Page 74 of Hometown Heart

"Sarah has the spare set," he called over his shoulder, still not moving from the door. "And I left the vendor contact list on the bulletin board. And the instructions for the new espresso machine are—"

"In the drawer beneath the register," I finished for him, unable to keep the amusement from my voice. "You've mentioned it. Three times."

Silas's shoulders slumped as he finally turned away from the café. "It's hard."

"It's your baby." We'd agreed to take a 3-day weekend away for just the two of us, but that was easier said than done for Silas.

He slid into the passenger seat beside me, immediately adjusting the heating vent toward himself. Late winter in Maine had teeth, and today they were particularly sharp.

"I've never left the café for a full weekend," he admitted, rubbing his palms together. "Not since I opened."

"Sarah's more than capable." I started the engine, the SUV humming to life beneath us. "And if disaster strikes, Whistleport is only three hours away."

"That's reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be." I reached across the console and covered his fidgeting hands with mine. His skin was cool from the brief walk but warming quickly. "It was meant to remind you that we're genuinely getting away. No hockey gear, no coffee beans, no Dottie appearing with town gossip when we least expect it."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Poor Dottie. She'll have to redirect her investigative efforts elsewhere this weekend."

"I'm sure Brooks and Rory will suffice as temporary targets."

I gave Silas's hand one final squeeze before shifting into reverse, pulling away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, Tidal Grounds receded, its blue and white sign swinging gently in the winter breeze.

Silas exhaled as we turned onto Route 1, heading north. He didn't say anything about it, but the tension in his frame eased. He was like a sailor finally beyond the harbor's confines, discovering the open water isn't quite as treacherous as he imagined.

The coastal highway unfurled before us, a ribbon of asphalt against the backdrop of steel-gray ocean. To our right, frozen waves had crystallized mid-crash, suspended in time against the rocky shoreline. It was winter's artwork, stark and beautiful in its severity.

"Cody get off to Tyler's alright?" Silas asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Packed enough snacks and games to survive a nuclear winter. Shannon mentioned they're working on a science project together—something about how different wood types burn." I grimaced. "I'm trying not to think too hard about the implications."

"Shannon has a fire extinguisher. I gave her one for Christmas."

I glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "Thoughtful gift."

"Practical. Her oven mitt collection was becoming a fire hazard."

The radio murmured quietly, some indie folk song I didn't recognize. My right hand rested on the gear shift out of habit, though the SUV handled the shifting automatically. Silas eyed it, then slowly—like he was approaching a wild animal—laid his palm over mine.

"This okay?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

Instead of answering, I turned my hand over, interlacing our fingers. His palm pressed against mine, warm and solid.

As Whistleport disappeared in our wake, its familiar harbor and centuries-old buildings fading to memories, something inside me unwound. The carefully constructed boundaries I'd maintained since arriving in town—professional architect, devoted father, polite neighbor—softened at the edges. Here, on this stretch of empty highway with Silas beside me, I was Jack, nothing more.

"Tell me more about this cabin," Silas said, his fingertips rubbing the back of my hand.

"It belongs to a client from Portland. Architectural trade—I helped redesign their office space, and they offered their family cabin for a weekend. It's nothing fancy, just a single-room A-frame with a loft. But it's remote. Quiet."

"Sounds perfect."

The landscape gradually shifted as we drove further north—the coastal cliffs giving way to dense pine forests, branches heavy with undisturbed snow. Occasional breaks in the trees revealed glimpses of frozen lakes, their surfaces gleaming like polished silver under the winter sun.

"When I was a kid, my grandfather would take me ice fishing on a lake up this way. We'd bring thermoses of hot chocolate and sit for hours without saying a word."

"Sounds lonely."

"It wasn't. That was the strange part. We didn't talk, but I never felt alone." He shifted in his seat, watching the scenery pass. "There's something about sharing silence that feels more intimate than filling it with words."

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