Page 19 of Island Homecoming

Probably. He could be that shallow at times without a single regret. “Dinner,” he replied at last. “It’s been a long day and I’m starving.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” Her blue eyes twinkled and he was tossed back to the days when they liked each other. He really wanted to reclaim that ease with her. He’d missed her friendship and humor and occasionally quirky world view. He hoped the world, her job, hadn’t changed her too much.

They ordered drinks—water for her and a draft beer for him. And she urged him to choose an appetizer to share. “The last thing I need to deal with tonight is a hangry Nash.”

“In my defense, no one is good company when they’re hungry.”

She acknowledged that with a subtle nod.

“The shrimp and grits are a specialty now,” Nash told her. “And they have a shrimp pasta diablo that is out of this world.”

She studied the menu. “What happened to the fried green tomatoes? They used to be my favorite.”

Thatdetail he’d forgotten. How many other things had he shoved to the back of his mind as facts he’d never need again?

“They still serve them, but not as often. Usually as a featured daily side. The chef tries to use local food as much as possible, so the menu is more flexible.”

Another nod, this one friendlier. “They do that down at Ellington Cove, too. Key West,” she clarified. “Chef Turore is all about the farm to table movement. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Ellingtons take that approach at all their properties.”

The waiter came by and took their order for the smoked fish dip appetizer and went over the dinner specials. Fried green tomatoes were not an option this evening. They made their selections and the waiter disappeared.

“Ellington?” Nash sipped his beer. “Is that the same family who owns the Charleston hotel and the resort out on Isle of Palms?”

“The same,” she confirmed. “It was big news down in Key West when they bought up a dilapidated resort. Now the place is a premiere destination. High ratings and excellent reviews from tourists and locals alike. The spa is a thing of beauty.”

An image of her in a spa filled his mind. Fluffy robe, nothing underneath. Whoa. He cleared his throat and yanked his thoughts away from that slippery slope. “And you were one of the locals?”

“Absolutely.” She traced the handle of her fork. “I have good friends on the police force in Key West and the police department has good ties to the Cove. For a while I was the primary liaison when there was trouble.”

He wondered how she defined trouble and if any of those incidents had sparked her return home. Logic said there had to be a connection, but he doubted she wanted to discuss it. Especially not with him during a revenge date. Asking for specifics was likely to make tonight even worse. He didn’t want her assuming he was picking a fight or passing judgement over her career choices. Not the case at all. If things went well, they could talk about those details later.

“Should I point out you traded one island for another?”

“No need.” Her mouth tilted into a half-smile. “The Keys are so different,” she said, clearly missing the area. “And Key West gets a lot more tourism than Brookwell.”

“We could use more tourism.” The mayor and city leaders were constantly looking for ways to bring in more people and revenue. “You disagree.”

She shrugged, drawing his attention to her bare shoulders. It dawned on him there weren’t any tan lines. Damn. That only made it more work to keep his thoughts on platonic, friendly paths.

“Not exactly. Tourism is an industry here. It’s necessary. But more people—especially those passing through—opens the door for more problems.”

“Don’t cops thrive on those problems?”

“Good cops should thrive on keeping the peace.” She held up her hands. “Just my opinion. There will always be people who push the envelope of their own ability and those who test the legal boundaries. Those folks need cops and other first responders they can rely on. That doesn’t mean I crave chaos or want people to have bad days.”

Listening to her, he felt caught between the familiar and the new. He’d always loved talking with Jess, listening to her calm voice, but she’d matured. Of course she had. “This is weird.”

“Which part? I get wound up and—”

He held up a hand. “Only the part where I feel like Idon’tknow you. I mean your voice is the same and I have fond memories of talking to you all night long. What’s important to you has changed.”

She chuckled. “I should hope so. We’re not kids anymore.”

The appetizer arrived and they paused to dip rustic crackers into the smoky, aromatic dip.

“Would it help if I, um, admit it?” she asked after a few minutes.

“I’m not following.”

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