Page 11 of Meet Me at the Fudge Shop

But she was right. This wasn’t justanopen door. At the moment, it was the only one.

Lily laughed. “Okay, then. Guess I’ve got a phone call to make.” Standing, she walked toward her phone on the counter. “And afterward, whatever Mia says, we celebrate.”

“Awesome. But can we celebrate with salads? Because all of this ice cream is gonna put me in a sugar coma.”

* * *

Declan had stepped back in time to the island of his childhood. Hello, what had happened to Jonathon Island?

He stopped at the corner of Ferry and Main, a pack on his back and a suitcase at his side. Behind him, the familiar ferry horn cried out, a last call for passengers before the ferryboat turned around and headed back to the mainland.

The sun glinted off the shop windows down Main Street. Squinting, he read the sign to the shop on the corner, which had received a fresh coat of paint—Glass Treasures. Hmmm. That must be one of the new storefronts brought in by the town council, a revitalization effort to beautify the town and get the economy back on track.

A quick glance down Main Street said that they might be winning that fight. New shops mixed with old—Aunt Jill’s coffee shop, with patrons coming and going despite the late afternoon hour. A new antiques store. The bank and the bar and grill, both boasting flowerpots overflowing with impatiens and begonias.

If they kept going like this, maybe tourists would find their way back to the once-vibrant island.

He turned left. Across the street, Declan could make out an actual flower shop—that was new too—along with a sophisticated storefront beside it labeledBeautiful Homes Art and Realty.Just beyond that lay the shuttered windows of the Hudson Bakery.

His mother’s place still occupied her space, even farther down, with the public library bringing up the end of Main Street.

The Center for the Arts and the massive shell of the Grand Hotel—with scaffolding surrounding it—took up the view along the southwestern shoreline.

“Hey, cuz!”

Declan looked for the voice, realizing he’d stopped at the corner of Main and Jonathon Boulevard. Brandon waved to him from across the street. His muscled cousin looked like he was headed to a gym, wearing basketball shorts and a tight moisture-wicking shirt. He leaned against one of the four white posts standing sentinel outside the old two-story Hart fudge shop.

The wooden paneling of the old building had received a fresh coat of paint like the rest of the Main Street buildings. But the building appeared vacant, thanks to the grime on the inside of the windows and the faded crooked sign dangling from the green roof.

Declan crossed the street—currently free of cyclists and foot traffic, the only kind allowed on the island, since all motor vehicles, including golf carts, were banned now that the snow had gone. The horse-and-carriage combos that used to frequent the island hadn’t been a thing since the pandemic, when all but a few horses had been taken to the mainland and the carriages put in livery storage.

Declan came up to Brandon. “You didn’t have to walk all this way to pick me up.”

“Oh yeah, I’m winded.” He winked and they both laughed. The Kelley clan only lived up Jonathon Boulevard a few blocks away on Poppy Place. “But I’m a good guy like that.” Brandon pulled Declan into a quick hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him. Declan wasn’t out of shape himself, but Brandon was a beast. The hazards of his job, maybe.

Declan grabbed for his rolling suitcase, but his cousin—older than Declan’s twenty-eight years by five—snatched it instead. Brandon headed up the boulevard.

“Didn’t want me facing the firing squad alone, huh?”

“Oh, you won’t be alone. The entire family is gathered to witness—I mean celebrate—your homecoming.”

Right. His neck ached from his white-knuckled drive in bumper to bumper traffic, and the thought of facing all twelve members of the Kelley family was enough to make him want to turn around and climb aboard the next ferry.

“You sure they aren’t just there to celebrate Fourth of July a day early?” Since almost the whole family worked in the restaurant industry, they typically celebrated holidays at different times than the rest of the town.

“Oh, yeah. That too.” Brandon chuckled.

“Glad you think this is amusing.” A seagull cawed as it flew overhead toward the water. “Besides, what’s there to celebrate? I’ve left behind the perfect job to try to solve a problem of my own making.”

“Come on, man. Grandma losing her house isn’t your fault, no matter what your mom implied.”

“Okay.” Sure.

The road turned slightly uphill as it headed toward the older residential area just north of downtown. On either side of the road loomed seven of the largest homes on the island—gorgeous old Victorians with wraparound porches and turrets—along with a Greek Revival-style home with the Queen Anne cottage that used to house Kelley’s Classic Fudge. Most of these homes were owned by rich people who liked to summer here.

Or had, before the downturn in the economy.

Maybe, if the town council’s plans were actually successful, they’d return.

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