Chapter 24 #2
When she opened it, the sight of him momentarily stole her breath away. He stood on her porch in dark slacks and a light blue button-down shirt that matched his eyes perfectly. His hair was neatly combed, and he’d shaved since this morning.
“Hi,” she said, hating how breathless she sounded.
“Hi.” His eyes swept over her, appreciation evident in his gaze. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Heat crept up her neck. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
He smiled, and she noticed he was holding something behind his back. “These are for you,” he said, revealing a small bouquet of flowers. “I stole them from Jonah’s garden.” He grinned. “Just kidding. Jonah suggested I pick some.”
“They’re lovely,” she said, taking them. The casual gesture somehow meant more than a formal bouquet would have. “Let me put them in water before we go.”
She retreated to the kitchen, grateful for a moment to collect herself.
Her heart was fluttering, and her pulse was rampaging through her.
“Get a grip, Beverly,” she told herself again.
As she arranged the flowers in a small vase, she reminded herself once more that this was not a date.
The flowers didn’t mean anything. They were just being friendly.
When she returned, Cliff was standing in her living room, looking at the framed photos on her mantel. A photo from the first day she opened Coastal Coffee. A few photos of her and Maxine through the years. What wasn’t there was a photo of her and Cliff.
“Ready?” she asked.
He turned and nodded. “Shall we?”
The evening air was perfect as they stepped outside—warm but not humid, with a gentle breeze coming off the water. She locked her door, and they set off down the street toward the boardwalk.
“I thought we’d go to Sharky’s, if that’s okay with you,” he said. “Unless you had somewhere else in mind.”
“Sharky’s is perfect.” It was casual enough not to feel too date-like but nice enough for an evening out.
They walked side by side, close but not touching. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but she felt a nervous energy that made her want to fill it.
“Do you have any ideas about this second fundraiser?” he finally asked.
She began to relax. This was familiar territory—planning, organizing, helping the community. The nervous flutter in her stomach subsided somewhat as they approached the boardwalk.
“I do. I’ve made a list.”
“Of course you have.” He grinned at her.
They continued down the boardwalk to Sharky’s. The restaurant was busy but not packed. The hostess led them to a table near the windows with a view of the water. The sun was beginning its descent, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.
“This is nice,” she said as they settled into their chairs.
“It is.” But his eyes were on her rather than the view.
They ordered drinks—a glass of white wine for her, a beer for him—and studied the menus. She was acutely aware of the glances from other diners. Mrs. Peterson and her husband were at a table near the bar, and she caught the older woman watching them with unabashed interest.
Cliff must have noticed too. “I think we’re providing the evening’s entertainment,” he said with a wry smile.
She grimaced. “We’re sure to be as big a subject of gossip as your mother’s impending wedding. By tomorrow morning, half the town will have heard we were here together.”
They ordered dinner and talked about another fundraiser. “This one will need to be different. Maybe we can think of something that will even attract people from the mainland.” She frowned, trying to come up with an original idea.
“Especially if that second ferry starts running.”
She frowned for a moment. “If they don’t get funding to continue the bridge… are you still going ahead with your development plans?”
She studied Cliff’s face as she waited for his answer. The gentle clinking of silverware and murmured conversations of other diners faded into the background as she focused on him. The sun continued to lower toward the horizon outside the windows, casting a golden glow across the water.
He took a sip of his beer, then set it down with a deliberate motion. “Yes,” he said finally. “I am going ahead with my plans. The island needs this development. The hurricane only proves it more. There are businesses that barely survived the storm. We need to diversify the economy here.”
She felt like a cold, hard stone settled in her chest. Despite their recent reconnection, some things hadn’t changed.
“Even with the bridge delayed?”
“The bridge will get built eventually. It’s just a matter of time and funding.” He nodded confidently. “And when it does, Magnolia Key needs to be ready. This development will bring jobs, tax revenue, and tourists who will spend money at local businesses.”
Including Coastal Coffee, she thought. Yet the idea still troubled her.
“What about the height variance? Are you still pushing for six stories?”
