“Yeah. Declining the position as Chief was the first step for me. Eventually, I’d like to work my way to only being half-time at the hospital, but I know I’m still a few years out from that. I’m trying to find balance, Ben. Slowly, but surely.”
“If that’s what you want to do, I fully support that. But other than watching our grandson, what are you planning to do with your extra time?”
“This might sound a little crazy at my age, but I was actually thinking of training for a marathon. I’ve always wanted to run in one and I’m not getting any younger. It’s one of those things that if I don’t do it soon, it’ll never happen. And I think I would really regret that.”
Running a marathon had been something Tabitha had always hope to do but could never find the time to achieve. Sure, she’d been a runner her entire life, but more to run off her steam and her stress. Not to run toward a goal or finish line.
“That doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Ben said, regarding her thoughtfully. “Remember, I was the one who had plans to go with Casey to Nashville for that race? It wasn’t a marathon, just a 10K, but I still had to train for it at the time.”
Tabitha remembered. It was a plan that never came to fruition after Casey’s horrific and unexpected accident. Tabitha had honestly wondered if Ben ever thought about continuing his training. She’d just never really had an opportunity to ask.
“What if we trained together?” she suggested, fully prepared to be shot down.
“I would love nothing more. There’s that half-marathon in San Diego every February. What if we started with something like that and worked our way up from there?”
“I’m in.” Tabitha grinned, more excited than she expected she would be about this. “When should we start training?”
Ben looked down at the empty plates with their discarded lobster tail shells and crumbs leftover from buttery rolls. He rubbed his stomach, groaning from the fullness of their rich meal. “Tomorrow,” he said around a snickering laugh. “I think we should definitely start tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Camille taped the last flyer from her stack to the iron light pole just outside the Sugar Blossom Bakery. In her book, that deserved a treat as a reward. The pile had been high, and she’d canvassed over five miles, passing out the information sheets and chatting with community members about the beach cleanup event.
When Tabitha had suggested she organize one, Camille shrugged it off. But she’d mentioned it to Foster later that night as they were falling asleep, and he immediately perked up at the thought. That had been her main reason for planning the spur-of-the-moment event. Ever since Foster had learned that he wasn’t a match for his brother’s liver, something had grown dim in his eyes and left his spirit. If coordinating a day to tidy up the coastline brought back just a smidge of that joy, then Camille was all in.
Plus, it felt so good to focus her energy on something worthwhile.
Edie had the gala, to be held the following evening.
Tabitha had work.
Camille had the Inn, of course, but that was practically a well-oiled machine at this point. The beach cleanup was a welcome distraction for her wandering thoughts.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Foster stowed the roll of tape into his back pocket and reached down to slide his hand into Camille’s. His gaze moved to the wooden bakery sign hanging above them that rocked back and forth on gold hinges.
“If it involves sugar and caffeine, you know I’m all in.”
He snagged the handle to the entrance door and held it open for his wife to pass through, but they didn’t get far. The bakery was packed, patrons crammed side-by-side like sardines in a can. Camille loved seeing her friend so successful with this venture. What she didn’t love, however, was that the crowded room, and the long line, seemed to deter some potential customers. A couple two groups ahead whispered something silently, then stepped out of line and around Foster and Camille to squeeze their way out the door. Another young family peered in through the windows, then shook their heads as they kept moving down the sidewalk, giving up on the promise of one of Morgan’s pastries.
“I think Morgan might need a bigger space,” Foster said, clearly noticing the same thing.
“And more staff.”
“A good problem to have, I suppose.”
Not really. Not when commercial properties were scarce in the area. Morgan had lucked out with this current establishment.
Another impatient customer fell out of line, grumbling all the way out the door.
Camille and Foster shared a frown.
“You know, there’s a little property up the coast on Highway 1 that I’ve had my eye on,” he said. They’d only inched a few pacesup in line, and that was only due to those impatient patrons abandoning their spots.
“I know exactly which one you’re talking about. Used to be the taffy shop, right?”
“I think so. Big stripes on the siding? Right next to the beach?”
“Yep. I know the one. Tabitha and I went there all the time when we were kids. The sweetest elderly couple used to run it all those years ago. They even did fieldtrips for the local elementary schools where they let the kiddos make their own batches,” Camille said. “I always used to love going to that place. Never came home empty handed, or without a sugary toothache.”
