Page 45 of Meant for Me (Magnolia Bay #3)
“I’ll be there. I could use the break…after I get this certificate and slate blue paint, anyway.”
“Sure you don’t want to stick around Magnolia Bay a little longer? Enjoy the hard-earned fruits of your labor at the inn?” Cade’s grin was evident in his voice.
Noah looked both ways at the end of the drive. “I’m sure. This town is too small for Bergerons and Heberts to coexist again.”
“Especially with a certain blond one?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to.” Noah turned off the private road, the bay in his rearview. “Three months of working on the inn has been plenty. I need to get back to Shreveport ASAP.”
For several reasons, and fine, maybe one of those reasons was blond. Not that Elisa Bergeron lived in the Bay anymore—she was probably a famous chef somewhere on the mainland by now.
But he’d seen her memory more around town in the time he’d been back than he had in the twelve years prior combined.
Cade sighed. “That’s too bad, man.”
Noah cleared his throat. “You know I was just here long enough to get the Blue Pirogue fixed up for tourist season.” He ignored the pinch of guilt that always followed that fact.
He should keep the inn—it was his favorite childhood landmark, his safe space growing up during his parents’ tumultuous marriage. It was his grandfather’s legacy.
But he couldn’t live in a town that judged him. Judged his family.
He pressed the gas. “I have a real job in Shreveport.” One he’d been on hiatus from. He didn’t have a boss to go back to, since technically, he was self-employed as a landman, but the project manager might not trust him with future projects if he stayed gone too long.
“Running an inn is a real job. Regardless, you’re good at construction—I’ve seen what you’ve been doing at the inn.”
The compliment might have sunk in if there hadn’t been so many mistakes made the past few weeks. “Don’t worry. I’ll hire someone to keep the Blue Pirogue running for me. I definitely don’t want to sell.”
Cade’s voice dropped in understanding. “To Isaac?”
“To any Bergeron, but definitely not to him.” The thought of Noah’s beloved childhood inn going to that man was inconceivable. Grandpa Gilbert would flip over in the grave.
“Don’t worry about meeting Isaac today, by the way. I think he’s mellowed a little over the years.”
“Maybe to you. You’re not a Bergeron…and you didn’t break his daughter’s heart.”
Cade snorted. “I think that breaking part was a bit mutual, if I recall.”
Noah’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Water under the bridge.” And if that statement didn’t remind him of the time he and Elisa would walk the beach to the coastal bridge onto the island, picking up seashells, throwing back the broken ones and collecting Elisa’s favorite in a little mesh pouch he’d bought her just for that purpose…
“I guess you’ll see.” Cade chuckled. “She might be there, you know.”
“What?” Noah hit the brake harder than he meant to at the stop sign. “She’s back?”
“Been back, bro. She manages the café.”
Impossible. “I thought she went off to culinary school.” Not that he kept up. But small towns talked, and some gossip threads strung all the way up the state to North Louisiana.
“She came back.”
Noah’s foot slipped off the brake pedal and he quickly stomped it again. “You could have warned me.”
Cade laughed. “What do you think this is?”
“I meant sooner.”
“If it’s water under the bridge, what’s it matter?”
If Noah could reach through the phone and wipe the smirk off his friend’s face, he would. With his fist. “Thanks a lot.” He eased off the brake and turned onto Village Lane, Magnolia Bay’s main drag, flipping his visor down against the mid-morning sun.
“You haven’t seen her around town at all the past few months?”
“Been keeping to the inn and the hardware store.” And eating enough Chinese take-out to merit his jeans fitting tighter, all to avoid public restaurants and the chance of running into…well, anyone.
“She didn’t come to the funeral, did she?” Cade asked.
“No. But I wouldn’t have expected her to. She owes me nothing.” And he probably owed her even less.
He coasted into a parking spot in front of the Magnolia Blossom Café, then killed the engine. The truck idled into silence. “I’m here, man. I’ll see you on the pier.”
“You got this,” Cade coached. “Get in, get the certificate, and get out.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.” Maybe the Lord would hear one of them.
Noah sat for a moment, slowly withdrawing the keys from the old ignition and stalling as he took in the café’s front.
Not much had changed in the past decade plus.
The turquoise curtains tied back in the front windows had faded and the welcome sign on the porch now hung slightly crooked.
