county property.”
“I want to know how many other girls you brought up here,” she said with mock sternness.
“None.” That was true. Not even Sandy. “You’re the only one. Ever.”
“Remember the first time we parked up here?”
Troy wasn’t likely to forget. His father had let him take the car. He and Faith had gone to a basketball game and afterward they’d attended the school dance. About halfway through, he’d suggested that since he had a car, they go for a drive. Faith had agreed. They’d parked up here, on the bluff overlooking the Cove.
Troy, however, couldn’t remember a single thing about the view; what he did remember was kissing Faith. Holding her … They’d returned to their favorite spot many times after that. He liked to consider this place theirs, although a lot of other couples had claimed it, too.
“What do you have in mind, Troy Davis?” Faith teased when he parked the car and turned off the ignition. It was dark now and the lights around the Cove glittered brightly, reflecting on the water.
“It’s a pretty view, don’t you think?”
“Lovely,” she whispered.
Troy stretched his arm across the back of her seat.
“As I recall, the last time we were here, there were no bucket seats and no console between us,” she said.
“We can compensate for that.” Troy leaned toward her. Faith shifted closer to him and their lips met. Although it was a bit clumsy, his arms came around her and she leaned into him. The kiss was everything he’d anticipated, everything he wanted it to be.
When they broke apart, Faith’s head was on his shoulder. He certainly wasn’t comfortable in that position, but he didn’t care. Faith was in his arms. Again.
“I think time has only enhanced the experience,” he whispered.
Faith responded with a sweet smile. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Because it was too tempting to resist, Troy kissed her again. They were both breathing hard when he finished.
“I took your bra off here, remember?”
“Honestly, Troy.” She sounded flustered that he’d reminded her of that. In retrospect, it’d been a comedy of errors. He’d wanted to be sophisticated, pretending he knew all about a woman’s intimate apparel. As it turned out, the closure had been at the front, not the back, and taking pity on him, Faith had finally aided his addled efforts. No matter how much he’d embarrassed himself, though, the result had been worth it.
“Oh, yeah, you remember.” And so did he—every detail.
“I don’t suggest trying the same technique this time,” she said.
“Oh?” He didn’t intend to, but the memory was a pleasant one.
“I wear support bras now and they’re even more complicated than the ones I wore as a teenager.”
“Heaven help me.” He couldn’t refrain from touching her, just to see. Then they were kissing again, reveling in each other.
All at once there was a flashing blue-and-red light behind them.
Faith pulled away from him and fumbled with the front of her dress. “Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness.” She sounded seventeen again.
Troy dragged a calming breath through his teeth, then stepped out of the car.
The young officer instantly paled. “Sheriff Davis.”
“Everything’s all right here, Payne.”
“Yes, sir. S-sorry, sir.” The kid was almost inarticulate in his desperation to escape.
“That’s fine. You were just doing your job.” “Thank you, sir.” The patrolman was in his car as fast as his feet would move. Within seconds, he’d driven away.
Opening the car door, Troy got back inside. Faith looked at him and they both dissolved into giggles.
Twenty-Eight
Maryellen Bowman was so excited she could barely contain herself. Two important phone calls had come that afternoon, each one bringing good news.
Nursing Drake while Katie sat next to her holding a book and pretending to read to her baby brother, Maryellen let her mind race with the possibilities for Jon and his future as a photographer.
Just a couple of weeks earlier, Maryellen had received news that had distressed her. The owners of the Harbor Street Gallery had definitely decided to close their doors. She felt as if the years she’d spent as the gallery manager, building up the clientele and forging relationships with local artists, had been for nothing. Apparently, without her there to oversee everything, sales had fallen off to the point that it was financially infeasible to continue the business. Lois Habbersmith, who’d assumed Maryellen’s role, felt dreadful and blamed herself. She’d never been comfortable in a managerial position and admittedly wasn’t as good with either the artists or the customers as Maryellen.
Still, Maryellen had hoped sales would pick up during the summer, but that hadn’t happened. Aware of her distress, Jon had suggested she return to work part-time. The owners had wanted that, too.
Maryellen had agonized over that decision, but in the end she knew she couldn’t. Not with a newborn and a toddler. Her primary concern had to be her own family. When she told Jon, she saw the relief in his eyes—but if she’d wanted to go back to work, her husband would have honored her decision. Thankfully, Jon desired the same things she did. Family came before anything else, even if that meant sacrifices.
The first call was from Will Jefferson, the brother of her mother’s best friend. Will said he was interested in buying the Harbor Street Gallery and asked if he could stop by later that afternoon to discuss it. Maryellen felt slightly uncomfortable about this; Will, after all, was the man who’d come between Cliff and her mother. But if he bought the gallery, he’d make a real difference to Cedar Cove, a positive difference, and she was grateful for that possibility. So naturally, she’d agreed to the meeting, although she’d made it plain that she wouldn’t be able to work for him.
The second exciting call followed within the hour. During a ten-minute conversation with artists’ agent Marc Albright, Jon’s financial future had changed. Marc wanted to represent Jon’s work. The opportunities, he said, were endless. Maryellen had researched artists’ representatives and e-mailed a number of the most reputable, then sent them samples of Jon’s photographs. It had paid off.
Now Jon would be able to devote all his working time to photography. While she was pregnant with Drake, he’d found employment taking school pictures. Maryellen knew how much he hated that, although he’d never complained. He was doing what he had to in order to pay the bills.
Her biggest fear was that the job would kill Jon’s love for photography. Until the fire that burned down The Lighthouse, he’d supplemented their income by working as a chef. With that fire had gone his employment. The restaurant had provided a steady—and reasonably
