Page 37 of The Sandover Beach Billionaire

Chapter Eleven

“You knowthat I’m the first person who wants your undying happiness, Jenns. But if you keep smiling like that through this whole dinner, I might lose my appetite.”

“Smiling like what?” Jenna blinked innocently at Rachel, then laughed as her sister rolled her eyes and snapped open the thick, leather menu.

“Like you’re in love.” As Jenna choked on her water, Rachel kept going as though she hadn’t just said that. “This place has changed a lot. What do you order now?”

“I’m sorry. Hit rewind. I am not in love with Jackson Wells.”

“Yet. Not in love with him yet. Or ready to admit it anyway. Seriously, though, let’s stick to the pressing matter at hand right now: tell me about this food.”

Jenna gave Rachel a death glare, then sighed and picked up her menu. For now, she would let the comment rest. She didn’t—couldn’t—love Jackson. She had literally just gone from hating him to clinging to him and sharing a passionate kiss. And then agreeing to a date. Sure, there were feelings. But love?

“The last time I ate here was probably about the last time you did. It’s been years. As long as the hushpuppies are still good, I don’t really care.”

She and Rachel were at JC’s for dinner, the oldest seafood restaurant On Island. Rachel had insisted on seafood from near the actual sea, so here they were. When they were kids, coming with their parents, the restaurant had been full of scarred wooden tables, paper menus with grease spots, and the best hushpuppies in the world. Now it had dim lighting and linen tablecloths. The waiters and waitresses wore black slacks and pressed white shirts. Jenna felt underdressed in her jeans and button-down blouse.

“You and your hushpuppies,” Rachel said with a groan.

“Look—you can get good seafood places in cities not on the water. Fresh shipping and all that. But you cannot get good hushpuppies everywhere. It’s a fact. Forgive me for liking a side dish more than the main course.”

“How do you mess up hushpuppies? It’s fried cornmeal.”

“Fried cornmeal and a whole lot of magic. Oh, trust me. You can mess them up.”

“Okay, weirdo. Can you believe this is the same space as where we came as kids?” Rachel shook her head, looking around the dining room.

“We should see if either of our names are written on the bathroom wall,” Jenna said.

“Stop. Neither of our names were ever on the bathroom wall anywhere. We weren’t bad enough.”

“Maybe we should write them there then. I think I’ve got a Sharpie in my purse.”

Rachel laughed. “This place is fancy enough that you’d probably get arrested now if you tried it. It’s strange. The whole island has morphed into a very different place.”

“It has. I don’t like it. I mean, it still feels like it used to, but then not.”

“Does it bother you that Jackson’s company is responsible for a lot of the development?”

Clearly Jackson was going to remain the hot topic for the evening. She had already rehashed the kiss in the elevator multiple times. It filled her with giddy, girlish thrills when she had talked with Rachel about it. She’d much rather talk about his mad kissing skills than Wells Development.

Jenna made a face. “The reality is that the island is going to change. I’d rather have someone like Jackson who grew up here behind it than someone Off Island. A place like Sandover can’t stay secret forever. The Outer Banks still retain some of the old with the new. We’ll survive.”

“It feels less like home every time I come back. And now—”

When Rachel broke off, Jenna knew exactly why. Her own throat had closed up as well, thinking of their mother. Of home. And the house that was and was not home, that was and would soon not be theirs anymore. Their eyes met across the table, both fiery with emotion. Naturally, the waiter chose that moment to return.

As they placed their orders, Jenna thought about the afternoon of packing up. The real estate agent had been gone by the time Jackson dropped her off. Rachel had avoided sharing what Kelly had said or what they discussed. Jenna knew it was coming, but had been content to let it go so far. She had other things on her mind. She and Rachel had finally cracked open the vault that was their mother’s room and started going through her things together.

As they were packing up her mother’s closet, Jenna came across that yellow sweater she had always hated. Just the sight of that ugly yellow sweater had set her crying, clinging to the scratchy acrylic material among all the empty hangers. That started Rachel crying too, and they both sat weeping in the floor of their mother’s closet until the crying turned to laughter about how much they both hated that sweater. And then they fought over who got to keep it. Finally, they decided it deserved joint custody. Rachel would start with it, then mail it to Jenna in a few months—a new tradition.

“Okay, sister. You’ve been tight-lipped about the meeting today with Kelly. Time to share how that went and why you put off telling me.”

Rachel started fidgeting with her napkin and then moved on to play with the sugar packets, lining them up by color on the table. It was bad then. The house wouldn’t sell? Or needed thousands in repairs? She needed to stop thinking of all the things it could be while she waited for Rachel to answer.

“We talked about the market and made a list of what needs to be done. She was impressed with how much we’ve—you’ve—done.”

“And?”

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