The potted flowers celebrating spring were new, though, as was the cheery yellow paint on the door.
His erratic heartbeat was also new. How many times that fateful summer had he coasted up to this very parking lot, waiting for Elisa to get off work so she could hop in his truck?
Hit up the drive-in movie the park hosted every June, toss popcorn in each other’s mouth and miss.
Share a large soda and fight over the last of the Milk Duds.
Noah reluctantly released his seat belt. Of course Isaac would choose this spot to meet—probably got free coffee from his daughter, if she ran things now—and Noah wasn’t in a position to argue the specifics.
He pushed through the front doors, the turquoise walls immediately closing in on him in a rush of memory.
He avoided looking at the patrons seated at the spinning barstools at the serving counter—more so, at anyone potentially behind said counter—and scanned the crowded room for Isaac.
The unmistakable aroma of waffles and syrup wafted over him like an air freshener someone needed to invent.
He inhaled deeply, then moved through the maze of various-sized yellow tables toward the back, where Isaac was most likely to be seated.
He definitely didn’t want to draw attention to himself lingering in the doorway.
The breakfast crowd was in full swing. Forks clanked against dishes, the abrupt holler of “order up” sounded through the swinging doors behind the bar, and the chatter from townsfolk eager to start their day filled the diner with a low hum.
Despite Noah’s determined attempt to keep his gaze away from the counter, it traitorously darted there anyway, ping-ponging back and forth until he was certain Elisa wasn’t one of the two aproned people pouring coffee.
Relaxing, he walked past Sadie Whitlock, owner of the local used book shop, who sat at a table reading a hardback and nursing a glass of chocolate milk. She’d always been kind, a little older than him, and usually had her face in a novel. “Hey, Sadie.”
“Noah! Good to see you out and about.” She looked up from her book with a smile, her green eyes bright. “How’s progress on the inn?”
“It’s getting there. You’ll be seeing less of me around here soon.
” Noah’s grandfather had been a regular at Second Story , devouring American history texts as far back as Noah could remember.
He’d accompanied Grandpa Gilbert into that used bookstore more times than he wanted to that last summer spent on the island when he was eighteen.
“That’s too bad, but I understand. Not everyone can take over a business suddenly, like I did from my great-aunt.” Sadie gestured with her book—what looked to be a romance novel, judging by the cover. “Surely I’ll see you before you leave.”
Old Farmer Branson—who looked exactly the same as he had a decade ago—raised his head from a plate of bacon as Noah passed, but didn’t nod.
The grizzled man had always been close with the Bergerons, taking their side in the ongoing feud over who rightfully owned the inn’s grounds.
Most people in Noah’s generation seemed mature enough to realize the majority of that beef had occurred in the past, but some old-timers still liked to play favorites.
Especially if they’d only ever been told one side of the story.
“Noah! Fancy meeting you here.” August Bowman, his grandfather’s probate attorney, stepped in front of Noah and held out his hand. “Come for the pancakes?”
So much for avoiding conversation. He liked August, though, as far as lawyers went. “No, sir.” He returned the handshake, noting the older man’s signature tweed blazer. The man had been born in the wrong century. “I have an appointment—Blue Pirogue business.”
“Speaking of the inn, I was going to call you later this morning, so this is rather fortuitous.” August set his briefcase on the empty table beside them, then pushed his glasses up his nose.
The man’s untamed salt-and-pepper hair was the only thing about him that wasn’t always perfectly in order.
“Could you come by my office this afternoon?”
Noah hesitated as the dozens of unfinished tasks on his calendar filled his mind, including finding slate blue paint. “I’m afraid I’ve got a full?—”
“Here, take my card, in case you need a refresher of the address.” August handed over the rectangular business card. “It won’t take long, but it’s important.”
“I’ll try, but?—”
“Great! Two o’clock?” August clapped Noah on the shoulder before he could protest. “See you then, son.”
Noah was more likely to be August’s grandson than son, but he didn’t get to protest that or the fact he couldn’t come by before the older man scooted toward the exit.
Great. Noah needed to find Isaac, before he got swept into any more obligations.
He scanned the café a final time, his gaze bouncing off the various magnolia blossom centerpieces, the kitschy teal and yellow wall art, and the hardened stare of Sheriff Rubart—another Bergeron fan—until… there .