“I need at least five to make the numbers work,” he said, his expression turning more businesslike. “Four would be a stretch financially.”
Their server arrived with their meals—grilled grouper for her, steak for him. She waited until they were alone again before continuing.
“Don’t you want Magnolia Key to stay like it is?” she asked, setting her fork down without taking a bite. “A quaint little town where people know each other and come together in times of crisis? Like they did after the hurricane.”
His eyes met hers, and she saw frustration there, but also something else—a need to make her understand.
“Of course I do,” he said. “I love this island. I always have.”
“Then why change it?” She gestured toward the window. “Look at this view. Look at how everyone in this restaurant knows everyone else. This is special. This is what makes Magnolia Key what it is.”
He sighed. “Places change, Beverly. They have to. If they don’t grow, they die.”
“Growth doesn’t have to mean high-rise buildings blocking the view of the water,” she countered.
“No, but it does mean progress. Development. New opportunities. Jobs.” He leaned forward. “The younger generation is leaving, Beverly. They’re going to the mainland for jobs, for better opportunities. We need to give them reasons to stay.”
She hadn’t thought about it that way. “But at what cost?”
“That’s what we need to figure out. There has to be a balance.”
She took a small bite of her fish, chewing slowly as she considered his words. When she looked up, she found Cliff watching her.
“You know,” she said softly, “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone…”
His expression shifted, a flash of something vulnerable crossing his features before he masked it.
“…except maybe to yourself,” she finished.
He stared at her, his fork suspended in midair. “What do you mean?” His voice was quiet, careful.
She set down her own fork and reached for her wineglass, taking a small sip before answering.
“Now that I know what happened with your father and how he treated you…” She hesitated, then decided to push forward.
“Are you sure this development isn’t about proving him wrong?
Showing that you can succeed where he said you’d fail? ”
His jaw tightened. He set his fork down with a controlled movement that betrayed the tension in his hand. “This isn’t about my father.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked gently. “At least a little bit?”
He looked away, his gaze finding the darkening water outside. “Maybe it was at first,” he admitted after a long moment. “When I first started planning it. I wanted to show him what I could do. Show the town. But now… now it’s about more than that.”
“What is it about now?”
“It’s about building something that matters. Something that lasts.” He turned back to her. “And yes, maybe part of me still wants to prove that I can do something meaningful. Not just to my father’s ghost, but to myself. Is that so wrong?”
“No,” she said finally. “It’s not wrong to want to build something meaningful. But does it have to be this particular development? In this particular place?”
“I’ve put a lot of work into this project,” he said. “Years of planning.”
“I understand that.” She paused. “But after everything that’s happened—the hurricane, seeing how the community came together—are you sure this is still what Magnolia Key needs?”
A shadow of doubt crossed his face, so briefly she might have imagined it. “I believe it is.”
They ate in silence for a few moments. She searched for the right words, wanting to make him see her perspective without pushing him away again.
“The night of the town council meeting,” she began, “you said something about bringing Magnolia Key into the future.”
“I remember.”
“But what if the future of Magnolia isn’t about big developments and high-rise buildings? What if it’s about preserving what makes this place special while still allowing for growth?”
He frowned slightly. “What are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “But maybe there’s a way to develop that property that honors the character of the island. Something that adds to what we have without fundamentally changing it.”
Cliff took another bite of his steak, chewing thoughtfully. “Like what?”
She grinned at him. “I’m not sure. You’re the big-shot developer.”
Their server returned to check on them, momentarily interrupting their conversation. When she left, Cliff studied Beverly with a thoughtful expression.
“You really care about this place, don’t you?” he asked.
“It’s my home. It’s where I belong.”
Something shifted in his gaze. “It was my home too, once.”
“It could be again… If you wanted it to be.”
The implication of her words hung between them, layered with meaning that went beyond the development project.
He set his napkin down beside his plate. “I’ll think about what you’ve said. About a different approach to the development.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” she said, relief washing through her. It wasn’t a promise to change his plans, but it was an opening. A willingness to consider alternatives.