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Knots twisted in his stomach, and while he was excited to finally get to meet the man he’d developed a relationship with over the past few years, he was also a little scared. An emotion that took him by surprise, but if he was completely honest with himself, it wasn’t all that surprising.
He didn’t want to admit it, but what if his grandfather looked at him and only saw a product of his father, a man who completely erased him from his life? The thought poked at his insecurities and swirled around in his mind.
Before he could think on it any longer, the front door opened and his grandfather stepped out onto the porch. Dressed in a bright green Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants, Joe Prescott walked down his steps without hesitation. He moved well for someone in his seventies. His gray hair was combed back, revealing a prominent forehead. Dark blue eyes softened as he took Lucas in. A smile formed beneath his bushy mustache.
Lucas moved to meet him halfway. “Hey,” he said as they approached each other. Lucas went to hug him then hesitated, not sure what the proper greeting was. Maybe a handshake would be better. Or just a simple “hey” would suffice. His father was not an overly affectionate man, and maybe he got that from his old man.
“Get over here,” Joe said, pulling him into a tight hug. He held Lucas, patting his back with vigor. Joe’s hands went to Lucas’ forearms, and he stepped back, looking him over before pulling him back in again. This time his hold was even tighter.
The twisted knots from earlier unraveled, and any doubts or reluctance vanished into the cool crisp spring air. Lucas relished in the embrace, finally understanding the warm comfort of a grandparent’s hug.
Chapter 4
Ella parked her brother’s car in the backlot and headed up the stairs to his place—a loft above a custom boat building company that overlooked the cove. Marco was the second oldest out of the four of the Moretti siblings. He was a lobsterman who repurposed old lobster traps into beautiful pieces of furniture. He was also in charge of assembling the town center’s lobster trap Christmas tree every year for the past five years. A job he took pretty seriously… though he would deny it with every breath.
Marco was a hot head and so much like their father yet absolutely refused to acknowledge it. Not that it was surprising; Marco wouldn’t even acknowledge their father existed anymore. As far as Marco was concerned, the minute the police slapped cuffs on him he was as good as dead.
It was a wonder Marco even let Ella use his car to drive to the bus depot. Probably because he knew she’d just ride her bike the thirty miles, and that was something he would not allow. He’d prefer her to be safe and would do anything in his power to make sure of that.
She knocked on his door and waited for him to answer, hoping he didn’t have any company. There was nothing worse than walking into an awkward situation because Ella knew no matter what Marco claimed, he’d never call the poor girl again. He’d given his heart to only one girl, and she’d shattered it into so many pieces that it would never fully be whole again. Marco didn’t do relationships, and honestly, Ella couldn’t blame him. He’d been through enough.
There was no answer, and Ella looked down the stairs toward the main entrance. She heard the sound of a saw echoing through the mid-afternoon air and headed back down the stairs.
Marco rented the loft, but the owner—a friend of his—also let him use the space below as a workspace to build his furniture. If he wasn’t out on the water, or hosting female company, he could be found in the workspace, which was exactly where he was now.
In a black t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of work boots he leaned back, admiring a coffee table that looked just about done. His black hair fell forward, and he shoved it back with his hand.
She imagined the table in a coastal living room as the center piece, surrounded by white couches with navy blue accent pillows, and above the couches two distressed wood oars each facing a different direction. The image in her mind was so vivid, and the pull to design a room exactly as she envisioned it was strong.
She forced the desire down though since the only rooms she decorated were for friends and family and none of them would want white couches.
“Looks good,” Ella said as she approached.
His lip quirked ever so slightly. “Thanks. It’s still not done.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Marco while brash in most things in life, obsessed over tiny details in his work.
“Just need to sand a few more spots down.”
She swung her hand back as he turned toward her. “Catch,” she said as she let the keys sail through the air.
Marco caught them with barely any effort and shoved them into his pocket. His jaw ticked and his lip twitched as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
“I put gas in it,” she said. He wouldn’t have cared if she drove home on fumes and left him on E, but she would never do that.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “How much?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it.”
His hand froze on the paper bills, and he shot her a look. “Ella, how much was the damn gas?”
“You let me borrow your car; the least I can do is fill it up.”
He pulled out a couple twenties and held them out to her. She crossed her arms and turned her nose up. When he narrowed his dark gaze, she moved around him and walked toward the finished coffee table.
“So do you have a buyer for this yet?” she asked as she eyed the small details of the table from the fitted glass top to the custom feet he hand carved. His work was meticulous and could only be thoroughly appreciated up close.
