36. Elodie #2
Kit organized meal drop-offs, Selene collected clean blankets and comfort items, and I found myself flitting between hospital rooms and hardware stores, trying to keep busy. Cal wouldn’t leave Wes. Helen and I assured him that we could look after Levi while he sat by his best friend’s bedside.
I took Levi to the arcade, then dropped him off with friends. I helped clean Hayes’s kitchen, even though no one had asked.
I didn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Wes’s leg, saw Hayes’s guilt, saw the look on Cal’s face when he’d carried me back to the cottage just days ago.
Everything felt broken. Like someone had knocked over the world’s most delicate mosaic and we were all scrambling to find the right pieces to glue it back together.
And then, on a warm, sunny morning that felt impossibly normal, I sat on my front porch, legs curled beneath me, journal in my lap and a mug of stale coffee clutched in both hands. The air smelled like fresh soil and blooming lilacs. It should have been comforting.
Instead, it felt like a lull before a storm.
I tried to write, but the words wouldn’t come. My mind spun with rejection letters, invoices, what-ifs, and a thousand unanswered prayers. The Post-it Notes in my living room had started to feel like a mockery, like all my dreams had been written in invisible ink .
A low rumble caught my attention, and I watched as a luxury SUV rolled slowly down the gravel drive.
I stood, blinking in the sunlight, shielding my eyes with one hand. The car parked in front of the cottage, and a man stepped out—tall, clean-cut, dressed in business-casual slacks and a collared shirt that probably cost more than my whole wardrobe.
He walked toward me with a coffee tray in one hand and the kind of self-assured ease that said he was used to walking into rooms and making decisions that changed people’s lives.
I braced myself. “Can I help you?”
He smiled—charming but practiced. “I hope so.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re either very lost or very brave.”
He laughed, then held out the coffee. “I brought peace offerings. Not poisoned, I promise.”
I stared at him for a beat, then took the cup.
“Thanks,” I said warily. “Who are you?”
“My name is JP King,” he said with the air of someone used to their name meaning something.
Blank stare.
He chuckled. “I own Tower Business Ventures. I would like to speak with you about Star Harbor Farm.”
I blinked, trying to parse together what was happening.
JP smiled, handing me a small business card. “I’m the guy who shows up when someone’s trying to build something and needs a little help making it happen.”
It struck me as funny how something as simple as a business card could scream wealth . It was thick, textured paper with Tower Business Ventures in blocky gold font. JP King’s name was beneath it.
I frowned. “So you’re like a real estate fairy godfather? ”
His lips pressed into a flat smile, a bit of humanity leaking into his blue-green eyes. “I’ve been called worse.”
I crossed my arms. “And what does the real estate fairy godfather want with me?”
JP walked up the steps and sat on the edge of my porch like he belonged there. He gestured over his shoulder. “I want to help you buy the farm.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It burst out of me like a punch line I hadn’t seen coming. “Okay. Sure. And I’m the Lady of the Dunes.”
He clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid this is serious.”
“So am I. This land is worth millions. I have approximately forty-seven dollars in my bank account and a drawer full of rejection letters.”
He sipped his coffee, unfazed. “And yet you’re still here. Still working. Still trying.”
I stared at him. “Why does that matter?”
He didn’t answer right away, but let the quiet settle between us until the birdsong took over.
“Let’s call it a favor,” he said finally. “From someone who thinks you belong here.”
My stomach dropped. “Who?”
JP tilted his head, smiled like he knew every secret in the universe. “Someone who believes in second chances.”
I looked him up and down. “Is this some kind of scam?”
“Nope.”
My eyes narrowed. “A mean joke?”
He scoffed. “Not even a little.”
I searched his face for anything that would give him away—some twitch, some glimmer of a tell, but all I saw was patience. Calm. A kind of knowing that made me want to run and stay all at once.
“Why me?” I asked, my voice a whisper .
Why not Cal?
My thoughts raced. Excitement and disbelief warred with uncertainty. This man was giving me exactly what I needed to purchase the farm and make Star Harbor Farm a reality, but all I could think about was Cal.
What about his dream?
“Sometimes the right person just needs a little push.” JP smiled, his words pulling me from my thoughts. “All I am asking is for you to think about it, Ms. Darling.”
I blinked. “Umm . . . okay.”
He stood, urging me to accept his peace offering in the form of coffee. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take a walk and hear about your plans for Star Harbor Farm.”
So we walked.
Side by side JP King and I walked every acre of the farm while I rambled on about the vision Stan and I had had for the farm.
He didn’t interrupt, but only paused to ask clarifying questions.
If I didn’t know the answer, he simply shook his head and assured me not to worry—some details could be worried about later.
Then we got back to the cottage and he walked back to his car, got in, and drove away—leaving nothing but dust and questions in his wake.
I didn’t move.
Not for a long time.
I sat there with my long-empty coffee cup, staring out at the barn and the pumpkins and the fluttering notes in my window, and I felt something shift. Something huge. Like a puzzle piece had clicked into place—but upside down.
Who would do that for me?
Who would believe in me enough to make this happen?
The answer danced just out of reach. But the feeling it left behind burned hot and aching in my chest .
It didn’t make sense.
None of it did.
When I closed my eyes and exhaled, I knew one thing with aching certainty: Someone had opened a door.
Now it was up to me to walk through it.