Finding Home (Second Chances in Sapphire Bay #1)

Chapter 1

Julie Harrison’s hands moved through the bread dough with more force than necessary. Flour dusted her knuckles as she kneaded against the stainless steel counter. The rhythmic push and fold should have been relaxing, but her mind kept wandering to the rejection emails sitting in her inbox.

Twenty-five years as an investigative journalist, and apparently, at fifty-nine, she was unemployable.

“Julie, you’re going to overwork that dough if you’re not careful.” Susan Timms appeared at her elbow, her gentle correction delivered with the warmth that made her such a wonderful cooking instructor. “Bread needs a firm hand, but not an angry one.”

Heat crept up Julie’s neck. “Sorry. I was distracted.”

“I could tell.” Susan’s hair caught the afternoon light streaming through the Welcome Center’s windows. “Why don’t you let your dough rest for a bit? Sometimes we all need a break.”

Julie stepped back from the counter, wiping her floury hands on her apron.

Around her, the other students kept working.

Maria Torres was rolling out pie crust with precise, measured strokes.

Rachel Benson chatted with Beth Kowalski as they chopped vegetables for the soup they’d be making next.

Laurel O’Riley worked quietly at the far counter, her focus entirely on the delicate pastry she was assembling.

Over the past two months, this cooking class had become Julie’s anchor—the one thing in her week that felt productive rather than desperately empty. When she’d arrived in Sapphire Bay, shell-shocked from her sudden layoff, she hadn’t known what she was looking for.

Certainly not sourdough starter techniques or the proper way to dice an onion.

“Who’s going to tonight’s meeting at the church?” Susan asked, moving to the center of the kitchen. “If you’re bringing food for the potluck, make sure you have your name on the container.”

“I’m bringing my enchilada casserole,” Maria said, not looking up from her rolling pin. “My husband finally got another job interview, so I’m celebrating.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Rachel turned from her cutting board. “When is it?”

“Next Tuesday. He knows one of the owners of the business, so we’re hopeful.”

Beth wiped her hands on a towel. “Well, I’m bringing potato salad and my famous brownies. Though I have to admit, I’m more interested in tonight’s meeting than the potluck. Did you all hear that they’re finally revealing the resort plans?”

Julie looked up. She’d heard bits and pieces about the proposed luxury resort at Finley Point—snippets of conversation at the general store and articles in the local paper. A developer from out of state was apparently behind it. There were big plans for the project, and lots of controversy.

It was the kind of story she would have spent weeks investigating in her previous life.

“Cole Morrison is supposed to be there in person,” Rachel added, her voice dropping as if sharing classified information. “I heard he’s been meeting with local business owners for the last three weeks.”

“I met him yesterday,” Maria said. “He came into the diner where I work part time. He’s very polite. Cole asked about local suppliers for the resort restaurant. He seemed genuinely interested in using Montana products.”

Laurel spoke for the first time. “I’ve heard he’s a hotshot developer who’s built resorts all over the country.”

Maria transferred her pie crust to a waiting tin.

“He probably is. The suit he wore looked expensive, but he didn’t act as if he was better than anyone else.

And he listened when I talked about my husband’s background in construction.

I was happy when he said they’d be hiring locally for most of the positions. ”

“That’s what he told me, too,” Beth added. “My daughter graduates from a culinary program next spring. I mentioned it when I ran into him at the hardware store, and he gave me his card. He said to have her contact him directly about kitchen positions.”

Laurel frowned. “How old is he?”

Maria opened an oven door and slipped the pie crust inside. “At a guess, I’d say he’s in his mid-sixties.”

Julie studied her resting dough. A developer who engaged with the community instead of imposing his vision was unusual. In her experience, most developers talked a good game, but ultimately prioritized profit over people.

But maybe she was being too cynical. Sapphire Bay could be different. Maybe Cole Morrison was genuinely committed to building something that benefited the town rather than exploiting it.

“I’m going to tonight’s meeting, too,” Rachel said. “My cousin works for the engineering firm handling the site preparation. She says this could completely transform the local economy. We’d have new jobs, more tourists, and better infrastructure.”

“Or ruin everything we love about this place,” Laurel countered quietly. “Developments like the resort bring too many visitors to an area, too much traffic congestion, and property prices go through the roof. My nephew won’t be able to buy a house here if prices go up much more.”

The comment hung in the air, tension creeping into the previously comfortable space. Julie understood both perspectives. Economic development could revitalize struggling communities, but it could also destroy the very character that made them worth preserving.

Susan moved between the counters, checking each student’s progress. “I think tonight’s meeting will give everyone a chance to voice their concerns and ask questions. Cole Morrison strikes me as someone who genuinely wants to do right by Sapphire Bay.”

“You’ve met him too?” Beth’s eyebrows rose.

Susan nodded. “He seemed thoughtful and asked good questions about the community.”

Julie felt something stir in her chest. It was an old, familiar itch, the one that had driven her journalism career for decades. The need to dig deeper, to find the truth beneath surface impressions, to understand what was really happening and why.

She’d told herself she was done with all that.

Forced retirement meant accepting that her skills were no longer valued, that younger reporters with more digital skills had made her obsolete.

She was supposed to be learning to relax, to enjoy simple pleasures like baking bread and walking along Flathead Lake.

But as the discussion continued, her mind worked overtime.

“When does the meeting start?” Julie asked.

“Seven o’clock,” Susan replied. “But people will start gathering around six for the potluck. It’s a good chance to meet more of the community if you haven’t already.”

Julie would need to bring something for the potluck, but the kitchen in her rented cottage was almost bare. With a little creativity, she could whip up a simple pasta salad. It wasn’t fancy, but it would be okay.

More importantly, she had questions about Cole Morrison’s background and his previous developments. About the environmental impact studies and local zoning regulations. And about who would truly benefit from this resort and who might be displaced or disadvantaged.

Questions that probably made her exactly the sort of cynical outsider this close-knit community didn’t need.

“Your dough is ready,” Susan said, touching Julie’s shoulder gently. “Let’s shape these loaves and get them in the oven.”

Julie stood in front of the counter, her hands moving through the familiar motions of shaping bread. But her mind was already at tonight’s meeting, already sorting through the information she’d need to gather, and falling back into patterns she’d sworn to leave behind.

Around her, the other women chatted and laughed, comfortable in their friendship and their place in this community. Julie envied that ease even as she remained apart from it.

The timer chimed, and Susan removed some finished loaves from the oven. Their golden crusts gleamed in the afternoon light, perfectly rounded and exactly as they should be.

Julie looked at her own misshapen dough and sighed. Before coming to Sapphire Bay, she’d promised herself she’d change from the focused journalist she used to be. Tonight’s meeting would tell her if she’d managed it.

Or if some instincts were too deeply ingrained to ever change.