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EMERY

On the first Saturday in May, Emery walked with Caleb from his place to Port Fressa Avenue, claiming it was nothing more than a pre-dinner walk.

Cassidy noted, more than once, that Caleb was overdressed in his blue pullover, khakis, and brown suede oxfords. “And Emery too.” She gave her navy blue print dress the once-over while she cut tomatoes for a salad. “Are y’all coming back for dinner?”

Emery gave her grace, though. Since Cassidy came back to Sea Blue Beach, she was desperate to make up for lost time. She cooked, cleaned, shopped, took her mom to lunch. Still, the road home was far from smooth.

“We’re grabbing dinner out. Main Street business.” Which was true. Only it was the main street of the Org. Homestead and dinner with a couple of royals. No big deal.

“Are you nervous?” Caleb grabbed Emery’s hand as they started up the hill. “Is Delilah on her way?”

“She’s coming in the Sands’ golf cart. And yes, I’m nervous. And excited.”

“ Ever wonder if Prince John and Princess Gemma were a couple of Floridians living across town we’d be friends?”

“Except they are royal, and they live across the Atlantic.” She grinned. “But yeah, I do.”

Walking out from under the evening sunlight soaking Pelican Way onto Port Fressa, where the old oaks and pine trees cast deep shadows over the old brick lane, Caleb and Emery joined Simon and Nadine, Bobby and Wren, and Adrianna from the town council.

Duke, Ivan, Mercy, and Adele joined from Main Street since the Org. Homestead was part of their focus.

Emery suggested Paige from the Blue Plate and Misty from Sweet Conversations join the visit since their hard work to cater the royal brunch got destroyed by the trashing.

Caleb had secured the second floor of Alderman’s for supper after the Port Fressa tour. The front windows were boarded up for construction, so there was no concern about raising suspicions about lights shining from atop the old pharmacy.

Chief Kelly was along in plain clothes for, well, all the obvious reasons.

“Do you know how they are arriving?” Emery asked Simon. He and Chief Kelly handled most of the communication with the royal team. Emery would not be writing about this for the Gazette .

This week, she confirmed her suspicion about the missing ads.

Tobias had indeed been unplugging the ads server to run his terrazzo buffing machine.

Since he kept an erratic schedule, the missing ads were also erratic.

After a brief discussion with Tobias about this, Emery mandated no maintenance on Tuesday and Saturday nights. Ever.

To be fair, the man felt awful about his faux pas and apologized profusely. Even brought Emery three pounds of fileted sea bass. But the coming months would be about repairing the paper’s reputation and rebuilding advertiser trust.

“ They didn’t give details,” Simon said. “We gave them the location; it’s up to them.”

“We don’t even know where they’re staying.” Chief Kelly wore an earpiece to communicate with royal security.

“I’d forgotten the romance of this place.” Wren walked toward the uneven, cracked sidewalk, stubbing her toe on a raised brick. “Are we going to allow Mac to bulldoze this for a golf course? I mean, really.”

“Are we all here?” The group turned to see Prince John and Princess Gemma strolling up the avenue, hand in hand, dressed in jeans and sneakers, the princess in a puff-sleeved red top and the prince in a Tennessee Titans T-shirt.

“Do we look local?” he said in a very fine American accent, adding, “Gemma’s been teaching me. ”

And just like that, they were all friends, shaking hands and reintroducing themselves, then Caleb took the lead on the requested tour, talking about Florida Cracker architecture, when the Org. Homestead was founded, and what needed to be done to restore the area.

“Most of these homes are a hundred and forty years old, with plumbing and electric from the thirties and forties. The Cracker-style—low-slung, wood-frame with a large porch—are constructed from pine and cypress, maybe oak, milled at Malachi Nickle’s sawmill.”

“These remind me of homes in Hearts Bend,” Princess Gemma said. “Only our Tennessee ancestors had stone to add.” She walked toward the first house, stepping over all the cracks and staring toward the slanted roof over the broad yet tilting porch.

“We were going to do this at the brunch,” she said. “And as much as we hated leaving the way we did—” The prince held up his hands as if to protest the broiling apologies. “We understand that day was a one-off for Sea Blue Beach.”

“ We’re still investigating,” Chief Kelly said, his tone defensive.

“Yes, very good, and we hope you find the culprits, but here ...” Prince John handed Simon an envelope.

“We’ve set up a fund in Prince Blue’s name as well as Malachi Nickle’s for restoring the Org.

Homestead or whatever you need for the East End.

The queen feels strongly that everything her great-great-great-uncle—” He turned to his wife. “Do I have enough greats, darling?”

“One more.”

“Great-great-great-great-uncle built here in Sea Blue Beach be preserved. It’s part of our family, thus our country. We are inextricably tied, you and I. Brothers and sisters of different mothers, if you will.”

Emery slipped her hand into Caleb’s. This was what it meant to be royal. Not a title, but the ability to be generous with an eye to restoration and forgiveness.

As the sun slipped away, taking the gold from the tree leaves, the Org. Homestead on Port Fressa Avenue had a second chance at life.

And so did Emery Quinn.