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“Obviously not him,” Avery said. “Coleman Lewis, his great-grandson. He’s a bassist; apparently the whole family is very musical. Anyway, I tracked him down through some hardcore internet searching. He agreed to meet me, and get this—he had heard the story about his great-grandfather planning to run away to Paris and getting stood up by his first love but going anyway. Apparently it’s family lore. So here’s the rest of the story. Coleman, the original, did go to Paris, and while he didn’t become exactly famous, he did make a name for himself, and then he moved back to the States, to New York, and he married another musician and settled down.”
“I wonder if he missed Ada the way she missed him,” Cam said.
“He missed her enough to write her a song,” Avery said excitedly. “It’s called ‘Ada, My Love.’ I’ll send you the link to hear Coleman’s band play it. It’s beautiful.”
“Oh, Avery,” Cam said, her eyes welling up, “I wish Ada had known.”
“And another thing,” Avery said. “This Coleman is just as gorgeous as the original. He’s dreamy, Cam, and he invited me to his gig tonight, and I think we’re going for a late dinner after.”
Cam smiled. This was the Avery she knew. “What about swearing off love?” Cam asked. “Not too many days ago you seemed absolutely certain it wasn’t worth it.”
Avery sighed into her phone. “I just couldn’t stop thinking about Ada,” her cousin said. “She missed her chance, but I’ll be damned if I miss mine.”
For the second time in less than a week, Cam had the same thought: That makes two of us.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Cam surveyed the cafe’s dining room and suddenly wondered if she had truly been possessed. She had spent so much time over the last few weeks in the building’s kitchen that she hadn’t fully appreciated how much work the front needed. She would have to replace the worn, dated chairs and booths with new ones. She eyed the dropped ceiling with suspicion. Was there original pressed tin underneath? The dated light fixtures were destined for a dumpster, but she could picture warm brass lanterns in their place. The built-in hostess stand looked like a relic from the ’90s, and it would have to go. Maybe she could find an antique piece to take its place. Francine would be delighted to help, she knew. And everything needed a fresh coat of paint. It would be lighter, cheerier.
And for a moment, Cam allowed herself to feel hopeful. She pictured happy customers on vintage bentwood chairs, celebrating birthdays and first jobs and A-plus test scores and everyday Tuesday mornings. She would put up a giant chalkboard with the menu and the daily specials. The smell of freshly brewed coffee would linger in the air. She would do some of the usual dishes the cafe’s loyal clientele were used to, but she had ideas that would make them her own. A ricotta-stuffed brioche French toast in place of the classic one. She would bring back her old favorite, the pancakes and peaches but with fresh, ripe fruit. The tuna-salad sandwich would get a sprinkling of capers and lemon zest…
As daunting as all of that was, it paled in comparison to the other change Cam was about to make. This one, she knew, was bigger than any construction job or menu overhaul. She swallowed hard and raked her fingers through her hair.
At exactly 5:00 p.m., Ian tapped on the glass as he opened the front door, which Cam had left unlocked for him. He was wearing his usual heavy Carhartt jacket, and he pulled off his woolen knit cap as he entered, a gesture she appreciated. Ian was always a gentleman. Cam sensed a distance between the two of them, and as much as she longed to lunge at him, to hold him, she held back.
He looked at her warily. “So, ah, you said you had a job you wanted me to get you an estimate for?”
Cam was struck by how professional he sounded, how reserved. Like he was some carpenter she had called from an online ad. Like they hadn’t…
“Does Birdie have another project she wants me to tackle?” he asked. “I know she had talked about renovating the powder room downstairs.”
“No,” Cam answered. “It’s not that. It’s this.” She motioned to the space around them. “The cafe.”
Confusion knitted Ian’s brow. “The cafe?”
Cam steeled herself for what she was about to do. She felt like she had climbed an impossibly tall ladder to go down a slide, and she was there at the top, looking down, terrified. But all she had to do was let go—and move forward. Just like Avery had. Just like Ada had wanted to.
“I’m buying the place,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I think I’ll be sticking around Silver Cove. Martina offered to sell it to me so she can stay with her daughter in Florida. I thought maybe it just needed a little work, and it might turn out to be pretty special.”
She stepped toward him and looked him square in the eyes. This was it. This was her laying everything on the line.
“I think,” she said, “it could be really beautiful.”
Ian turned away, and Cam died inside. She had missed her chance. She had hesitated, and she had lost him. He had needed her to be all in, and she had closed down and run away.
He paced the room with his back to her for several agonizing minutes, tapping on the floorboards and peering at the plate-glass windows. Cam wanted to disappear. Or cry. Or both.
Ian made his way back to where she stood. “I think,” he said, turning around and finally meeting her gaze, “that it has potential.”
“Really?” Relief flooded through Cam’s body like a tidal wave. All was not lost. Tears sprang to her eyes.
He stepped closer to her. “It has a good foundation, you know? Good bones. It just might take a little work.”
“Are we talking about the cafe?” Cam asked, knowing the answer before she voiced it.
His answer was his lips on hers, and she pulled him close with the ferocity of someone being rescued from a riptide. This was where she was meant to be. Here, in this cafe. In this man’s arms.
“What will you call it?” Ian asked later, when they were tangled up in the cot in the small apartment over the cafe. Cam decided she would move in here rather than stay at Birdie’s. As much as she loved staying with her grandmother, she needed her own space.
