Summer by the Sea (17 page)

“No, no.
I
asked
you
out. I’m not going to make you cook for me. I’ll cook for you. If you don’t mind, we can go back to my house and I’ll make you dinner. Would that be okay?”

This
was the Jake she liked so much. “That sounds wonderful.”

The drive this time was much quieter, the air between them now filled with questions on both sides. Faith looked out the window at the cottages that dotted the shoreline as they made their way to Jake’s. She wondered what his house would look like. After seeing the restaurant, she wasn’t sure she knew who Jake was now. Would his house be showy and grandiose? She hoped not. After a little while, the cottages gave way to grass. The grass thinned out as it met the sand, and, when she finally saw where they were, there was nothing but beach and sea and a sight she’d never seen before. It looked like a cottage-style castle.

Just like her cottage, this one sat on stilts, but with thickly painted white lattice covering the open areas under the house. Along the lattice, contrasting with the starkness of the white were bright pink roses on green bushes. A wide, wooden staircase—big enough to have at least ten people or more standing shoulder to shoulder as they went up it—was at the front, the treads left a natural wood color and the risers were painted white to match the lattice. The whole cottage was bright yellow like the sunshine above them, each piece of the trim white. A country porch wrapped all the way around the enormous structure, and every few feet, she saw two white rocking chairs angled toward each other. The home looked big enough to be an inn. It was beautiful, and nothing like that restaurant.

He parked next to a red antique Ford truck that looked like it had been used as a work truck. He’d noticed the truck too, because his eyes went straight from it to the ocean where she saw a man fishing. They got out of the car, and she followed him to the beach. The shore was so wide at this point that it seemed like a desert, the ocean its mirage.

“Dad?”

The man turned around and put up a hand to shield his eyes. As Faith looked at him, she knew exactly what Jake would look like in thirty years. The man had his eyes, his nose, and his hairline, although his hair was silver in color. He smiled just like Jake, and she smiled back without even meaning to.

“What are you doing?” Jake asked as they got close enough to hear over the wind. The fishing rod was huge—bigger than the ones she’d seen for fresh water. It was sitting in a white pipe-like holder that had been forced down in the sand. Beside it was a cooler and a radio.

“What does it look like I’m doin’?” he teased him, that all-too-familiar grin on his face just like his son’s. “I’m catchin’ supper.”

“Why are you catching supper on my beach?”

“I figured all the fish had probably migrated down stream away from that eyesore you put up.”

His father was kidding around, but Jake’s face had changed. He obviously didn’t find it very funny, and it seemed to almost annoy him. ”You’re here for something else.” She could hear the affection for his father in his words despite his irritation with his comment.

The man ignored his question and turned to Faith. “Jake, son, where’re your manners?” He reached out his hand toward Faith. “I’m Charles Buchanan. You can call me Chuck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Chuck,” she said.

He gave her a grin and then raised his eyebrows at Jake as if to say, “Look at you, bringing home a girl.” He was teasing Jake, and she wondered if he’d done the same thing when Jake had brought home girls as a young man. It was playful and silly, but it had embarrassed Jake a little. It was interesting to see his father bring out yet another side of him.

“I’m here because the pier’s crowded this time of year with all the tourists, and my own beach is full of people right now too. All the vacationers have spread over to my little corner of the shore. ’Tis the season, I suppose.” He turned to Faith. “Now, if he’ll let me be, I’ll catch us some supper. You hungry?” He winked at his son.

She nodded politely.

“I’m making Faith dinner, Dad. If you catch something, we’ll grill it. Otherwise, you know I’ll save you some leftovers.”

Leftovers? Faith would feel very rude eating up at Jake’s house, knowing that his dad was waiting for dinner. “I wouldn’t mind if Chuck ate with us,” she suggested quietly, looking at Jake for approval. She worried a little about suggesting it, but, to be honest, she couldn’t wait to talk with his father and find out more about Jake. Perhaps she and Chuck could even talk some sense into him.

“Okay,” Jake said. “Dad, just come up when you’re done, and we’ll make you a plate. You can eat with us.”

