TWELVE
“Look!” Sienna pointed outside when Emily came downstairs the next morning. “A tiny break in the clouds! I’m going to take a long walk on the beach. Want to come?” She was already in a pair of stretchy shorts, wearing sunglasses and flip-flops.
Emily yawned. Her neck ached from sleeping on tight shoulders all night. “I think I’m going to have some coffee first, so I can wake up. And with Blair asleep, I should probably stay in case Patrick comes by to get his things.” She nodded toward the pile of kitchen items, bags, and food containers.
“Okay. I’ll be back in about an hour. A long stroll will do me some good.”
“Be careful.”
Sienna waved and let herself out the oversized glass doors leading to the pool. The furniture was still stacked against the house, and the pool cover was on. The house crew would probably be by later to set it all back up for them, and then they could lounge all day, drift off between cocktails, and finally get back to their girls’ week.
Emily padded over to the counter, made herself a steaming cup of coffee, and took it to the living room. The playing cards, books, and magazines were still on the coffee table where Siennahad dropped them. With her coffee in one hand, Emily fanned out the magazines, deciding on what she felt like reading. But a single cover stood out from the others. She’d seen it before when they’d first arrived: the one with Patrick’s feature. Had Sienna even realized what she’d picked up?
She set her mug on the table and immediately scanned the contents, looking for the article about Patrick. Page 32. She flipped as quickly as she could and then there he was. A glossy photo filled the page: a spruced-up version of Patrick in a dress-white uniform. His strong jawline was set in a slight smile, and his blue eyes sparkled as though they were looking into her very soul. She had to drag her line of sight from the image to the words beside it. The title of the article read, “From Battleships to Beachfronts: Life after the Navy.” She scanned the quote highlighted in blue type on the side of the page:
“The military taught me discipline and humility. I spent years sailing the world with the navy, but nothing feels more like home than here.”
She read more about his naval service. He’d served for eleven years—two deployments, a slew of awards for leadership under pressure, and a reputation for unshakable poise. A culinary officer, he was one of the navy’s rising stars in food service management. Assigned to a Navy SEAL Team, on a top-secret mission in the Pacific, he oversaw a galley that fed twenty elite officers with tight supplies and tighter timelines.
She picked up her coffee, her eyes glued to the page.
He was a quiet man who loved order, his country, and his family, which included his sister Julia and her husband, Daniel Simpson. Daniel wasn’t just his brother-in-law; he was also Patrick’s best friend since high school. The two had joinedthe navy within months of each other and eventually found themselves on the same deployment. During a routine resupply maneuver, a fuel line ruptured in the ship’s lower engine room. Patrick had just finished prepping the galley for the night’s meal when alarms blared.
Daniel was on the first response team. Patrick left the galley and headed for the central command post. Minutes later, a flash erupted, and a section of the engine room buckled. Smoke rolled through the corridors. Daniel and two sailors were lost in the blast, killed instantly, leaving Patrick in shock, and Julia and her one-year-old son on their own.
After the incident, Patrick experienced unshakable grief, anxiety, and nightmares.
Emily gripped her coffee, her heart pounding. How terrible. Suddenly, Patrick’s demeanor made a lot of sense. His stoic nature and jumpiness during the storm came into focus; there was so much more to the story now than a distant chef. Had she been able to somehow sense his hardship? Was that why she’d felt curious about him, wanting to have a conversation when her friends didn’t seem as interested? She read on.
Eventually, Patrick was evaluated by a navy mental health officer and entered into counseling. After several months of treatment and no improvement in his operational capacity, Patrick applied for a discharge under navy guidelines for psychological hardship and family dependency.
“At my lowest point, I went home to help my sister, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he was quoted saying. “In the midst of tragedy, the love of family and shared grief kept me going. We came out of this together. I couldn’t have done it without them.”
It had been five years since the accident, and while Patrick still dealt with post-traumatic stress, he’d found solace in his family and took great honor in the duty of raising his nephew,Winston. Having to learn how to use his talents outside of the navy, Patrick began his company, Main Course. Word spread about his heroic return, and his skills were unmatched. Before long, his company was a full-blown success, catching the attention of celebrities vacationing in the area.
Main Course had earned a reputation as one of the most exclusive culinary establishments in the state, catering to celebrities, musicians, and Fortune 500 executives with seamless precision. His work was recognized inWorldwide Traveler Magazineas a “Top Private Dining Experience,” and was praised for redefining luxury hospitality through its personalized menus and discreet service. Main Course had also been awarded the Blue Ribbon of Excellence for Innovation in Cuisine, solidifying its reputation and confirming that it had achieved the highest standard in culinary artistry. He became so incredibly popular that he was opening his highly anticipated restaurant, The Low Tide Supper Club, catering to high-end clientele with unique coastal cuisine. The restaurant’s launch was expected next summer.
When asked what he did with all that notoriety, he offered a humble chuckle. “I keep to myself,” he was quoted saying. “I enjoy the privacy.”
While his company continued to thrive, Patrick retreated further into the secluded life of a civilian, letting the success of Main Course and the buzz of The Low Tide Supper Club be the sources of interest—not him.
The chime of the doorbell startled Emily. She wasn’t expecting Patrick this early. She ran her hands through her unbrushed hair, and quickly closed the magazine, shoving it under a pile of others on the coffee table, and sprinted to the door.
“Hey,” Patrick said on the other side. His voice was tight and controlled, a wild look on his face.
“Hi.” She willed her heart to stop pounding to no avail.
The storm in his blue eyes made sense now, but something else was brewing. She took in the rugged lines on his forehead and the tightness of his jaw as she opened the door wider and ushered him into the house.
He side-eyed her as he entered and peered around. Then he looked at the stairway, and his brows pulled together, but he didn’t say anything.
Emily followed, not sure what he was doing. Her mind was occupied with whether she should bring up the article, given his mention of staying out of the limelight. If he’d wanted her to know, he’d have mentioned it when she’d asked him questions about the restaurant. But didn’t the fact that he’d agreed to a national article give her the go-ahead she needed? Why had he agreed to that?
She was still debating the idea when she got to the kitchen.
“Have you not heard?” he asked, almost exasperated.
“Heard what?”
