Page 19 of Just Like Home

Would anything do that?

“Why don’t we put together a planning meeting with volunteers I know would love to help?” Brinley said, capturing Charlotte’s thoughts. “There is a list of regulars who come in to do hair, makeup, help fix costumes, sell refreshments. Jules had a whole team—she never did anything small.”

“I bet she didn’t.” Charlotte smiled.

“Would this week work?”

“My schedule is wide open,” Charlotte said. “Count me in.”

Brinley handed Charlotte her phone, and she put her number in and handed it back. “I cannot believe I have Charlotte Page’s phone number,” she said with a sigh.

Charlotte laughed and gave Brinley a wave. “And you’re just about the only person in the world who thinks that’s something special.”

“I know that’s not true,” she said.

Charlotte flashed her a smile and headed for the door. “Keep me posted!”

“Bye, Charlotte!”

As she walked out, Charlotte heard Brinley say to someone she assumed was on the other end of her phone, “You are not going to believe who just came in to the studio.”

5

The next day, after football practice, Cole stared at the broken headlight on his old red truck. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but restoring this Chevy had been like therapy for him in the weeks and months following his split with Gemma. Making sure the truck looked its best had become a therapeutic obsession for him.

When he finished, he moved on to the house renovations. Apparently, this was his way of working through his feelings. Better than sitting on a couch spilling his guts to a stranger, that was for sure.

He’d have to search for replacement parts after the damage done by yesterday’s mishap, and he wasn’t happy about driving a broken truck around town until it could be fixed.

Practice that morning had been rough. He’d been rough. Bilby didn’t even have to say so—Cole knew. He needed to get his head screwed on straight or he’d do more damage to those kids than good. And that was the opposite of his goal as a coach. He loved football, sure, but he started coaching because he wanted to make a difference for the kids, get in their lives and make sure they knew they had someone on their side.

He blew out a heavy sigh.You’re doing none of those things.

He was riffling through his toolbox when the sound of a car behind him pulled his attention to the driveway. A familiar black Jetta with a smashed-in bumper came to an abrupt stop. Who had taught this woman how to drive?

He had no intention of making her pay for the repairs to his truck, but yesterday, after he finished his breakfast, he tore her number from the white paper bag and stuck it on the fridge before throwing the bag away. Why had he done that?

The car door opened and a tall, lean figure appeared.

Oh, yeah, that’s why.

If he saw her on the street, he’d do a double take. Her hair was pulled back in that slick bun again, but her face was soft and full of apologies.

And he’d been so rude to her. Why couldn’t he control that? He pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands on it, holding her gaze.

She looked nervous. Why was she here? And how had she found him?

Who was he kidding—this was Harbor Pointe. He could think of four different older women who would’ve gladly handed out his address to a pretty young woman if it meant there was a chance at fixing his crankiness. Still, she was a stranger here, wasn’t she? He’d pegged her for a first-time tourist.

Heck, he’d pegged her for a first-time driver.

“Hi,” she said. Her face brightened. “It’s me—Charlotte. From the diner yesterday.”

Charlotte from the diner yesterday.As if he’d forgotten.Charlotte who smashed into your truckmight’ve been a better identifier.

“Yeah, I remember,” he said.

She bristled at his tone, which was abrupt. His tone always sounded short these days. He made no effort to make her feel welcome. He’d tossed politeness out around the time Gemma left, but lately, it was his sister’s death that had him twisted on the inside.

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