Page 167 of Just One More Thing

CHAPTER 39

JAKE

Ithought maybe Mo would come over last night after I sent the Morse code. She must’ve already been asleep.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get some brekky. You hungry?”

Hank stretches halfway off the side of my bed, front legs straight out, then yawns like he’s been up all night instead of snoring hard enough to shake the mattress.

I pull on flannel lounge pants and head for the kitchen. The mornings have cooled off enough now for flannel, and the floorboards are cold under my feet. Just enough to wake a man up before coffee does.

I start the coffee and look, same as I always do, at the window above Holey Moley. Dark.

“Morning, Mo,” I say anyway. She’s either still asleep or already downstairs baking.

I crack open the kitchen window and the door to the porch for a cross breeze. Cold salt air moves through the room. Then I get breakfast started.

A minute later Hank finally waddles in.

“Nice of you to join me, sleepyhead.”

He gives me one of those looks that says he does not appreciate sarcasm before breakfast and keeps heading toward the front door. A few seconds later, the screen slams behind him.

I flip the sausage and hear somebody outside talking to him before he starts knocking to be let back in. “Be right there,” I call.

He knocks again.

Bulldogs are stubborn, impatient, and deeply committed to conserving energy. House hippos who only rush themselves so they can go lie down somewhere else.

I start warming his breakfast, pour my eggs into the buttered pan, then go let him in.

I make his bowl and mine, then carry both out to the porch. The sun is just starting to work its way up over the water. Hank settles in the chair beside me.

The last time I sat out here, Mo was with me. We’d made seafood Alfredo while pretending neither of us noticed how domestic it felt. As if it was normal for her to be in my kitchen. Normal for me to look at her across a dinner bowl and think I could do that every night for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.

I cut off a piece of sausage and look out at the water. “It’s going to be a good boat day, Hank.”

I want to go get her right now. Bring her coffee. Take her out on the boat. Keep her with me all day and see what we get into. No plan. Just her and me, water and sun and whatever comes next.

But I told Bethany I’d accept the morning deliveries while she drove Ainsley to the airport, so I finish breakfast and bring the bowls inside.

“Come on, buddy. We’re going to The Knuckle.”

He gets to his feet, then waits by the basket where I keep his bandanas. “What are we thinking today?”

He noses the pale blue linen one Ryan sent because it “matches his eyes.”

“Solid choice.”

I throw on jeans and a light blue button-up to match Hank. Then I clip Hank into his harness, tuck my feet into boat shoes, and head out.

The Knuckle is quiet when I unlock it. I flip on a few lights, prop the back door open for fresh air, and start opening up. Chairs down off tables. Condiments filled. Tabletops wiped. Silverware rolled.

“Anybody here?” Cade hollers from the back.

“Yeah, in here.”

He comes through the swing door from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. “I put Bethany’s produce in the cooler for her.”