Holidays at Crescent Cove by Shelley Noble

his coffee away. “With all due respect, sir, you gave up that privilege when you let Grace walk out of your life. It’s been what? Four years? And what have you done to repair that rift?”
    â€œI was upset. And she’s stubborn.”
    Jake smiled. She was that. “She is, and she’s also smart and caring.”
    â€œAnd she’s throwing it all away—”
    â€œStop right there. Grace is a respected member of this community. She has helped people keep their houses when they were threatened with foreclosure. She’s spoken for those who don’t have access to three-hundred-dollar-an-hour lawyers. This afternoon was the ribbon cutting of the Historic Boardwalk restoration project.
    â€œGrace is responsible for that happening. Grace fought to give my father’s carousel historic status, thereby saving the whole boardwalk from becoming high rises.”
    Vincent Holcombe’s eyes rolled, and Jake had a hard time not reaching across the table and punching him out.
    â€œIt might not be as newsworthy as getting murderers off on a loophole, but I can tell you it’s important to the residents of Crescent Cove and to the businesses that have been slowly dying out as their livelihoods are being replaced by developments that take, but put nothing back into the town. That beach and boardwalk is the only public recreation area we have, and we were all just sitting around while it went to hell and nearly went under the auction block.
    â€œBut Grace wouldn’t let that happen.”
    Holcombe blew out air from puffed cheeks. “And I noticed from the sign in her window that she has to sell real estate to make ends meet.”
    â€œWe all have to do extra jobs to make ends meet. We’re a tourist town three months and a few weekends out of the year. The rest of the time we make do. I teach art at a special needs school. The local bakery teaches baking classes. We’re a community, and Grace is an important part of that community.”
    â€œA good way to have people take advantage of her.”
    â€œIf you think that, you don’t know your daughter.” Jake chuckled in spite of his raging anger at Grace’s father. “You don’t know her at all. Now, if you’re driving back to Hartford tonight, you’d better get going. I’ll drive you back to your car.”
    They drove back in silence. Jake stopped at the BMW Holcombe pointed out, and Holcombe opened the door.
    â€œThanks for the coffee,” he said.
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    Holcombe gave a short nod and got out.
    â€œMr. Holcombe.”
    He leaned back into the car.
    â€œYou asked if I was Grace’s boyfriend. I’m not, but I intend to be.”
    Slowly, Holcombe pointed his index finger at Jake. “Then I’ll warn you here and now, you’d better not hurt my daughter.”
    â€œAnd that goes for you, from me. Good night, Mr. Holcombe.” The door closed, and Jake drove away without looking back.
    T HE NEXT MORNING, Grace sat at her office desk staring at a pumpkin muffin and coffee from Caroline’s. Normally pumpkin was her favorite, but she hadn’t slept much the night before, between her racing nerves, the resurgence of the hurt and humiliation that she thought she’d overcome years ago, and the unresolved way the evening with Jake had ended.
    Her mother called three more times after their initial conversation, to report that her father hadn’t returned home or called; he wasn’t answering his cell, and should she start checking the hospitals?
    Grace told her to wait another couple of hours. And since she didn’t hear from her mother again, she assumed that he’d finally made it back to Hartford in one piece.
    Now her eyes were swollen from lack of sleep and a few tears she couldn’t help but shed. Her stomach was queasy, also brought on by lack of sleep. She was tempted to put the Closed sign up and curl up on