Page 28 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

Quinn couldn’t believe how beautiful Jacob’s daughter turned out to be.

“I’m headed back over there,” Quinn said, pointing out the window. “When you get back, I want you to help me.”

“This sounds like a lot more than an hour’s worth of work,” Kyle began to whine, but he stuffed the credit card in his back pocket.

Quinn watched Kyle leave the house and jump into the truck, blasting music as soon as he turned the key. He missed the days of wasting time, wishing the best days away for something better in adulthood. What he wouldn’t do to go back. Even in his dreams.

He never dreamt anymore.

The truck’s engine revved up as Kyle pulled out of the driveway and onto the road, kicking up some of the seashell dust. He flinched, waiting to hear pieces of shell hitting Ms. Johnson’s car, but he only heard the waves and Kyle driving away.

Quinn grabbed every cleaning supply he could, along with his mother’s rubber gloves, and headed over to Jacob’s.

He went to cut through the lawn like always but stopped himself. Technically, he would be trespassing. This wasn’t Jacob’s property any longer.

And it really hit him. He just stood there for a minute, thinking about how things would change if Jacob’s daughter sold. The farm was Blueberry Bay’s last piece of untouched land along its beautiful shoreline. Real estate developers had been bugging Jacob for years, hoping he’d sell some of the farm, but he never did.

How fast would it be sold? Quinn wondered. How long would it take to tear up the land and build tacky mega mansions or worse, a hotel or some gross condo complex like other coastlines in Maine?

If Jacob’s daughter sold, would Quinn be a fool for holding onto his parents’ century old cottage just because it has been in the family for generations?

He walked down the driveway toward the road and went the long way. When he reached the front porch, he took a deep breath and put his smile back on his face. He would have to be as sweet as honey over the next twenty-four hours, no matter what this woman from the suburbs said about Jacob and their town, because he wanted to get the rest of what he was owed.

“Hello?” he called out toward the house. He was about to step onto the porch when a car pulled up the driveway.

“Fred…” he mumbled.

“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice said from behind.

He turned to see her coming around her car, but her attention was on the man getting out of the car that had just pulled in.

“Hello!” Fred’s voice boomed over the sound of the ocean. “Mrs. O’Neill!”

Quinn closed his eyes at Fred’s blunder. She didn’t use her father’s last name, and she did not like being called Mrs.

“Do I know you?” she asked, looking from Fred to Quinn.

“My name is Fred Kimball.” Fred held out his hand and shook hers with gusto. “I’m one of the town selectmen.”

“Oh,” she said, taking back her hand. “Can I help you?”

“I wanted to welcome you to Blueberry Bay!” Fred’s usual overly boisterous voice came out extra energetic. “The prettiest coast is the Blueberry Coast!”

Quinn cringed at the cheesy town slogan. “Ms. Johnson is here to finalize a few things after Jacob’s death.”

“What a great man.” Fred placed one hand on his chest, closing his eyes and taking a moment of silence. In his other hand was a plastic food container—most likely Fred’s wife’s famous blueberry scones. His mother had already got to them.

Meredith Johnson looked horrified. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The missus made something to welcome you to town.” Fred didn’t move or hand over the goods.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, waiting for Fred to do something, but he just stood there looking at them.

Fred scrunched his forehead when he saw the vacuum. “You’re cleaning something?”

“Just the house,” Quinn said.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kimball,” she said. “But I have to discuss some matters with Mr. Michaud.”

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