“You know,” she called out when she got closer, “there are easier ways to die than sitting here waiting for your dock to collapse.”
Jack turned at the sound of her voice, surprise flickeringacross his face before he masked it with that unreadable expression of his. “Cora. Didn’t expect to see you out here.”
“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises. Take my ability to catch water on fire as an example. It’s a gift, really.”
A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “How’d you find me?”
“Aggie,” she said. In Sunrise, that one name was explanation enough. “She’s got better intel than the CIA.”
He chuckled, nodding. “I should’ve known. Pretty sure she’s got cameras hidden in those garden gnomes of hers.”
The tension between them eased, and she laughed. “Mind if I sit? Or is this dock likely to dump me in the canal?” She gave the worn boards a wary glance.
“Only one way to find out,” he replied with a shrug, but he scooted over, making room.
She lowered herself, half-expecting to hear the crack of splintering wood. When the dock held, she relaxed a little, though she kept an eye on the water below, just in case.
For a while, they sat in silence, watching the last rays of sunlight dance across the waves, turning everything to shades of gold and pink. It was beautiful there, peaceful in a way that made her chest ache. You didn’t get sunsets like that in New York.
“So,” she said finally, because someone had to break the ice. “Want to tell me why you’re so invested in saving a café you don’t even own?”
Jack was quiet for so long she wondered if he’d even heard her. When he spoke, his voice was almost lost in the gentle sound of the waves. “I had a restaurant once. In Beaufort. My own kitchen, my own menu. It was everything I’d ever wanted.”
“What happened?” she whispered, though she had a sinking feeling she already knew the answer.
“My partner Mitch happened,” Jack said, bitterness creeping into his voice. “Turns out he was better at cookingbooks than actual food. By the time I figured it out, he was long gone, and I was left holding the bag. I lost everything. My savings, my reputation, my dream.”
So they had that in common. “I’m so sorry,” Cora said.
He shrugged, and the gesture was almost convincing in its attempt at indifference. “It’s behind me now. But I was...drifting. I came back to Sunrise, and Gramps told me about this woman who might help.” He paused, swallowing hard.
“Lolly,” she finished. Of course it was her grandmother. She had a way of finding people who needed saving and making them whole again, whether they liked it or not.
Jack nodded. “I must’ve sat outside The Spoon for hours, working up the nerve to go in. I guess I fell asleep, and then there was Lolly, tapping on my car window with a smile like she’d known me all my life. She handed me a sandwich—turkey, cranberry, and the perfect amount of mustard—and invited me inside. We ended up talking until the sun went down. By the end of the night, she’d offered me a job in the kitchen. I knew she didn’t really need the help. It was the off-season, and the place was quiet. But she insisted. Said she needed someone who knew their way around a kitchen and wouldn’t let her get away with putting pickle juice in the pie crust.”
“I’d forgotten about her pickle juice phase. Dark times.” Cora laughed, then let the quiet settle between them. Her gaze drifted around the tidy waterfront cottage tucked beneath the live oaks. “She must have paid you pretty well if you ended up in a place like this.”
“If sandwiches and unsolicited life advice could pay the bills, she’d have made me a millionaire. Also, she’s the one who found me this place. She probably blackmailed someone, knowing her, because the rent is pretty cheap.”
That sounded about right. There wasn’t much Lollywouldn’t do for a friend. “So how can you afford to stay here, now that she’s gone?”
“I do a little of everything to keep afloat.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fixing engines, painting shutters, working swing shifts at the bar over in Southport. I even played guitar at a wedding once. Whatever keeps the lights on and the fridge stocked.”
“Which fridge? The one here or the one at The Spoon?”
“Both. Lolly’s kitchen is where I go when I need inspiration. She was the only one around here who gave me a chance. Made me believe I had something to offer. And when I need to remember, that’s where I go.”
“So that’s why you care so much about it,” she said.
Jack nodded, staring out over the water. “I want to reopen it, to cook Lolly’s recipes. Keep her legacy alive. Somebody should fight for people like her.” He paused, then added softly, “She thought it was a great idea. We had this whole plan to write down her recipes and give them all facelifts. She said Sunrise needed more second chances.”
His confession was interrupted by the unmistakable growl of Cora’s stomach.
She flushed, mortified. “Sorry. I got so caught up in paperwork today I forgot to eat.”
He stood and offered her a hand. “Come on. I can’t let you starve out here on my dock. It’d be terrible for my reputation.”
She let him help her up and then followed him into the cottage. It was small but cozy, with a kind of lived-in charm that screamed “bachelor pad” in the most endearing way possible. A well-worn couch was draped with a knitted throw that looked like it had seen more than a few movie marathons. Bookshelves were crammed with an assortment of cookbooks and novels, some neatly lined up, others stacked haphazardly on their sides. It was rugged, but comfortable. Like the man himself.
