The stranger is around Jack’s age, dressed in fishing boots, worn jeans, and a T-shirt that might, at one time, have been an appropriate tribute to the Dolphins football team. His curly hair is cropped close to his head, and a mustache frames his face. At the sight of me, he stops short, taking off his backward baseball cap and pressing it to his chest.
“Dude, why do you have a crying woman back here?”
Jack rolls his eyes. “She’s not crying.”
“Her eyes are all red.”
“It’s just the onions.” I set down the knife, holding my handout. I’ve started to ignore the tears streaking down my face. “I’m Jack’s... I’m Poppy Winfield.”
“My business partner,” Jack supplies.
I beam. “His business partner.”
The man shakes my hand with his scarred, deep brown one. I must have a quizzical look on my face because he says, “Just fishing scars. Those hooks are sharp. I’m Chester.”
His grin is infectious. Well, not to Jack, apparently—he’s scowling—but definitely to me. I smile as I peel away my bandanna, shaking out my braids. “You’re a fisherman?”
“I mostly tend bar, but I help with the family business, too. Harrison’s Seafood. Best on the Treasure Coast.” He turns to Jack. “You didn’t mention you had a business partner with you when you texted.”
“I’m full of surprises,” he says dryly.
Chester shakes his head. “Forgive me for not expecting a literal angel to be—”
“Come on, man, she just went through a breakup.”
“It wasn’t a very long relationship,” I add cheerfully. Ryan hasn’t crossed my mind once since I got to Florida, now that I think about it. “I mean, I thought he was going to propose, but that was only because I found a Tiffany’s box in his sock drawer, you know?”
“What was in it?” Chester asks with interest.
“Break-up jewelry. Can you believe that?”
“Oh, so you’re saying women don’t like that? Shit. No wonder I never stay in touch with my exes.”
“He was still a jackass, and it still hurt you,” Jack interjects, his teeth practically gritted. “Anyway, I was just showing Chester the progress. He has an in with some purveyors.”
“The food suppliers?”
“Yep,” Chester says. “My dad knows everyone in the South Florida seafood scene.” He turns to Jack. “Wait, is that why you invited me over? Here I was thinking you wanted to catch up, finally.” He slides that grin back to me and adds, “Easy to see why he took his sweet time texting me.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Sounds like you guys have known each other for a while.”
“We went to high school together. Before, you know, he ran away to that fancy culinary school.”
I’m loving Chester more by the second. “Kiara mentioned the same thing.”
“You’ve met Ki?” His face lights up. “She’s great. The best.”
I’m not sure, but I think I hear a note of longing in his voice.
“Speaking of Kiara, I still can’t believe you adopted a feral alleyway cat,” Jack grumbles.
“Feral?” I protest. “He’s just a baby. A ball of mush. You should’ve seen him when I left this morning.”
“You named him Gator.”
I gesture around, not to the kitchen, but to the general humidity and tropical foliage and truly astonishing number of lizards just outside. “What else was I supposed to do? It’s Florida.”
“Did you go to school at UF?” Chester asks. “Because if you want tickets to the first home game—”