“Well, that’s kind of ya.” He nodded thanks to his son and then winked at Faith the way he might if she were his own daughter.

They left Chuck on the beach and headed back toward the giant cottage of Jake’s. He led her up the stairs. As she followed, the sound of the restless sea was at her back, the screech of seagulls overhead. Chuck had switched on the radio as they left, but she couldn’t hear it anymore.

She stopped mid-step and took in the thick yard full of wiry grass that was perfectly cut. It eventually gave way to his private beach and the gorgeous, rolling, blue water of the Atlantic where Chuck was standing in the incoming tide. Faith forced her eyes from the view to look at Jake. She couldn’t imagine why one person would need all this. This was the kind of place that needed a family—a big, extended family—with children running in the yard and aunts and uncles filling those rockers.

“You’re the only one who lives here?”

He nodded.

“It’s huge!” she said before she could think the comment through. After the restaurant fiasco, she worried that it would offend him.

He didn’t seem overly bothered by her statement, thank goodness. She didn’t want to upset him. Despite what had happened at the restaurant, she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But this house was like something out of a home magazine. It was perfectly landscaped, the porches decorated with potted plants beside the rockers, bright pink and purple flowers flanking the door, and all the way around the porch were hanging ferns.

He opened the front door—an oversized wooden door with etched glass in the center. It was artistic and beautiful, and she could only imagine what it looked like from the inside when the sun came through it. That thought didn’t last long, though, as she entered the foyer. The room stretched back, past a formal living room and a dining room, to the other side of the house, where she saw an open kitchen, a second, huge living room, and even a pool table. The whole back side of the house was filled with windows from floor to vaulted ceiling, with a view of nothing but sand and sea beyond them. He gestured for her to walk first, so she made her way down the beautiful hardwoods to the living area, a swimming pool and tables—yes, plural tables—with dark green umbrellas emerging in her view as she looked out at the ocean.

Jake walked up beside her and led her to the kitchen. He pulled out one of the leather stools, neatly lined up at the bar for her. She sat down and rested her forearms on the granite countertop.

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked. His question sounded cautious, and she wondered if he was still upset by her behavior at the restaurant. She really wasn’t that hard to please—when she was in a place that made sense to her.

Trying not to gawk at the custom cabinetry and the chef-grade stainless steel six-burner stove, she asked in return, “What are my choices?”

“Ask me. I probably have it.”

“I’m not picky,” she said, wanting to eat her words immediately. “Why don’t you surprise me?” She didn’t know what to ask for.

He pulled a pan from one of the cabinets below. It was stainless, just like his appliances, without a single blemish. He set it on a burner and turned on the gas. The room was probably the size of the whole cottage where she was staying. She would have never guessed, meeting him that first day, that he had this much money. A sailboat, Mercedes, a beachside mansion, he built restaurants—what exactly did he do for a living? She had to ask….

“I’m sorry for what happened at the Tides,” she said. She was sorry, but she had her own thoughts about the restaurant that she needed to get out somehow. She wanted to love the Tides. She’d loved everything that she’d learned about him so far, and it was killing her that she didn’t love this. She wished she could be thrilled that he’d built a restaurant like that, but the truth was that she was mortified. The idea that he could ruin the landscape so carelessly made her question her feelings for him because, clearly, he didn’t think at all like she did.

“What did happen at the Tides, Faith?”

She bit her lip to try and get all her thoughts in order. How would she explain to him what she felt without offending him? But, then again, they’d been open with each other, and she felt like she had a connection with him. Perhaps she could make him understand. “Do you know what I love about the Outer Banks?” He turned to face her. “Places like Dune Burger.”

“You prefer a more casual place? Is that it?”

“Not just that. I like it because it’s been a constant; it’s been there for me every time I visit.”

“So you’re opposed to anything new?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I think that anything that maintains that vibe, the feel of this area, is good. The Tides seemed… Forgive me. Out of character for the Outer Banks.”

“I think there are things about this area that are stuck in the past. That’s the problem around here. They won’t open their eyes and give anything new a chance. I had to battle like crazy to get the permits to build the Tides, but I wasn’t backing down out of principle. We need to look to the future, and that means being comfortable with change.”

