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“I bet.” Niall dragged both hands down his face—a thing Chuck was beginning to read as bad news arriving. “Did she say anything else?”

Chuck thought of Mrs. Yao’s warning. “Nothing dire.”

Niall looked skeptical but didn’t press. “I’m going to grab some lunch. Want anything?”

“I could eat.” Chuck set aside the discomfort of the encounter with Mrs. Yao. “What’s good around here?”

“That depends what you’re in the mood for. The deli down the block makes a decent gyro.”

“You’re speaking my love language.”

They walked together down Madrone Street, the winter sun warm on their shoulders. Chuck could feel the locals peering at them, the bold scrutiny and asides. Niall seemed used to being the subject of town gossip after his wife ran off.

“So,” Chuck said as they waited for their gyros at the deli counter, “how was the checkup with the accountant?”

Niall grimaced. “Like a colonoscopy. The store’s drowning, which I already knew, but seeing it in spreadsheet rows does a number on you.”

“That bad?”

“Let’s say if things don’t turn around in the next few months, a going-out-of-business sale might be a bridge too far.” Niall’s attempt at a light tone failed. “Sorry. Not your problem.”

“What about online sales? Do you have a website?”

“A basic one. It’s not great.”

“That’s something else I can help with,” Chuck offered. “I’m pretty terrific with digital doohickeys.”

Niall gave him a sidelong look. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Men,” Chuck said without thinking. “And impulse control. And eating healthy. Traffic laws too. Celibacy. Minding my manners. Balancing a checkbook. And keeping my mouth shut when I should.”

That earned him a small smile. “Honesty, at least. That’s something.”

They took their sloppy sandwiches to a small park across from the deli and sat on a bench in the shade of an old oak tree. For a while they ate in satisfied silence and watched people pass by.

“Can I ask you something?” Niall said after a moment.

“Shoot.”

“Why did you come back to Candle Bay?”

Chuck had been expecting the question, but it still made him tense. “The short version? I burned some bridges in Seattle. Professional and personal.”

“What about the long version?”

Chuck sighed and set down his gyro. “The long version is that I was working for a cabinet company, designing a swanky library installation for a property developer. It was supposed to be sustainable, community-focused, something that would benefit the neighborhood instead of only the developers.”

“Let me guess—the firm had other ideas?”

“Worse. They had no ideas. They stole my designs and butchered them, turned it into another cheap prefab archive install that would have priced out local vendors with a crappy product.” Chuck rocked back, considering the ceiling. “I tried to fight it through the proper channels, but my boss was well-connected. Eventually, I lost it during a city council presentation.”

“The table?” Niall asked, surprising Chuck.

“You heard about that?”

“Amber might have mentioned something. She’s very thorough with her social media stalking. With a holiday gingerbread house, no less. Immortalized on webcam, it seems.”

Chuck winced. “Yeah, well, not my finest moment. I may have told my boss precisely what I thought of him and his ethics while the cameras were rolling.”