Page 37 of Hometown Heart

"His name was Nico." The words tumbled out of my mouth without a conversational cue. "That was my ex from culinary school."

Jack set the French press down, giving it time to steep. He didn't speak, but he focused his attention on me.

"We had plans. We'd open a café in Boston's North End. It wouldn't be big but significant enough to be noticed." I tapped a finger on the counter. "He was brilliant with business plans and could charm any investor. I handled the creative side—recipes, atmosphere, all of it."

"Sounds like a solid partnership."

"It was. Until it wasn't." The memory had lost some of its sting. "He left without warning. He disappeared, taking our plans and supplier contacts. He sent one text with the single word 'Goodbye.' The last I know of him, he opened a place in Medellin, Colombia."

Jack absorbed the story. The French press sat between us, coffee growing stronger by the second.

"That's why you came back to Whistleport?"

"Partly. I intended it to be temporary. I'd stay with Mom and regroup." I looked into his eyes. "Then I saw the old bait shop for sale, and something clicked. A vision developed in my head, and I couldn't let it go."

"Tidal Grounds is a brilliant creation, Silas."

"I don't know that I'd say brilliant. Sometimes, I wonder if I built it as a fortress instead of a business or a home. It was a place I could manage on my own and control who got close and who didn't."

Jack pressed down the plunger with deliberate care, and the coffee's rich, dark aroma rose between us.

"You deserved better than a goodbye text."

With the comment coming out of Jack's mouth, I finally believed it.

Steam curled from the mugs as Jack poured the coffee. For once, I wasn't making it, measuring it, or timing it. I could let myself simply experience it.

I took a cautious first sip. "This is good. Impressively good."

"High praise from Whistleport's coffee expert." Jack leaned back against the counter, holding his mug in one hand. "You know, sometimes, I wonder if I did the same thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Built walls. After Edward." He studied the dark, steaming liquid. "I focused entirely on Cody, on being the perfect dad, because that felt safer than..." He gestured vaguely between us.

"Than this?"

"Than letting anyone new matter."

I looked beyond Jack at the snow falling silently in the backyard. His admission made me feel better about the traps I'd set for myself.

"You're good at it, you know. Being a dad."

"Yeah?" Jack smiled.

"Cody lights up when he talks about you. Even when he's complaining about your hot chocolate not matching up to mine."

Jack laughed, the sound warming the space between us. "He's not subtle about playing favorites."

"Must be the marshmallows."

"Must be."

Our eyes met. Something was changing between us. The fortress walls I'd built were a little more fragile than before. They'd acted as barriers keeping me away from what I saw around me: a quiet, domestic scene with honest conversation. Jack looked at me like I mattered beyond my ability to make a perfect latte.

We drained the rest of the coffee, and Jack reached out for my mug.

"I've got it." I intercepted him. "I'll do the dishes. Only seems fair since you cooked."

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