Page 4 of The Sandover Beach Billionaire

Those farm stands had been around for as long as Jackson could remember. He and his mother used to drive out at least once a week to buy juicy watermelons and tomatoes so sweet you could eat them like apples. The recent growth and development of the island had led to North Carolina building an interstate, which meant that the farm stands were easily passed over.

Sandover would have developed with or without his family’s company, but Jackson felt the guilty because of the negative impact on the community. He had done his best to develop the island ethically, keeping things as they had historically been wherever possible and fighting the high-rise hotels that were eager to bulldoze over historic homes along the beach. The houses there—like his own—were bigger than the historic homes that still stood, but were much better than having twenty-story hotels.

Mercer picked up steam as she talked. “Another option might be to bring the stands to us. Maybe on Saturdays, kind of like a farmer’s market? We could sell their produce in-store during the week and then out in the parking lot with actual stands on the weekend. There might be other local vendors interested as well.”

“That’s brilliant. You want to run with it? Talk to the farm stand owners about both ideas. Are you comfortable doing that?”

She smiled, looking thrilled. “Absolutely. I’d love to.”

“On Islanders will love it and I bet it will really help the farms. It’s a great idea, Mercer.”

Under his praise, she turned shy again and Jackson sensed he needed to back off. He never pressed her. If she wanted to talk to him, she knew he was there. She had connected with some of the other young singles at Hope, the church Jackson attended. Hopefully they were enough of a support system for whatever she was working through.

Jackson stood. “I’m heading home for a bit. You can call me on my cell if you need to. Thanks again, Mercer.”

“Before I forget, I found a cart full of cheeses needing to be restocked. Someone abandoned it over by the wine. Do you know anything about that?”

He groaned. He knew all about that. “That was me, actually. Kind of a long story. Would you mind taking care of it?”

“Not at all, boss.”

Jackson went out through the back to his Jeep. The abandoned cart of cheese had him thinking back to Jenna’s face when she recognized him. Before disgust had colored her gaze, Jackson thought he caught a flash of something else. Surprise and … appreciation? If not for everything that came out of her mouth after, he might have even thought it was attraction. Clearly not.

Jenna still saw him as the jerk of a womanizer he’d been in high school. He had been the guy with an anger problem who had failed out of business school. His past was a stain. It didn’t matter how much he had changed, no matter how many millions he donated to charity or service projects he took part in with the local church, he couldn’t remove it. He felt like he was constantly chasing his own shadow, trying to erase it, but finding it always right there behind him. Even after coming to believe that Jesus had taken his sin away, Jackson struggled to really feel that he was clean.

The anger started to build again, making his chest feel tight. He needed a release. The punching bag that hung underneath the bottom deck of his house served just this purpose. The sound of the ocean roaring as he connected again and again with the unflinching weight of the heavy bag was therapeutic. It kept him from putting his fist through any walls.

Using the Bluetooth feature, Jackson called Beau. Just hearing his friend’s voice often calmed him. Beau had that kind of effect on people. “Jax! I thought I might be hearing from you today.”

“Have you developed the gift of prophecy overnight?”

Beau laughed. “More like, I heard that Jenna was back in town.”

“Right.”

Despite becoming more of a tourist destination, Sandover still had a very small-town feel, especially to the year-round locals, who referred to themselves as On Islanders. It made sense that within twenty-four hours, people already knew Jenna was home. Jackson gripped the wheel, trying to work out what exactly he wanted to say now that he had Beau on the line. “I saw her this morning. Actually, last night too, but I talked to her this morning.”

“I take it that things didn’t go well?”

“If I said ‘bad,’ that would be too generous. She thought I worked at Bohn’s, like as a bag boy or something.”

Beau began to laugh. Jackson wanted to be angry, but Beau’s laughter drew out a smile instead. If he hadn’t been so busy having his feelings hurt, it was funny. “In her defense, I was wearing an apron and restocking.”

Beau’s laughter now roared through the car speakers. Jackson was laughing too by the time he pulled into the parking spot under his house. Like all the houses along the oceanfront, it was on stilts. He didn’t move to get out of the Jeep yet.

“I’m sorry for laughing, but that is a great story. I can’t wait to tell Jimmy. Can I tell Jimmy?”

“Of course. Tell the whole fire station. I’m sure the On Islanders will all know within the hour anyway.”

At least once a week, Jackson met for what Beau called Breakfast and Bible. Jimmy, another firefighter, also came and sometimes Cash, a police officer. The other three were in their twenties, but the age difference didn’t seem to matter. They were Jackson’s closest friends, the best he’d had in his life. Their breakfast talks hit him harder than the sermons Sunday mornings.

Beau’s voice had more concern in it when he spoke again. “Seriously, though—how are you doing?”

“I came home to get out some aggression, if that tells you anything. Thought maybe you could talk me down a bit.” Beau knew all about his anger issues. His counselor had recommended finding a person who could help Jackson calm down and move away from the path of anger.

“Anything in particular about the conversation that got to you?”

Jackson rested his forehead against the wheel. There were a lot of things about the conversation that hurt, but picking the part that hurt the most was easy.

---