Page 4 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
And the one after that.
Because even if I can’t have her, a little bit of borrowed sunshine helps keep the darkness at bay.
* * *
That afternoon, I’m in my garage, the doors rolled open to catch the warm breeze as I plane down a slab of oak for a new coffee table. Woodworking keeps my hands busy and my mind quiet—two things necessary for my peace of mind. The tools are arranged with military precision on the pegboard, and sawdust coats everything in a thin layer of calm.
I’m halfway through sanding when I hear sneakers scuffing the driveway. I glance up and see Jacob, the neighbor’s teenage son, hovering outside like he’s not sure if he should come in.
“Need something?” I ask, straightening.
He shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Just bored. Figured I’d see what you were working on.”
I nod toward the bench. “Oak table. Want to hand me the clamps?”
He grins and steps inside, grabbing the clamps off the wall like he’s been waiting for an invitation.
“Looks cool,” he says. “You make a lot of stuff?”
“When I’ve got time. Helps me think.”
We fall into a rhythm—me adjusting pieces, him helping to hold them steady—and after a few minutes, he says, “Hey, can I ask you something kind of… personal?”
I glance at him. “Shoot.”
“You were Army, right? Ranger?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been thinking about joining. After graduation.” He swallows hard. “But my mom… she’s alone, you know? It’s just the two of us. And I’m scared what’ll happen if I leave her.”
I lean against the workbench, wiping sweat off my brow. “That’s not a small decision. And it’s not one you make just because you’re bored.”
“I’m not,” he says quickly. “I want to serve. I want to make a difference. But I don’t know if I can leave her like that.”
“You love your mom.”
He nods.
“That’s a good reason to think twice. But serving doesn’t mean you stop being a son. It just means you find a new way to be one.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Was it hard for your family?”
“I didn’t have much of one,” I admit. “Just me and my old man, and we weren’t close. But that’s why I get it. If you go, make sure she knows why. Make sure she knows she’s still your priority, even from miles away.”
He nods slowly, like he’s processing every word. “Thanks. I just needed to hear someone say it out loud.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “You ever want to talk about it more, come back by. I’ll teach you how to sand a joint the right way while we’re at it.”
His grin comes back. “Deal.”
As he heads off, I stare at the half-finished table and think about the things we leave behind when we serve. And what we find when we come back.
Some of us find a quiet garage. Some of us find a small town. And some of us…
Some of us find a bakery run by a woman with a laugh like sunlight and a smile that makes you want to be something more than a man with a badge and a past.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll try the damn peach turnover.
