Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Camille taped the last flyer from her stack to the iron light pole just outside the Sugar Blossom Bakery.
In her book, that deserved a treat as a reward.
The pile had been high, and she’d canvassed over five miles, passing out the information sheets and chatting with community members about the beach cleanup event.
When Tabitha had suggested she organize one, Camille shrugged it off.
But she’d mentioned it to Foster later that night as they were falling asleep, and he immediately perked up at the thought.
That had been her main reason for planning the spur-of-the-moment event.
Ever since Foster had learned that he wasn’t a match for his brother’s liver, something had grown dim in his eyes and left his spirit.
If coordinating a day to tidy up the coastline brought back just a smidge of that joy, then Camille was all in.
Plus, it felt so good to focus her energy on something worthwhile.
Edie had the gala, to be held the following evening.
Tabitha had work.
Camille had the Inn, of course, but that was practically a well-oiled machine at this point. The beach cleanup was a welcome distraction for her wandering thoughts.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Foster stowed the roll of tape into his back pocket and reached down to slide his hand into Camille’s. His gaze moved to the wooden bakery sign hanging above them that rocked back and forth on gold hinges.
“If it involves sugar and caffeine, you know I’m all in.”
He snagged the handle to the entrance door and held it open for his wife to pass through, but they didn’t get far.
The bakery was packed, patrons crammed side-by-side like sardines in a can.
Camille loved seeing her friend so successful with this venture.
What she didn’t love, however, was that the crowded room, and the long line, seemed to deter some potential customers.
A couple two groups ahead whispered something silently, then stepped out of line and around Foster and Camille to squeeze their way out the door.
Another young family peered in through the windows, then shook their heads as they kept moving down the sidewalk, giving up on the promise of one of Morgan’s pastries.
“I think Morgan might need a bigger space,” Foster said, clearly noticing the same thing.
“And more staff.”
“A good problem to have, I suppose.”
Not really. Not when commercial properties were scarce in the area. Morgan had lucked out with this current establishment.
Another impatient customer fell out of line, grumbling all the way out the door.
Camille and Foster shared a frown.
“You know, there’s a little property up the coast on Highway 1 that I’ve had my eye on,” he said. They’d only inched a few paces up in line, and that was only due to those impatient patrons abandoning their spots.
“I know exactly which one you’re talking about. Used to be the taffy shop, right?”
“I think so. Big stripes on the siding? Right next to the beach?”
“Yep. I know the one. Tabitha and I went there all the time when we were kids. The sweetest elderly couple used to run it all those years ago. They even did fieldtrips for the local elementary schools where they let the kiddos make their own batches,” Camille said.
“I always used to love going to that place. Never came home empty handed, or without a sugary toothache.”
“Do you know what ever happened to it? Who might own it now?”
“I don’t, but I’ll ask Skip. I’m sure he’ll have an idea since it’s not too far from The Getaway. Why? What are you thinking?”
“Just that with a little love and a lot of construction, it could potentially be a really great spot for a thriving local business.”
“Or an expanding bakery?” Camille grinned at her husband.
“Maybe.” He just shrugged but returned her smile. “I wouldn’t say anything to Morgan just yet though,” he cautioned in a hushed tone as they continued slowly moving closer to the glass pastry case.
“I would never.”
“Camille?” Foster gave his wife an incredulous look. “You would never?”
“Okay, I have been known to let things slip.” She would give him that much. “But I wouldn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up for no good reason.”
Foster was sweet to pretend he believed her.
When they finally got to the front of the line the selection was woefully low, as to be expected.
“I’m so sorry, you two.” Morgan’s hands went to her hips over her apron, head shaking with defeat. “I wish I had more to offer, but I’m wiped clean. It’ll have to be a chocolate chip muffin or a lemon glazed scone. I think that’s all that’s left.”
“How about one of each?” Camille said with a smile that wasn’t returned. Poor Morgan appeared even too exhausted to offer one. “Hey, how are you doing?”
“Between getting things in place for the gala tomorrow night and keeping up with the recent demand in the bakery, I’m hanging on by a thread. A thread that I fear is unravelling quite quickly.”
