Page 2 of The Sandover Beach Billionaire

That wiped the smile from his face. It also made Jenna feel like the very worst person in the world. She may have been bitter and slightly depressed, but she had never been mean. Jackson scratched his chin, staring through the front glass windows of the store. “Unfortunately, no awards or raises. Just an apron.”

“That’s too bad. That could have topped the list of your life accomplishments.”

As the words left her mouth, Jenna already hated herself. She was being petty and mean. There were plenty of things she regretted from high school. Wasting so much time dating Steve, the boy next door, for one. He was a cheater, just like her husband turned out to be. But she didn’t sit around obsessing over her regrets or the people who hurt her. Why was she still holding this over Jackson’s head? Rachel, happily married with two girls, certainly wasn’t still hung up on the rumor. Next month would be their twenty-year high school reunion. Jenna shouldn’t be carrying around this much negative emotion. But she wasn’t about to apologize either.

The look on his face made her feel even worse. Jackson had gone from staring out the front window to staring at the floor. His shoulders hunched with something that looked like acceptance, like he thought he deserved the darts she threw at him. Jenna wanted to apologize, but couldn’t bring herself to say the words. This wasn’t like her, to be openly rude to someone. Was this because of her grief? Or because of the last few terrible years, struggling with her marriage and losing her mom? Had she turned into the kind of person who verbally attacks a guy in his late thirties working a minimum-wage job? That was low.

His haunted eyes met hers. Jenna’s mother would have been so disappointed. She would have quoted that verse from Ephesians that had once been so familiar, “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouth, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs.” This memory struck her harder even than the baking soda in the fridge. Her throat felt thick with rising tears.

Jenna had to get away from Jackson before she became a sobbing mess in front of him.

“Thanks for the help.” She began to push her cart away.

“Good to see you again, Jenna.”

As she worked to swallow down her tears, Jenna tried to think about the last time she had seen Jackson. Honestly, it might have been high school. As small as Sandover Island was, in all the years Jenna came home to visit her parents and then just her mom, she hadn’t seen Jackson once. Until now, she hadn’t really thought about him either. Not much, anyway.

Now she couldn’t stop thinking about him: the sad look in his eyes and the resigned set of his jaw. The way his hair had that rumpled quality that no hair product in the world could fake. The way his smile turned up on the left side, looking more like a flirtatious smirk than a smile. Had he been wearing a wedding band? She hated herself for even thinking it. She needed to stop thinking about Jackson.

But the feeling that she had wounded him stuck with her, making Jenna feel sick as she reached the checkout. Jenna had been more than rude; she had been cruel. The words soured in her mouth. The woman behind the register eyed her cart and gave her a look, the kind locals usually reserved for Off Islanders. “I’m sorry, hon. You can’t purchase wine until after noon.”

Jenna groaned. “You’re serious? That’s still a thing?”

The woman smiled. “Bohn’s store policy. I can re-shelve them for you.”

Jenna wanted to scream. She was thirty-eight and couldn’t buy a bottle of wine. Not because of a liquor law (though North Carolina did have some odd laws about that), but because Bohn’s never sold alcohol before noon or at all on Sundays. She handed the two bottles over to the cashier, feeling like a child who had been chastised.

This whole morning made her feel like she had time-warped back to high school. Jenna had, like so many On Island kids, moved away as soon as she could. It was too much of a small-town. Jenna had briefly toyed with the idea of keeping their childhood home rather than selling it, but she hadn’t made it twenty-four hours without being visited by ghosts of the past. The beach might soothe her soul, but the people on this island and her own personal history was simply too much.

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