Page 16 of The Sandover Beach Billionaire

Chapter Six

Jackson stood watchingJenna drive away, wishing he could chase her down and remove the note he’d put in the gift bag. It was enough that he had picked out special things for her. Why had he written her a note?

She had practically run him over to get out of there after he offered her friendship. The note took it a step past that. It didn’t outwardly state his feelings, but it was pretty obvious. In general, Jackson was being pretty obvious about his feelings. And Jenna—well, she was being clear about hers too. It didn’t just hurt that she wasn’t interested. When she looked at him, it was like she saw who he used to be, and it brought memories and regrets rushing to the front of Jackson’s mind. He had spent more time than ever this week under the deck with the punching bag.

After talking to Beau and Jimmy at breakfast, he decided to risk it, to put himself out there. He probably should have listened to Cash instead. He seemed to have a good handle on the fact that love ended in disappointment.

Why the note? He was really kicking himself over that. So far, Jenna could have just written him off as a guy trying to make amends. The note took it firmly beyond that. It was also cowardly, hinting that he wanted more. That was the kind of thing he should have asked for in person.

But just maybe he was starting to wear her down. She hadn’t said anything rude when he walked her out to the car. In fact, she had seemed grateful and for the first time, her tone had been kind. Then again, maybe he just caught her in an emotional moment. When he walked up to her in the candy aisle, she was obviously trying to hide her tears. Though he hadn’t lost either of his parents, he knew that grief was like that—it could just sneak up on you. After his grandpa died, he once saw his mother crying in the kitchen, holding a box of matches to her cheek. Jackson had only been eleven, so he simply backed out of the room before she noticed him. He never found out if the matches were his grandpa’s or if it was some memory that the box triggered.

Something had triggered Jenna and the sight of the raw emotion on her face had made Jackson want to sweep her into his arms. He couldn’t protect her from the pain or take it away, but he could let her know that she wasn’t alone. If she would only let him.

He did his usual evening walk-through of the store, hoping the routine would help distract him from thoughts of Jenna. Jackson paused in the canned goods aisle, looking at the shelves. Mercer had been here. Every can lined up perfectly on the shelf, labels turned outward just the right way. He wished there was something left for him to fix. He desperately needed something he could control right now. A problem to solve. Somewhere that he was needed.

But moving from aisle to aisle, everything looked perfect. Cereal boxes lined up perfectly flush at the end of the shelf. Even the designated clearance area had been straightened. There wasn’t so much as an empty cart or a spilled box on the floor. Things looked perfect, but this was also a sign that not enough people were shopping at Bohn’s.

It had been a slow and steady decline over the past ten years since he started running the store. Bohn’s had been a family store for years, but the original Bohn, Charlie, had died. His sons didn’t want to run the place. They had moved Off Island, places with actual cities and had corporate jobs, probably, or just lived off their inheritance and the money from the sale to Wells Development.

Jackson’s father purchased it for him as a gift and an investment. Or, a gift with the understanding that it was an investment. Alex Wells was investing in Jackson’s future as much as he was in the financials, and he wanted a positive return. Not that he needed it.

When his father gave him Bohn’s, he set protections in place, keeping everything in Alex’s name, stipulation that certain managing staff stayed on, requiring weekly meetings. He probably expected Jackson to run the business into the ground. And he might have, had Jackson not run himself into the ground first.

His rock bottom wasn’t any one particular event. Neither was his conversion a dramatic, born-again kind of moment, though the impact on his life was a complete change. Jackson had simply woken up one morning, still smelling like the night before, and walked through the doors of Hope Church. He thought the music was weird and made mental notes of everything he disagreed with in the sermons.

But something drew him back. He went over his objections and questions with Beau and Jimmy, sometimes over breakfast, sometimes over drinks or dinner. That was the beginning of Bible and Breakfast. After a few months, Jackson realized with some amazement that he wasn’t disagreeing anymore, just discussing.

As these changes took place, so did Jackson’s interest in the store, and his ability to run it as a business. At first, he had been half-hearted. He simply kept things going, doing the bare minimum not to mess it up. Now he ramped up his care and concern. Bohn’s was his and he wanted to make it amazing. For his father and for himself.

His dad had slowly removed the safeguards, little by little trusting his son more, before finally turning it over fully to him, along with the rest of Wells Development when he retired. Bohn’s was sinking, but it wasn’t because of Jackson, more because the growing tourist economy preferred chain stores like Harris Teeter. They were familiar. If people were going to spend extra money, they wanted to spend it on a dinner out or gifts. Not at the grocery store. They simply couldn’t compete with chain prices, no matter how much Jackson poured into Bohn’s.

Jackson came around the last aisle to the produce department and stopped, sucking in his breath with surprise.

A new wooden cart sat front and center before the main sections of fruit and vegetables. Shop Bohn’s Local! had been painted on the side of the cart in professional hand-lettering that was a nod to the look of the produce stands that used to populate the roads on the way to Sandover. Mercer had worked quickly.

A sign stood next to the cart and Jackson walked closer to read it. The top showed a photograph of one of the fruit stands Jackson remembered, mostly because of the owners, an older black couple with wide smiles. His mother had made him drive Off Island to that particular stand for watermelon once. He could still remember how sweet it was, the feel of juice dripping down his chin.

Below the photo was a little blurb. Jackson began to read.

Farm-Stand Produce Now Right at Your Doorstep!

When you shop Bohn’s Local, you are supporting the rich history and culture of coastal North Carolina. You don’t have to leave the Island anymore to buy farm-fresh produce. The produce stand is coming right to you! All fruits and vegetables served in season and sourced from local farms. Keep our rich culture and family-owned produce stands alive when you shop Bohn’s Local!

He didn’t realize that he’d been holding his breath until he finished reading. It was genius. The display held bright green asparagus standing on end, mounds of broccoli, and shiny red and gold apples, all in baskets made from thin strips of curved wood. He remembered them from the fruit stand. It really was like the stands had been brought right into the store.

“Not a lot of fruit in season right now.” Mercer’s voice startled him. He hadn’t heard her come to stand beside him. “But the asparagus looks amazing, don’t you think? And we have apples. Next month we should be getting some strawberries. That will add some color. Is it … too much?”

He smiled and turned back to the cart, running a hand along the wood edge. “It’s perfect. Everything about this: the display, the signs, the new ‘Bohn’s Local’ idea.”

“I’ve got the first Farmer’s Market set up for two Saturdays from now.”

“You work fast. I wonder if we could work this into the store. Picture it: Bohn’s Local throughout the store with locally sourced specialty items. Honey, home goods, fresh pies, paintings—anything we could put under the umbrella of being On Island or nearby.”

“Like a whole new line?”

“Exactly. On Islanders are our biggest customer base, not tourists. Let’s give them more On Island things to consume. Whatever you want, however you want to do it. I trust your judgment and your eye for setting things up.”

“We’ll need a logo designed.”

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