The Way Home by Katherine Spencer Page A

Though I don’t think it ever will.”
    Liza gazed at Claire and rubbed her cheek with her hand. Claire knew she was putting her employer—and good friend—in a difficult spot, but she felt it was for a very worthy reason. Claire believed with all her heart that Jamie would not disappoint them. Liza would look back on this conversation and wonder why she’d had any objection at all.
    â€œAll right. We can offer him the job,” Liza said finally. “You seem certain he’ll be good at it. You know how much I trust your judgment.”
    â€œThank you, Liza. I think with some training he will do well. I’m sure you won’t regret it.”
    That was all he needed. Just a decent opportunity and some help putting his life on a good track. There was no limit to where he could go with that kind of wind at his back. Claire felt very sure about that, too.
    Liza carried her dish to the sink and put it in the dishwasher.
    â€œWhy don’t you tell him about the job when he comes down? If he’s interested, I’ll talk to him about the pay and the hours and all that.”
    Claire thought that was a good plan. Liza left for her office, needing to check e-mails and make some calls this morning before working on the flower beds.
    Jamie came down to the kitchen a few minutes later, wearing a clean T-shirt Claire had found for him the night before. His hair was combed back from his shower, and she noticed the red flush of sunburn on his nose and cheekbones. It was probably from their walk on the beach; he hadn’t used any sunblock. He would get into the habit once he started working here. That would be one of her rules, for sure.
    As he poured himself coffee, she noticed that he had a train schedule tucked in the back pocket of his jeans. “There’s a train to Boston in an hour,” he said. “Do you think I could make it? The next one after that isn’t until eleven.”
    â€œThat’s plenty of time. I’ll drive you to the station. No need to call a taxi. There’s French toast and bacon on the table. Help yourself.”
    Jamie sat at a clean place and filled his plate. She could tell he was trying hard to be polite and not take too much at once. Though he looked tempted to simply tip the entire dish of bacon onto his own.
    â€œYou’re the last one down, so don’t be shy.”
    He fixed his French toast with butter, syrup, and cinnamon before taking a bite. “Mmm, this looks good. I never eat a real breakfast like this . . . unless I go to a diner or someplace like that.”
    â€œYou should learn to cook. It isn’t hard.” She was about to remind him of how he had helped her in the kitchen at Crosby Street, but decided this wasn’t the right time.
    â€œI can make a few things. Scrambled eggs,” he said between mouthfuls. “But not like this. This is really good.”
    â€œI’m glad you like it.” Claire enjoyed watching him gobble down the breakfast. She couldn’t deny that. She waited until he was almost done eating, then said, “Before you go, I’d like to talk to you about something. We need someone to help here at the inn. Liza took an ad in the newspaper yesterday. But I had an idea that you might be interested, and I suggested it to Liza.”
    â€œMe? Working here?” He seemed surprised but pleased. “That might be cool . . . What did she say?”
    â€œShe said I could offer you the job, and if you wanted to take it, she would talk to you about the salary and hours and all the other details.”
    â€œSure . . . I’d like a job here. What would I have to do?”
    â€œOh, a little of everything it takes to run an inn. You might help serve meals and clean up the kitchen. We would need you to clean rooms and carry guests’ luggage. You might help us do small repairs, like freshen the paint on the picket fence in back or patch a window