Chapter 18
The Lakeside Grill occupied the ground floor of a converted Victorian building on the edge of Flathead Lake. With its wide, timber veranda, and pretty fairy lights strung around the entrance, the restaurant was a favorite of everyone in Sapphire Bay.
Julie had eaten there many times since arriving in town, and each time was better than the last.
Cole held the door open and she stepped into warmth and noise.
The room was fuller than she’d expected for a Tuesday night.
Voices overlapped above the low murmur of jazz from a speaker near the bar, and clusters of people stood between tables with glasses raised.
At the far end of the room, a hand-lettered banner read Congratulations Donna and Will.
“It must be an engagement party,” Cole said. “We can go somewhere else if you’d prefer.”
“No, it’s okay.” Julie scanned the room. “I like seeing all the happiness in one space.”
A hostess found them a table near the window, separated from the celebration by a half-partition of latticework and climbing ivy. It was close enough to hear occasional bursts of laughter, but far enough away to hold a proper conversation.
“Look at them,” Julie said quietly, watching a young couple near the banner.
The woman had a silk sash draped over her shoulder and caught at the waist. Julie wasn’t close enough to read it, but it almost certainly said bride-to-be.
With one hand on her fiancé’s chest, she was laughing at something he’d said. “They’re so certain of each other.”
“I hope it lasts,” Cole replied. “There’s so much you don’t know about yourself when you’re their age.”
“I don’t think it’s any easier when you’re our age. I know what I want in a partner, but I also have habits that would probably drive someone crazy.”
Cole smiled. “Such as?”
“I make lists for everything. I can’t leave a room without straightening what’s in it. And I read until two in the morning and then wonder why I’m tired.” She looked at him. “Your turn.”
“I’ve been told I go quiet when something’s bothering me instead of talking about it.” He paused. “And I’ve spent so long putting work first that I forget to leave room for much else.”
Julie heard the weight behind his last confession and didn’t push. Each of them had failed relationships because they’d made their partners feel as if they were second best.
“We’re a matched set,” she said lightly.
Cole’s expression shifted into something quiet and considered. “I guess we are.”
They ordered their meals, and when they arrived, they ate without any pressure to fill the quiet between them.
“Were you always interested in writing?” Cole asked. “Or did that come later?”
Julie thought about it. “I was always the kid who wanted to know why. Why the school was closing, why a neighbor had moved away overnight, why the front page looked different one morning.” She set down her fork.
“My grandmother used to say I asked more questions before breakfast than most people asked in a week.”
“She didn’t mind?”
“She loved it,” Julie told him. “She was the one who told me to start writing things down. I was eleven. She gave me a notebook with a yellow cover and said that if I recorded what I noticed, I’d start seeing patterns. She was right.”
“She sounds like someone special.”
“She was.” Julie looked at her plate. “She died when I was in my thirties. I didn’t go home enough toward the end. Work always seemed more urgent.” She paused. “I’ve thought about that a lot since I moved here.”
Cole turned his water glass on the table, the way he did when he was thinking about something.
“What about you?” Julie asked. “What were you like before all of this?”
“My grandfather shaped most of it.” Cole picked up his fork, then set it back down.
“His name was Earl Morrison. He had a cabin near Finley Point, not far from the resort site. He was the first person who ever told me I could build something worth keeping. Not just in the construction sense. He meant it more broadly than that.”
“He sounds like someone special.”
“He was.” Cole looked toward the window. Outside, the lake was dark and still. “He died when I was eleven. We were at the cabin together, just the two of us. James had stayed home with a cold, and my parents weren’t worried. As far as anyone knew, my grandfather was fit and healthy.”
Cole paused for long enough that Julie knew what he said next was important.
“Granddad sat on the porch steps late one afternoon and said he felt tired. I went fishing. By the time I got back, he looked terrible. I ran to get help, but the nearest phone was over a mile away through the trees.”
Julie waited.
Cole looked down at his hands. “I felt guilty for leaving him at the cabin, for going fishing when I should have gone for help. The guilt has stayed with me and colored everything I’ve done.”
“Have you told anyone how you feel?” Julie asked.
Cole shook his head. “Not really. At the time, Mom and Dad were dealing with their own grief. Afterward, it seemed pointless. James has tried to get me to open up about what happened, but it’s easier to change the subject.”
Julie didn’t say anything. Telling Cole his parents and brother would have understood seemed too flippant. She didn’t know his family or how they would have reacted.
