Return to Eagle Cove

Chapter 1-5

Jessica listened and made appropriate sounds in the right places about this time’s wedding dress.

But she was having trouble focusing. The last time she’d seen Greg Slater he’d been a pimply underclassman. When she’d been dumping the plate’s contents down his shorts, she’d found a flat stomach with no give. He was now a handsome man awesomely in shape.

That was a point that had been emphasized when he’d stripped off his shirt. She could only see him from the midriff up over the edge of the steel service shelf that separated the dining room from the kitchen, but Greg clearly worked out and, loser or not, it looked very good on him. She wasn’t that shallow, not really. But she was less certain about how shallow her Coast County regression might ultimately make her.

When he delivered her hot chocolate, with the marshmallows, she kept her head down and pretended she was paying more attention to her mother than she actually was. He was nothing more than a Puffling—a baby puffin being the lamest sports mascot on the coast if you didn’t count the UC Santa Cruz Banana Slugs. Greg might be a Puffling who hadn’t had the skills or drive to get out of town, but he was a very attractive one. That utterly shallow part of her double-checked for the ring or a tan line as he set down the cocoa. Nothing. Didn’t mean he wasn’t—she’d learned the hard way—but it didn’t mean he was either.

Not that she could possibly care.

Nine days and she’d be gone again, Friday through next Sunday.

A glance out the window showed that day one was almost half done already which she’d count as a good omen. The sun was almost due south, lighting the length of Beach Way brightly. She could see Cal Jr.’s beat up red pickup parked right next to Cal Sr.’s beat up blue pickup alongside the Blackbird Bakery. By the speed the people on the street were moving, they were locals running errands. They moved much slower than a Chicagoan but with purpose—like crows walking over to see if something was edible. The few tourists who were checking out the taffy and kitsch shops moved slower but with a frenetic energy—like sparrows never quite coming to roost.

Eight and a half days to go. It wasn’t enough time for anything to happen, even if she was interested. Flings had stopped working for her before she got out of college. Since then it had become a slightly depressing quest for what she was starting to fear she’d never find, someone who loved her the way that her dad loved Mom.

She’d make sure to hit Cal’s bakery while she was here. And see if Maybelle had any particularly good used books in Early Bird Books. At least one lunch at the Plover Bay Inn… Jessica turned away from the street with the sad realization that she could do everything she wanted to in the town in about a day and she still had eight to go.

Greg kept his fifteen-year-old thoughts to himself as he served them a pair of the fluffiest mushroom omelets available anywhere. She turned to nod her thanks to the Judge—he didn’t cook fancy fare, but it was always the very best.

She also noticed that the Judge hadn’t missed a single jot of his son’s shortcomings. She’d always liked Harry and Greg’s dad, but she wasn’t so sure that she liked the look in his eyes at the moment. Jessica had learned the day after her first kiss with Harry that she could read Judge Slater’s facial expressions far too easily, even if everyone else in town declared him to be wholly inscrutable. It was a skill that had served her well in journalism, too. She’d always been able to tell exactly what topic the interviewee was doing their best to avoid.

However, right now the Judge was looking at her as if he was having an idea that he found both interesting and curious. The last shift in his expression surprised her, partly because it was clear enough that anyone except a dunderhead like Greg would be able to see it.

Judge Slater had just decided that whatever he was thinking was pretty damned funny and that worried Jessica.

Not much amused the Judge.