Page 70 of Sweet Somethings

"So will there be a second date?"

"No. Doug is great, and I think we could be friends, but that's it."

"Oh, too bad. Does he feel the same way?"

"I haven't heard from him since Sunday night, so I'm guessing yes. I don't have time to date right now anyway. What about you? How was your night with Tim after the movie festival?"

"It was really fun and there were definitely sparks when we kissed good-night. He had to go visit his sister in Kansas City, because she's having a baby, but he's texted me a few times since then."

"That's promising."

"We'll see." She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I better get back to work."

As Sara left, Travis came into the coffeehouse. His steps slowed when he saw her. He gave her a quick, curt nod and then headed to the counter. He didn't look much better today than he had over the weekend when they'd first met. His clothes were still wrinkled, his beard still scruffy, his skin pale and unhealthy looking. She really hoped Cameron was all right.

"Travis," Donavan said. "Your mother said you were back in town. It's so good to see you again."

"I heard you have a good business going here," Travis said, looking around. "It's nice."

"Thanks. What can I get you?"

"Actually, I didn't come here for the coffee; I'm looking for a job. I was wondering if you might need anyone."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry," Donavan said, giving him an apologetic smile. "We're not looking for any help right now."

"Okay," he said heavily. "If you hear of any openings anywhere, will you let me know? Can I leave you my number?"

"Sure," Donavan said, jotting down Travis's number. "Is there any kind of work you're particularly looking for?"

"Whatever will pay some bills. I've been selling cars the last few years, but there aren't any dealerships around here, and I need to stay close to home. I've got a kid now—a son."

"Cameron, right?" Donavan said. "He's come in with your mother a few times. He's cute."

"Yeah, I'm hoping this is a good move for him." He cleared his throat. "I'm good with construction, too. I can paint, whatever."

Juliette could hear the desperation in Travis's voice and judging by Donavan's sympathetic expression, she could, too.

"I will definitely keep my ears open," Donavan said. "You might talk to Mr. Prescott. He's right over there. He's doing a big remodel."

Travis cast a quick look at the men in the corner and shook his head. "Roman's grandfather? I don't think so. But anyone else—let me know."

"Sure," Donavan replied. "But maybe it's time to bury that old problem."

"Not my choice," Travis said shortly, then tipped his head and walked out of the coffee shop.

As Travis left, she couldn't help wondering what had happened to his wife, why his finances had gotten so dire. Her concerns about Cameron's well-being returned. Hopefully, Travis could find work somewhere in town. Roman probably could use his help on the remodel, but she knew that was a non-starter. Travis hadn't even wanted to talk to Vincent. Once again, the past was rearing its ugly head, and once again, she wondered who had actually started the fire. She wondered if anyone really knew.

But that was a worry for another day. She took her plate and mug to the counter, then headed back to work.

Her next break didn't come until after six, when she closed up the bakery and made her way upstairs. The short night of sleep was catching up to her, but she had to stay awake. There was no way she was going to miss Roman playing at Mickelson's Bar.

She took a shower to wake up, blew-dry her hair, applied some makeup, and then made some scrambled eggs for dinner. After that, she got on her computer with the list of names that Roman had gotten for her yesterday. She might as well do a little research before she left.

She started with the first owner, Jeremy Bascom. Twenty minutes later, all she'd found was an obituary notice that made no mention of a wife or children. She decided to move on to the next owner, which was Harry Sackmore, who'd owned the house from 1933 to 1958. She found out that Harry was a dentist and that he'd died in 1958. He'd been survived by his wife Leonora and his son Franklin. Franklin was a dentist like his father, and he'd died in 1986, survived by a wife, Carol.

Frowning, she jotted down notes, not really sure exactly what she was looking for, but her gut told her that the letter writer had been a single young woman—which took her to the Graysons. Max and Jane Grayson had bought the house in 1958 and lived there until 1972. They'd had two daughters, Martha and Cecelia. Max had worked at a law firm in town before his death in 1990. There was no information on Jane.

Martha and Cecelia had lived in Fairhope their entire lives. Martha had been on the staff of a different law firm than the one her father had worked at. She'd been a legal secretary until she'd retired in 2008. Cecelia ran the local nursery and volunteered for several charities.

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