“I went back to the cabin recently,” Cole said. “For the first time in years. I found Granddad’s favorite photo of us, and the front door key was still where we used to leave it.” He almost smiled. “I’m not entirely sure why I went.”
“I think you do know why,” Julie said.
He looked at her and sighed. “Maybe.”
“Your granddad believed in you before you’d done anything to earn it,” she said. “That doesn’t go away.”
Cole held her gaze. He told her about his father’s habit of sketching floor plans on paper napkins at the kitchen table, and how he’d started copying him when he was a young boy.
She told him about the first article she’d written for her high school newsletter. It was a piece about a teacher who had been buying classroom supplies out of her own pocket for years. The response from the community had been enough to change how the school allocated its budget.
It was easy, looking back, to see how each of those early things had pointed them toward the lives they’d ended up living.
From across the room, someone tapped on a glass and the crowd quieted for a toast. Everyone turned toward the couple. Their faces were filled with warmth and genuine delight.
“A friend called yesterday,” she said, after the speeches were finished. “We worked together at The Tribune for about eight years. Daphne heard I’d been applying for jobs and wanted to help.”
Cole set down his fork. “And?”
“She gave me a name. A man called Griffin manages an award-winning newspaper in Kalispell. He’s been looking for someone with more experience than his current team has. It wouldn’t be the same as The Tribune, and it probably pays a lot less than I’m used to.”
“But?”
She exhaled. “But Daphne said Griffin’s building the paper into something I should be part of. He’s expanding its scope even more, and trying to cover the kinds of stories the bigger outlets ignore.”
“Will you reach out to him?”
Julie nodded. “I wrote down his number, but I haven’t called him yet.”
Cole said nothing, but his expression told her he understood the weight of a decision you weren’t quite ready to make.
At some point, Julie stopped keeping track of the time and simply enjoyed Cole’s company. He had a great sense of humor and enjoyed doing the same things she did.
When they finally stepped out onto the street, the temperature had dropped several degrees. The sidewalks were quiet, lit amber under old-fashioned lamp posts that lined the main road. Cole fell into step beside her as they walked toward his truck.
Julie pulled her fluffy red hat out of her jacket pocket. “Can I ask you something, Cole?”
“Of course.”
“Does it concern you that whoever’s responsible for the fire and vandalism at Finley Point knows your movements? That they might be deliberately timing what they’re doing.”
“I’d be foolish to pretend otherwise,” Cole said. “Noah’s increased the overnight security, and I’ve changed my daily schedule so it’s less predictable.” He glanced across at her. “But I’m not going to let it push me out of this project. If that’s what they’re hoping for, they’ve misjudged me.”
“I just wondered,” she said carefully, “whether you’d noticed anyone paying attention to your comings and goings.”
“No one specific.” He looked at her. “Have you seen anyone watching you?”
Julie shook her head. “No, but you should be careful.”
He didn’t respond immediately. They’d reached his truck, and he unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her. “If it makes you less worried, I’m being more careful than I was.”
Cole drove the short distance to her cottage without needing directions. When he pulled up at the gate, he left the engine running and stepped out of the cab. She smiled as he opened the door for her.
“Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed myself.”
“So did I.”
Cole was close enough that Julie could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and the way the lamplight caught the silver at his temples.
He lifted one hand and lightly touched the side of her face. It was the barest contact, but her breath caught.
Then Cole’s hand dropped back to his side. “Goodnight, Julie.” His voice was steady, but something in it had shifted.
“Goodnight,” she managed.
She went inside and latched the door behind her. Through the narrow window beside the frame, she watched him pull away from the curb.
Julie stood in the hallway for a long moment.
She’d wanted Cole to kiss her. The thought made her frown, even as her fingers pressed against the cheek he’d touched.
The sensible thing was to recognize that some boundaries existed for good reasons. Cole was her friend but also her boss. He was paying her to find who was responsible for sabotaging his resort. That made any romantic thoughts she might have about him irrelevant.
Besides, she’d spent twenty-two years living in a marriage that hadn’t made anyone happy. Knowing that should be enough to make Cole run for the hills.
Julie moved through to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and stood at the window. The stars twinkled overhead, sending light that was hundreds of years old careening to earth.
The phone number her friend had given her sat on the kitchen table. Her younger self would have called Griffin by now and asked about the job. She might even have kissed Cole on the street and sorted out the consequences in the morning.
But Julie wasn’t that person anymore. And standing alone in her kitchen at ten o’clock at night, she couldn’t decide if that made her wiser or just lonelier.