“I think there’s a difference between being stuck in the past and maintaining the charm of the past. They’re two distinct things.”

“You sound like the county board of supervisors.” He shook his head, clearly getting frustrated by her comments.

She didn’t want to frustrate him, but she also didn’t agree at all with what he was saying. “Tell me, what did you love about growing up here?” Maybe she could get him to think back to his favorite places. Surely she could remind him of what he loved about this place. It was such a wonderful place.

“The space.”

“Why?”

“Because it was a continuous reminder of what I could build here. I’ve always been a builder. That’s what I do.”

Before she could respond, Chuck walked through the door, carrying his red and white cooler and radio. He set them both down on the floor and looked back and forth between Faith and Jake as if he were surveying the situation. He had on a navy baseball cap that he hadn’t been wearing on the beach, the brim worn from years of wear, the emblem on the front faded beyond recognition. “Got us a flounder,” he said, tapping the cooler with his foot. “Let me wash up and I’ll get to skinnin’ it.”

He walked over to the sink, turned it on, and began scrubbing his hands under the stream of water. There was a palpable silence between the three of them, and Faith wondered how the conversation would go from there on out.

“What would you like to drink?” Jake broke the silence. “I have tea, water, lemonade, beer, white wine…” He dug around in the fridge, moving a few bottles.

“An iced tea would be nice.”

“I only have sweet tea, are you okay with that?” He pulled out a container of crabmeat and set it on the counter, along with two eggs.

“That’s the only tea I drink.”

“Ah, that makes two of us.”

Chuck eyed the ingredients. “Makin’ your famous crab cakes, are ya? Let’s fry ’em. We can fry up the flounder with it.” He grinned in Faith’s direction, the lines on his face white against his tan skin. “I hope you’re hungry, Faith. We’ve got some good food comin’. Jake, son, pour me a tea too, please. That sounds good.” Chuck grabbed the kitchen towel to dry his hands, and Faith noticed how delicate it looked in his weathered fingers. “I hope you like sweet tea. It’s southern sweet—lots of sugar.”

Jake pulled out two glasses, filled them with ice, and topped the cubes with iced tea from a crystal pitcher. “My grandmother believed that if you let it steep in the sunlight when you’re making it, it tastes better.” He set a bag of breadcrumbs and assorted spices next to the eggs.

“I think she just wanted an excuse to be in the sun,” Chuck added with a smile. He’d pulled the large, flat fish out of the cooler and had it lying now on the cutting board.

“Where did she live? Somewhere warm?”

“Mississippi. She was a southern belle,” Chuck answered before Jake could get a word in. He slid the knife under the skin of the fish and, with perfect precision, removed the outside. Then he went to work cutting and deboning. “My mother was a beautiful woman in her day.”

Faith thought of Nan. She, too, was a southern debutant. Raised by wealthy parents, she had been schooled in the best of everything—the best manners, how to treat people, and how to act with tact and professionalism. While Nan didn’t have excessive amounts of money herself, she’d lived well, and she’d made sure to pass along her virtues to Faith’s mother and the girls.

“She spent her final years in Florida,” Chuck continued, pulling her from her thoughts. “Key West.”

“Key West?” Faith looked over at Jake for an explanation, a smile on her face. He smiled back at her, looking at her as if he’d held in a secret.

“I know Key West very well,” Jake said. “I’ve been there quite a few times.”

“I’d love to see it,” she said for Chuck’s benefit. Jake already knew how she felt about it. “So many great authors spent time there. I read so much growing up that I felt like Key West was always present in my life.”

“Mmm,” Chuck said, agreeing. “Jake used to love reading Ernest Hemingway. My mother showed him all the places around town where Hemingway liked to visit. It’s been a while, hasn’t it Jake?” Chuck set a gorgeous slab of bright white flounder onto a plate.

Jake nodded, his hands busy with the preparation of the food.

She smiled, glad to have been let in on this little tidbit about Jake’s family. “I loved Robert Frost. Still do,” she told Chuck. She took a sip of her tea as Jake combined all the ingredients in a bowl and stirred them together with a wooden spoon.