Page 32 of Hometown Heart

The concern in his voice was genuine. I found myself telling him about the too-quiet house and not quite knowing what to do with it.

"That goes away. Or it doesn't go away so much as it changes. Evolves into something else."

I watched him rub his thumb on his glass. "Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"When I was growing up, after my dad left, the house felt massive. It was Mom and me rattling around all of that empty space. I started getting up early and found work with Knick Knickerbocker. I learned some important life lessons there."

A burst of laughter from the bar punctuated his words. One of the fishermen gestured wildly, describing what must have been an impressive catch.

I thought about my own fresh start—building something new away from New York, set free by the absence of Edward.

"You know what's weird?" I pushed my plate partway to the side. "Today at drop-off, Tyler's mom invited Cody for movie night next weekend. It was a casual question like it was no big deal. In the city, playdates required these complex diplomatic negotiations. Here, everyone lets kids be kids."

Silas smiled. "Let me guess—Tyler's mom is Shannon MacPherson? She'll send Cody home with enough leftovers to feed him for a week."

"She already gave us two containers of shepherd's pie at hockey practice."

"Classic Shannon. She stress-bakes when the boats are out. Her husband Mike captains one of the bigger rigs—they're gone sometimes ten days at a stretch."

We settled into a comfortable rhythm, exchanging stories. Silas explained the intricate social dynamics of Whistleport's lobstering families while I shared tales from my architecture projects in New York. The candle in the center of our table burned lower while we ordered beers from the bar.

I studied Silas as he drank his beer. His beard didn't quite hide his full lips, and his Adam's apple was prominent when he swallowed.

"What?" he asked, catching my gaze.

"Nothing. I'm enjoying how comfortable and different this is."

"Different from what?"

"From spending Friday night organizing Cody's hockey gear, doing laundry, or unpacking boxes. Whatever I thought I'd be doing instead."

The bell above the door chimed, and Dottie Perkins bustled in, her bright scarf a splash of color in the dim room. Her eyes lit up when she spotted us, and I watched Silas tense, prepared for the wave of questions surely headed his way.

I leaned across the table and spoke softly. "Should we head out?"

He nodded, relief evident in the quick exhale that followed. We gathered our coats, and I insisted on paying despite his request to split.

The night air hit us with a cold shock after the restaurant's warmth. Stars had emerged, scattered across the sky.

We walked slowly toward my car, neither of us rushing to end the evening. At the driver's door, I turned to face Silas and found him closer than I expected.

"Jack—" he started, then stopped, like the words had caught somewhere between thought and voice.

I waited, heart hammering against my ribs. It was a delicate moment.

A truck rumbled past, its headlights sweeping across us. Silas took a small step back, but something in his expression remained open and unguarded.

"I should get the shop ready for tomorrow's opening," he said but made no move to leave. "Sarah gets grumpy if the beans aren't pre-measured."

"Right." I fiddled with my keys. "And I should probably rescue those leftovers from my fridge before they go bad."

"The beef you were cooking?"

"Yeah. However, I wonder if I should bring it by Tidal Grounds. You mentioned something about only having day-old scones."

His laugh was soft, barely more than a breath. "Trying to improve my eating habits?"

"Someone should. Coffee isn't actually a food group."

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