Page 57 of Just Like Home

Silence enveloped them, and he wondered if she found it uncomfortable. He was uncharacteristically at ease.

“Usually when I would think of a quaint little cottage town, I’d picture brick pavers on the street, or even cobblestone—Nantucket has cobblestone. I was there once, but not for vacation. It was a work trip, but I wished I’d had time to explore that island. Have you ever been?”

Cole mumbled a quiet, “No,”

She watched the lake out the window like she’d never seen it before. “You see that red lighthouse out there?”

He glanced over at the familiar scene—one he mostly took for granted, now that he thought about it.

She didn’t wait for him to respond before continuing. “I can see it from my room in Lucy’s cottage. Julianna wrote about it a lot in her letters. I think she was enamored with it too—do you know the history of that lighthouse?”

“No.” Something inside him shifted, and he felt himself begin to relax. He did know the history, but he wanted to hear her version.

“It was built in the wrong place. They meant to build it off the coast of Safe Harbor, but somehow the plans were messed up and it ended up here. They talked about moving it, but there were so many reports that the lighthouse was helping sailors that they let it stand and built another one up on Safe Harbor. Isn’t that funny? That lighthouse is there because of a mistake—and it’s one of my favorite things about this place.”

He searched for a reply but came up empty.

“Sorry. Sometimes I talk too much,” she said quietly.

“Too much for who?” He glanced at her, then quickly back to the road.

“I’m annoying you, I’m sure. Telling you history of your own town.”

“I don’t mind.”

She looked over at him. “Really?”

He shrugged. “Really.” Eyes back to the road, where a large white sign that readHaven Housewas situated.

“Oh, we’re here,” she said.

His nerves settled at the sight of the property, the sign, the large farmhouse down the gravel driveway.

Haven House.

In many ways, this place was his home. Even now, that’s how he saw it.

Outside, two golden retrievers lolled on the front lawn.

“There are dogs,” Charlotte said. Her voice was so happy it reminded him of a child’s.

“Yeah, the bigger one is Ollie and the other one is Bob,” he said.

She laughed. “They named a dog Bob?”

Cole hid his smile. “I named him that. I hate when people name their dogs dumb names like Bandit or Sparky. Just name him something strong and sturdy.”

“But Bob?” She peered out the window. “He looks more like a Bandit.”

He didn’t say anything else. He’d brought the retriever home two years ago, as a gift for Gemma, who quickly said she wasn’t a dog person and told him to find the dog a new home. Naturally, he thought of Haven House, which had been taking in all sorts of strays—even human ones—for as long as he’d been alive.

Hildy fell in love with the dog the second Cole put him in her arms. “What’s his name?” she’d asked.

“Name him whatever you want,” Cole said.

“How about Rocky?” Hildy smiled.

“No, do not name him Rocky,” Cole said. “Just call him something simple. Like Bob or Mark or something.” He gave the dog’s ears a rub, then turned and walked away.

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