That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(37)

I slowly nod, my eyes going to the ceiling, considering. There are so many great options in Port Snow, but one thing comes to mind as I think about my last lunch.

“It has to be the crab cakes over at Jake’s Cakes. He has a food truck parked by the harbor—have you seen it? There’s a row of bright-pink picnic tables lined up with yellow-striped umbrellas next to the truck.” I shake my head. “If you want to experience melt-in-your-mouth crab cakes with the best side of waffle fries you’ve ever eaten in your life, that’s the place to go. I would choose the traditional cake, but he has so many different variations, like buffalo wing, Greek tzatziki, and crab cakes with bacon jam.”

“Bacon jam?” She scrunches her nose.

“Trust me, it’s good. But the classic Jake Cake is the best in my opinion. I would go for that, a side of waffle fries, and a giant Coke.” My stomach growls even though I’m currently eating ice cream. I might have to make a stopover at the truck soon.

“The classic Jake Cake, okay.” She taps the side of her head. “Got that logged in. Now what about dinner?”

“Dinner is easy: Get the large bowl of lobster bisque with cheesy bread on the side over at the Lighthouse Restaurant. There’s nothing better than a bowl of their lobster bisque after a long day. Plus the restaurant looks over the ocean; you get a great view of waves crashing into the rocks right below. It’s a great place to get dinner.”

She sighs. “You make everything sound so magical.”

“You’ll find that the people in Port Snow take great pride in their town, so you’ll never get anything half-baked from them. It’s like an unspoken promise that we give it our all, never letting a bad review pop up on any tourist sites. We’re the number-one town in Maine to visit right now, and we plan on keeping it that way.”

Her head tilts to the side, studying me as she pushes her empty bowl out of the way. “You know, it’s a really nice thing to see someone as young as you have such an investment in his town. You always hear these stories of kids wanting to escape the small town they grew up in—”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. There have been times, especially when I was a teenager, that I wanted nothing to do with Port Snow, but once you’re a bit older and you can appreciate the charm and hard work that goes into creating such a beautiful place, it’s almost impossible not to want to help out.”

“So would you call yourself a lifer?”

I stand, taking both bowls of ice cream and dropping them in the sink, where I quickly rinse them. Ren has her chin propped up on her hand as she watches my every move, her eyes fixated on my arms. My body heats up once again, a chill thrilling up my spine, reminding me that it’s late and a very attractive woman is sitting across from me in a tantalizing tank top, a smirk on her face.

I dry my hands off and set the towel down on the counter. “Am I a lifer? Yeah.” I nod. “I’m a lifer. I don’t have any plans to go anywhere else.”

She sits back and props her hands on the counter. “Me neither.”





CHAPTER ELEVEN





GRIFFIN


“Stand aside, stand aside.”

My dad comes striding into the Lobster Landing, his voice booming, pushing through the crowd in the front as he makes his way to the kitchen area in the back, where he sets a cooler on the countertop.

And this isn’t just any cooler; this is the cooler.

The cooler that has probably been around longer than I’ve been alive.

It’s red, with a white handle that’s turned cream with age, and on the front, written on years-old duct tape, are the words Fresh Fudge.

It’s tradition; whenever my dad finalizes the new fudge flavors he wants to introduce to the store, he charges into the shop, playing a low drumroll on his phone—used to be a boom box—and sets down the cooler with a thump, drawing everyone’s attention.

He proceeds to lay out a white tablecloth and delicately puts the fudge out on display, utilizing different plates and silver trays while labeling every flavor with a miniature card in a silver holder. And to top it all off, he always buys fresh flowers from Daisy’s to “accentuate” the colors in the fudge. My dad’s words, not mine. It’s like a fudge coronation, and every Knightly is required to join in on the festivities.

That’s why all my brothers are filing in from the back door, annoyed looks on their faces, most likely from having more important things to do with their day.

But when the fudge-testing siren goes off, we are all required to report to the Landing.

Once everything is set up, my dad clasps his hands together. He blows a kiss at my mom, then turns to his kids. He nods at each and every one of us and then spreads his hands out to the side.

“The new fall flavors.”

Thankfully, we only have to go through this once every season. Dad has made some adjustments over the years and finds that seasonal flavors sell much better on a limited-time basis along with the originals. He also adds in one new flavor to the regulars every week, replacing an old one.

From the looks of it, we have five new flavors to taste.

“Uh, do I need to remind you to clap?” my dad asks all of us, a pinch in his brow. “The new fall flavors,” he repeats.

Trying to hide our annoyance, all of us clap, making my father’s face flood with absolute delight.