Chapter One #3
She walked over to a faded blue Ford, probably only a few years shy of being a classic, and pointed to a pair of end tables strapped together in the bed.
“Mid-century modern,” she said with an unmistakable look of pride. “My specialty. I sanded them down and refinished them. Tightened up the legs, they were a little wobbly. Otherwise, they’re in great shape.”
Beau leaned over the bed of the truck to take a closer look.
He didn’t have the natural eye for furniture like Cora did, but he was getting better at it.
He and his cousins had worked in the antique shop after school and over summer vacations growing up, and their grandfather had taught them well.
He could immediately tell she’d done a good job.
These were pieces that usually went like hotcakes in the shop. People couldn’t get enough of them.
“Nice,” he said, leaning back again. “Really nice work, Summer. I could sell those.”
“Yeah?”
The sun beat down on the back of his neck, warming him all over.
Or maybe that was Summer. Lovely Summer, whose memory still danced behind his eyes despite his trying to will it away.
He remembered Poppy asking him what in the world he’d been thinking after he’d broken up with Summer.
He hadn’t been able to give her a good answer.
At least not one that had made any sense.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re talented.”
She smiled. “Thanks. It’s taken me a while to get to this point.”
“It’s a definite skill.”
“It is, but I wasn’t talking about the furniture.”
He watched her.
After a few seconds, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I just mean life. You know. Life in general.”
“How have you been, Summer?” The question came so easily that it surprised him. Maybe not the words so much as the tone of his voice. It was quiet. Tender almost.
“I’ve been pretty good. After graduation I had an office job, but I wasn’t happy there. I think I was just unhappy in general.”
There was an awkward beat or two where he wondered if she was talking about him. Or their breakup. But before he could fall any farther down that wormhole, she shrugged.
“I kept thinking what it would be like to start my own business,” she said. “To quit and restore furniture full-time. So I saved for a while to build up some cushion, and now here I am. It’s a little scary, but we have to follow our dreams, right?”
Now he was sure she was talking about him. Fishing had been his dream.
“How’s your family?” he asked.
“Oh, you know. The same. Mom and Dad retired last year and are in Arizona, they travel a lot. My sister and her husband just had a baby. She lives in Washington now.”
“You two were so close. I’m surprised.”
“I didn’t want to leave Oregon,” she said. “And my best friend Angie lives nearby. We see each other all the time, so I still feel like there’s family here.”
“Are you still in Eugene?”
“Actually, I live right outside of Christmas Bay. I had a little…thing with a coworker, and I wanted to move somewhere quiet.”
A thing. He nodded slowly, wondering who this guy was.
And then wondering why he was wondering.
The most important bit he could take away from her last sentence was that she lived here.
Which meant he was probably going to be seeing her again.
Even if he wasn’t thinking about buying her pieces on a regular basis, which he was.
“I have a little house on an acre,” she continued. “Big enough for a shop. And I have a goat. His name is Tank.”
He felt the corners of his mouth tug into a smile. She’d always been an animal lover. He remembered a calendar hanging in her dorm room of baby goats in sweaters. He’d teased her about it.
“So you finally got your goat,” he said.
“I got my goat.”
“And his name is Tank.”
“Well, I wanted a Pygmy goat, you probably remember that, but Tank was being rehomed by the county. He’d been neglected and was in pretty bad shape, just skin and bones, so I brought him home. He’s huge. And acts like a dog. Follows me everywhere.”
Imagining gorgeous, elegant Summer tromping around her acre of land with her giant goat parading around after her was enough to make him smile wider.
He’d like to see that for himself. Actually, he’d love to see that for himself, but the truth was that, this was all surface conversation.
It wouldn’t go any deeper than that. He was pretty sure she hated him, and he probably had a better chance of being hit by a truck than being invited out to her place to meet her goat.
Which was fine. He wouldn’t have gone anyway.
“Anyway,” she said. “I’m happy out there. How are you doing, Beau? Other than your shoulder needing surgery? How’s your family?”
Summer had met Poppy once when she’d come to visit his first year of college.
His cousin had been getting ready to graduate with a journalism degree and had already been drifting away from Beau and Cora by that point.
But that probably had more to do with her wanting to drift away from her past in general.
Poppy had come a long way since her accident, but she’d always be a little fragile because of it. A little broken.
Clearing his throat, Beau hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Well, you might have heard that my grandpa passed away a few months ago.”
Summer frowned, gazing up at him.
“That’s why Poppy, Cora and I are running the shop,” he went on.
“Well. Running it for now.” He always felt the need to emphasize that part.
Whether or not people cared didn’t matter.
He cared. He was here temporarily. Christmas Bay was a nice place to visit but the hometown vibe didn’t do anything for him.
His parents had left a long time ago, living in different parts of the country now.
His grandfather was gone. And if Beau felt any kind of pull toward this place, toward that family vibe, he always shut it down immediately.
He liked his life the way it was. Sometimes he had to remind himself of that on long road trips to those obscure places where the biggest fishing tournaments were, but that was okay.
Sometimes a man needed a little reminding to keep himself focused and on track. That was normal. That was reality.
“I’m really sorry about your grandpa,” Summer said. “I know what a special bond you had.”
A woman passed by on the sidewalk, brushing them with her bags. She muttered an apology and he stepped aside, feeling numb.
Beau’s grandfather had been more of a father to him than his own father had been.
He’d been there when Beau’s dad had split, leaving his son reeling.
So losing the older man was a wound that still hadn’t closed.
And maybe it never would. It felt that way sometimes when people offered their condolences.
Like the pain would never ease up. It ached, from a place so deep that it was hard to touch most days.
He missed his grandpa. He’d give anything to be able to talk to him one last time, to tell him how much he loved him.
“Thank you,” he said. His voice sounded husky and he was embarrassed by that. He wasn’t used to showing much emotion. But something about standing there on the sidewalk, catching the scent of Summer’s hair on the breeze, was making him feel all kinds of messed up.
She clasped her hands in front of her belly and looked down at her shoes. There was really nothing else to say. But at the same time there was so much to say. So much, that a few minutes catching up outside the antique shop would never come close to scratching the surface.
He watched her. It was obvious that he just needed to get on with this. To solidify their business deal and move on. He needed to get back inside the shop and corral this strange feeling inside his chest.
“So,” he said. “I’d like to work with you, if you’re open to that.”
She looked up and smiled. Judging by the expression on her face, she was relieved to be moving on, too.
“I’d definitely be open to that,” she said.
“Should we start with these end tables here? And if they go quickly, which they should, I’ll call you, and we can talk about the specifics moving forward.”
“Great.”
She pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it over.
He took it, brushing her fingers in the process.
So that’s where this day had ended up. With an old girlfriend’s phone number in his hand and a new business deal that should’ve made him happy.
But it didn’t. Because that strange feeling inside his chest—inside his heart—was growing stronger.
Copyright ? 2025 by Kaylie Newell