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“Ouch.” Niall looked impressed despite himself. “That’s… dramatic.”

“That’s one word for it. ‘Career suicide’ is another.” Chuck picked at the seam of his sandwich. “My then-boyfriend was humiliated by the blowback at the time. Jeremy was all about the hustle, climbing the ladder or whatever the hell. He liked my pectorals fine, but me going nuclear on the news at a bunch of fat cats didn’t fit his five-year plan for making me over.”

“Into what?”

“Someone else. I don’t know. He loved how I looked standing next to him on Instagram. I guess I was ornamental.”

“So he broke up with you?”

“That night. Christmas Eve, even. I was a rude prick and ‘unprofessional.’” Chuck made air quotes around the word. “Turns out he’d been low-key seeing my replacement anyway—some IT client with connections. The table flip just gave him a convenient excuse to end things.”

“Jeez.” Niall sounded like he meant it. “That’s rough.”

“Nah. I got all my limbs. World’s still spinning. Life blunders along.” Chuck shrugged, uncomfortable with the sympathy. “So yeah, that’s why I’m back in Candle Bay. Licking my wounds, figuring out what’s next.”

“And fixing my roof while you lick ’em.”

“You took the words…. Licking only fills up so much of my days.”

Niall was quiet for a moment, seeming to consider something. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think what you did took guts. Standing up for the original idea, all those people, even if it cost you.”

The vote of confidence caught Chuck off guard. “Thanks. Most people just decide I’m rude and reckless.”

“Oh, you’re that too.” Niall smiled. “Full props for caring enough about something to fight for it.”

“Even if the fight is hopeless?”

“Especially then. If the fight isn’t hopeless, are you even really fighting? Anybody can be brave in a room full of back-patters.” Niall’s eyes met his, and for a moment, Chuck saw a resigned determination he knew too well.

Niall didn’t look away, which slowly undid Chuck. He leaned in with every intention of—

“Dad!”

The spell was broken by a small tornado in the form of Winnie Ashworth, who came racing across the park toward them in a purple cape, maybe? No. Bat wings. Behind her walked a tall, elegant man who could only be Mr. Yao, Niall’s former father-in-law.

“Winnie?” Niall stood, surprised. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at your theater class until three.”

“Grandpa picked me up early!” Winnie threw her arms around Niall’s waist. “We went to frozen yogurt, and now we’re going to the bookstore so I can show him my recommendation shelf.”

Mr. Yao approached with measured steps, his expression neutral as he took in Chuck’s presence. “Niall. I hope you don’t mind the surprise. Helen and I thought we’d squire Winnie to dinner tonight, if that’s all right with you.” He sounded super-Canadian, with the drawled vowels of people up the coast in BC.

“Of course,” Niall said, though Chuck saw the hesitation. “Winnie, this is Chuck. He’s helping with some repairs at the store.”

Winnie turned her attention to Chuck and studied him with unnerving directness. “You’re the hot-wire guy. Did you really drive Coach Dillard’s car through the gym?”

“Winnie,” Niall admonished.

“Guilty.” Chuck chuckled at her bluntness. “It was a stupid thing to do. I’m lucky I didn’t hurt anyone or get arrested.”

“Cool.” Winnie bobbed her head as though they’d struck a bargain. “Can you teach me how to hot-wire a car?”

“Not a chance.”

“Disappointing.” She turned back to her father. “Can I show Grandpa the shelf now? Also the treehouse you’re going to build me?”

“Treehouse?” Niall appeared confused. “What treehouse?”

“The one you said I could have in the store. For reading.” Winnie’s plea was so earnest Chuck bit back a grin. “Remember? You said, ‘maybe someday.’”