Page 8 of Coral Memories

“The Coral Cafe is proof of that,” Ginger added, tapping glasses and trading embraces. “You improved my recipes and added your own.”

Heather leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mom, you should write a cookbook, like Martha Stewart or Giada De Laurentiis.”

Ginger’s eyes lit. “Why, what a marvelous idea.”

“Do you think people need another cookbook?” Marina wasn’t so sure.

“You’ve won awards for your fancy seafood pizza,” Heather replied. “People often ask for recipes at the cafe. If you create a cookbook, I know I could sell it for you.”

“I’ll think about that.” With the growth of her business, Marina recorded her recipes to share with her expanding team. The idea of writing a cookbook appealed to her. It could be a good marketing tool—and pay for Heather’s final year of tuition if they did it right. “As long as I have help putting it together.”

“If you give me your recipes, I can write a first draft.” Heather’s eyes sparkled. “Let’s talk later. Blake is picking me up soon.”

“Tell him hello for me.” Marina liked the young man her daughter had been dating.

Brooke turned to Kai, who was still standing by the tripods. “Come join us.”

“In a minute.” Kai’s eyes shimmered with happiness. “Another break and I’ll be there. Brooke, pour a glass of the bubbly apple juice for me.”

Ginger turned to Jack and handed him a glass of champagne. “Do join us. You’re family, too.” When he accepted the glass, Ginger peered at him. “Sounds like you’re going to have another writer in the family,” she said, nodding toward Marina.

“You might have to help me, too,” Marina said to Ginger.

“I’d like that.” Ginger inclined her head. “In fact, I have another book in mind.”

Jack touched her glass with his and sipped his champagne. “For our children’s book series?”

“No, not that.” Ginger peered at him over the rim of her glass, apprising his reaction. “You’ve been wanting to write my story.”

Jack coughed in mid-sip, sputtering his reply. “Uh, yes, ma’am. You’re serious?”

“We’re well past thema’amphase, Jack.” Ginger lifted her chin. “And yes, I’m quite serious. It’s time I began recording my memories for all of you.”

Marina looked concerned at Ginger and reached for Jack’s hand. She wondered what had precipitated this change of heart on her grandmother’s part. Ginger had been feeling nostalgic lately, sharing photos and memories with her.

Was she feeling well?

The thought of anything happening to her grandmother filled Marina with anxiety. She still needed Ginger.

They all did.

2

The late afternoon sun filtered through the windows of Ginger’s cottage, casting delicate shadows across her antique Balinese writing desk. She was sorting through old photographs for her meeting with Jack when her phone rang, breaking the silence.

“Hello?” she answered, curious about the unfamiliar number.

“Ginger Delavie? It’s Oliver Powell. Kurt’s brother.”

She smiled as memories flooded back. “Why, what a lovely surprise. I’ve thought of you so often. How are you, dear?”

“I’m doing alright, considering everything,” he replied. “I wondered if you received the invitation to Kurt’s celebration of life in Laguna Beach?”

“Yes, I did.” Ginger softened her tone. “I would be delighted to attend. Kurt held a special place in my life, and he was like a brother to Bertrand.”

“They were practically inseparable throughout school and later at Harvard. It was like I had two older brothers, especially after Bertrand’s parents passed away.”

“And how is Margaret?”

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