teasing Jonah about his “dad walk,” taking turns brushing Atlas’s tiny hand.
She didn’t have clarity but she had love. And right now, in the twilight, with her family, that was enough.
But she’d have to make a decision, and soon.
Vivien stared at Peter’s text, trying to corral all the mixed emotions his words elicited, unable to just grab one and feel it.
Peter:Found your bridge guy. Quinn Hargrove, scrap metal multimillionaire. He commissioned the safety assessment and pushed the demo through all channels. Turns out a deputy knows him because he frequents a bar called Breakwater near HarborWalk. Goes there every Friday for happy hour. Wanna ambush? Could meet you there after Connor’s doc appt. LMK
First there was satisfaction—Peter got a name. A living person after days of dead ends, voicemail, and closed doors on the subject of the Left Coast Bridge. But there was also disappointment…a scrap metal multimillionaire? He wouldn’t be easily swayed.
She also had a tinge of…hope. Was this a “date” with Peter? Was this a chance to finally have that conversation, or would he come directly from the doctor and bring Connor? And, yikes, Holly. Hope disintegrated at the thought.
What would she say to this Quinn guy if she did meet him? Whatever it was, she had to say it fast, since the demo date was approaching.
At the light, she typed in “Breakwater Bar” and got the address on her GPS—twenty minutes.
If she went home, changed, waited for Peter, and met him there—it might be well after Quinn Hargrove’s “happy hour” window. She replied with a quick “meet you there” and followed the GPS, tapping the steering wheel impatiently as she sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic in the blistering late afternoon heat.
Yes, she’d rather go home to the Summer House, snag a G&T, and fall in the pool until Jonah magically made them all a dream dinner. Actually, she’d like to do all that with Peter by her side and finish the night with a moonlight stroll on the beach, having their heart-to-heart talk and deciding they were better together.
Instead, she was headed to the Breakwater Bar & Grill, a casual restaurant that was frequented more by locals than tourists.
After she found a parking spot—another ten minutes in the car she’d never get back—she walked into the packed bar, trying to decide if Quinn Hargrove would be inside or out. The outside tables were slammed, and she realized she had no idea how to find a man she’d never met.
Inside, she found two empty stools at the end of the bar and ordered that gin and tonic she’d been thinking about. While she waited, she took out her phone and typed “Quinn Hargrove images,” and instantly quite a few pictures popped up.
She got a quick snapshot of someone around sixty, salt-and-pepper thinning hair, and what looked like a broad chest—or maybe a big paunch. Hard to tell. The links looked like he had lots of community involvement in the 30A area and was the president and owner of a local company called Hargrove Salvage & Materials.
She skimmed a short home page on their website, highlighting a specialty in the secure and environmentally friendly removal of “aging coastal structures for public safety, traffic efficiency, modern amenities, and increased tourism.”
Basically, he eliminated history for the sake of progress and the almighty dollar. Probably made a killing doing that in Destin.
Looking up from her phone, she scanned the bar and…found him.
Dang, that was easy. As she stared at him, he sipped a drink and held her eye contact for a good three seconds, then he lifted an eyebrow in her general direction.
She gave a tight smile as the bartender returned with her drink and a check.
Now what? Talk to him alone? Ask innocent questions? Make sure he?—
Her phone buzzed and a text box flashed.
Peter:Complication. Might not make it. Sorry.
On a sigh, she let the disappointment give a hard and swift kick. What was the complication? Dinner with…his family? Hating that she was jealous and sad, she reached for her glass just as the bartender scooped up the paper check.
“This one’s been covered by the gentleman down by the taps,” he said.
“Oh.” She blinked in surprise, then shifted her gaze right back to ol’ Quinn Hargrove, who beamed at her.
