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There was a fancy olive oil shop and a cheese shop. A shop that just sold…he couldn’t even tell. Lawn ornaments?
“Wow,” Josie murmured. “It looks great, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s really changed in the last few years. It’s…” He struggled to find the word.
“Posh?”
“This was Gabe’s dream,” Cameron said. “He wanted the inn to be the kind of place that would raise the tide for the whole town. All the businesses.”
The main strip used to be dive bars and tattoo parlors. A shuttered shoe shop. The tattoo parlor was still there, but even it had been shined up. And he hadn’t realized until this moment that he’d spent most of his life planning on being there to see all this happen. And he didn’t regret the direction his life had taken, but he wished he could have watched the transformation.
Maybe…maybe I shouldn’t have stayed away. But that was a double-edged sword. If he hadn’t stayed away, he wouldn’t have made his life what it was. And there was no point in regret. Or what-ifs. That wasn’t how he lived. And staying away had been the only way to avoid get sucked back into this place. These people.
He was all about the clean breaks. The simple goodbyes.
If you never loved anyone, leaving was easy.
“You okay?” she asked and he could sense her about to put a hand on his shoulder. And he dodged that bullet by popping open the door, letting the cold air swirl in and banish the warmth.
“Let’s go.”
11
JOSIE
She shouldn’t have come. She’d gotten angry and righteous and she’d made a decision without thinking it through. And now she had all the answers she didn’t really want.
It was for the best.
It was ridiculous to think we could be anything.
You got over me.
No, she wanted to say. She hadn’t. She hadn’t gotten over him one bit.
But he had so clearly gotten over her that she kept her mouth shut.
This is a good thing, she told herself as she followed Cameron into the butcher shop. You got the answers you didn’t know you needed and now you can move on. Yay.
The bell tinkled over the door as Cameron and Josie stepped inside.
Knapstein’s, much like the downtown street, had had a face-lift. It had always been pretty, with original wood floors and ceilings, but the last time she’d been in there the place had shown its age, which was over a hundred years. Mateo, the fourth generation Knapstein to take over the butcher shop, had given it some new life.
Dark-stained wooden floors and ceiling. Chalkboard paint on one wall with specials and prices. Staff were serving customers from gleaming stainless-steel cold cases and wearing smart denim aprons with the old-fashioned logo embroidered on the front.
Christmas music played in the background. And the air smelled of roasted chicken and potatoes.
Mateo’s mother, Nancy, was a Portuguese woman his father had met while on vacation, and their marriage had brought new energy to the store. Mateo, it would seem, was running with it.
“My god!” Mateo said from the far counter. He used the back of his wrist to push his glasses up high on his nose. “Is that Five Questions Cameron?”
“Mateo,” Cameron said, smiling. “Look at what you’ve done to this place.”
Mateo, his dark, bald head gleaming under the warm lights, came out from behind the counter, and he and Cameron hugged with much backslapping and smiling. Mateo was several years older than Cameron, but since the inn got all their meat from Knapstein’s, the two had formed a strong friendship.
Had he just walked away from Mateo, too?
“I got your email,” Mateo said. “Sorry I haven’t had a chance to respond. It’s been nuts with the holiday.”
I guess not.
“Look at this place,” Cameron said, taking it all in. “Your parents would be so proud.”
Mateo smiled, his arm still around Cameron. “Thanks, man. Though they’d have an opinion on everything I’m changing.”
“That’s for sure,” Cameron said and then stepped back to include Josie in their circle. “You remember Josie? Max and Delia’s daughter.”
“Of course. The runner. Good to see you. You’re here picking up Alice’s order?”
“We are,” Josie said. “And this place is gorgeous.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Mateo said. “We’ve gotten into some prepared foods. Churrasaco.” He pointed to the display case with the Portuguese roasted chickens in their crispy skins. The potatoes and rice. “Sauces and marinades.” He was pointing at the jars on shelves. The freezer cases full of shepherd’s pie and Bolognese sauce. Jars of pickles. Spice blends and piri-piri sauce, chimichurri, all his mother’s recipes. Which had been her grandmother’s recipes.
It was all the perfect combination of the old and the new.
Inspiration struck.
“You should do five questions with Mateo,” she said, and both Cameron and the butcher turned to look at her. Internally, she winced. It was hard to turn off the good television filter. “Fifth generation butcher? Mom’s traditional recipes?” She shrugged. “Seems like a good one to me.”