“Is it a staffing issue?” Foster thumbed through his wallet for the correct change.
“Part staffing issue, part space issue, part I’m-still-not-entirely-sure-I-know-what-I’m-doing issue.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree with that last issue,” Camille said. “You’re doing a great job, Morgan.”
“I would be able to do a better job if I had more room in the back for another oven. But it’s cramped quarters as it is.
I just hate running out of pastries when it’s not even noon.
The only thing I can think to do is come in earlier to start baking, but I’m already here at four.
” She placed the two treats into a brown paper bag with a stamp of the bakery’s logo and folded the top over once. “I suppose I could come in at three.”
“Or you could start looking for a bigger location where you can expand a little. You know, maybe start browsing up the coast—” The sharp jab to Camille’s ribcage cut off that last sentence before she could utter another word.
Morgan passed off the bag and hooked her hands on the edge of the counter. “If you hear of anything, let me know. I’m in a lease here for another few months, but I’m definitely open to other options.”
It was killing Camille to keep her lips buttoned, but she did it. Barely.
“You really aren’t good at keeping secrets, sweetheart,” Foster said as soon as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. He took a bite of the muffin, holding the bag below his chin to catch any stray crumbs.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t say one word about that old taffy shop.”
“You’re telling me that if I hadn’t poked you, you would’ve kept quiet?”
“As a mouse.” She nibbled on the corner of the lemon scone, not even disappointed that these were their only two options because everything Morgan made was nothing short of delicious.
“You’re cute when you’re delusional.”
They found a nice vacant bench across the street where they could sit with the coffees they’d purchased from a cart down the block. Camille loved Seascape Shores, and their Main Street was a big reason. She couldn’t imagine a better place to live, quite honestly.
Between their quaint little downtown, the unmatched beauty of the California coastline, and the people who called this place home, it was hard to name any other location that could beat it.
Overwhelming gratitude warmed her soul as they people-watched, silently sipping their too-hot-to-gulp mochas and finishing up their pastries.
“I’ve been thinking.” Foster broke their quiet reverie.
“Should I be worried? Not that there’s ever a time when I’m not.”
His hand came down affectionately on her knee. “No, you shouldn’t worry. I’ve just been thinking a lot about this whole thing with my brother.”
Camille knew that to be the case. It would be hard not to think about everything going on. Impossible not to, really.
“I still want to be able to do something for him.”
“I thought the liver transplant wasn’t an option anymore.”
“It’s not. And I’m not thinking anything on that scale, really. But I do know that he’ll have a long road to recovery after his surgery. And I was wondering if there was a way we might be able to help him out in that area.”
Innkeeping had come naturally to Camille, but she wasn’t so sure caretaking fell into the same category. But she wanted to support her husband, and she was willing to hear him out. “What exactly are you thinking?”
“Of offering up one of our rooms for his post-surgery healing. Just for a few days. Nothing too long. But I was thinking it might ease things a bit for him since he’ll be all on his own once he’s back home. It’d be good for him to be close to the hospital in case anything goes wrong.”
Foster took another sip of his drink, cradling it between his two strong hands. “If it’s something you’d be willing to consider, I’d like to be able to extend the offer. And I wouldn’t expect you to do anything. I’ll plan to take some time off from work so I can be around if he needs me.”
Camille could not—and would not—deny her husband this. Sure, it might be uncomfortable to have Jim around, but it wasn’t about her comfort in this situation. It was a huge step toward healing for Foster, and she was so proud that it was one he was willing to take.
“I think it’s a beautiful offer, and a great idea.”
“And you think Skip will be onboard?”
“Skip has made it pretty clear that we’re the ones in the decision-making seat. But either way, I think he’ll like the idea. He may seem a little crusty on the outside, but he’s a doughball on the inside.”
“You’re a good woman, Camille.”
“I’m a mildly paranoid, worry-wart of a woman.”
“You’re those things, and you’re a good woman. How did I luck out so much that I get the privilege of loving you every day for the rest of my life?”
When he talked like that, it made Camille realize there truly was someone for everyone.
And she was beyond thankful that her someone was the handsome silver fox she’d had a chance encounter with all those months ago at the Villas of Seascape Shores.