Page 42 of Hometown Heart

"So... chili?" Silas asked, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

On the way home, Cody talked a mile a minute. I let him, half-listening, while my thoughts drifted. To Silas.

I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

"—and then Tyler said I should've celebrated more, but I was too surprised it worked! Coach Rory has us practice that move all the time, but usually the defender pokes the puck away before I can—Dad, are you listening?"

"Goal of the century, bud. I heard you." I caught a doubtful expression in the rearview mirror.

"I think Silas was impressed," Cody continued, struggling to remove his team jacket while remaining buckled in. "He never comes to games. Tyler's dad said so."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah! He said Silas sometimes watches the high school tournaments but never the kids' games." Cody leaned forward between the seats. "Do you think he came to see me play? Or was it because you guys are friends now?"

The innocent question contained layers of meaning that Cody couldn't possibly understand. I navigated around the truth, finding something honest enough to satisfy him.

"Both, probably. He's getting to know us."

Cody seemed satisfied with my answer and settled back into his seat. "That's good."

The road curved along the harbor, where winter-bare trees framed the gray-blue water. A few hardy lobster boats dotted the bay, their captains taking advantage of the mild weather. This view had become familiar over the past months—the way the peninsula jutted into the water and how the lighthouse stood sentinel on the point. Places that had been only names on a map were now landmarks in our daily lives.

Silas would be following a few minutes behind us, stopping at Tidal Grounds first to check on Sarah and grab a container of the cookies he'd mentioned during the third period.

When we'd first arrived in Whistleport, I'd focused solely on creating stability for Cody. I'd envisioned a quiet life centered around hockey practices and school projects, with the rest of thetown serving as a backdrop. I hadn't counted on becoming part of the community's fabric so quickly. Hadn't anticipated Sunday pickup games and invitations to town meetings. Certainly hadn't expected Silas Brewster to walk into our lives with his perfect coffee and quiet understanding.

"Dad?" Cody's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Do you think we could stay here? Like, forever?"

"You really like it that much?"

"I have friends here. Real ones. Coach Rory says I'm getting better every practice, and Tyler's mom always sends extra food, and Silas remembers exactly how I like my hot chocolate." He paused. "And you smile more here."

Had I been so transparent? Or was Cody just more perceptive than I'd given him credit for?

"I'm still figuring things out," I admitted, turning onto our street. "But Whistleport feels right for now."

That was an understatement. The town had worked its way under my skin in ways I didn't anticipate. The rhythms of harbor life, the interconnected web of relationships, and even the nosy attention of people like Dottie Perkins formed a community that held us, sometimes too tightly, but with genuine care.

As I pulled into our driveway, I saw Silas's truck already parked along the curb. He sat inside, apparently finishing a phone call, his free hand gesturing as he spoke. Seeing him outside our home waiting to join us was like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

Cody was already unbuckling, eager to recount his goal to Silas for the fourth time. I watched him bounce in his seat, impatient for the next part of our day to begin.

I took a breath and decided to stop overthinking everything and enjoy the moment.

Chapter thirteen

Silas

For the fifth time, I wiped the counter—the scent of freshly ground Ethiopian beans mingled with the nervous energy that buzzed beneath my skin. I'd placed each chair at precise right angles to the tables—a small attempt at controlling one thing in a night that threatened to turn chaotic.

Tidal Grounds had hosted poetry nights for years, but this one was different. I had a poem of my own folded in my back pocket. I adjusted the dimmer switch, casting amber shadows across the room, then immediately brightened it again. I didn't want it to be too intimate and obvious.

"I think you're about to wear a hole straight to China in the counter."

I jumped at Rory's voice. He stood in the doorway, holding a shoulder bag stuffed with papers and wearing a knowing smirk on his face.

I tossed the cloth under the sink. "Just making sure everything's ready."

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