on the tailgate, swinging his feet and sipping coffee right out of the thermos.
“That’s no way to talk to your favorite employee. I might cry myself to sleep tonight.”
“How long till opening day?” Jack asked. “Twelve days?”
“Yep.” Mel shaded his eyes and glanced up. “Sea Devil should be ready to go. Just gotta get these hydraulic brakes to pass muster with the state inspectors.”
Jack nodded, looking over the coaster and saying nothing. Maintenance trucks littered the grounds at Starlight Point. The midway resembled a carnival parking lot with the food vendors moving into their stands, employees scuttling everywhere to ramp up for what had to be a profitable season. Had to be. He thought of what would happen if the family-owned park didn’t turn a sizable profit. Jack ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his tired eyes with two fingers.
“Maybe I should have saved that bottle of Jack Daniel’s to put in your coffee,” Mel suggested. He scratched a spot on his jaw and left a trail of black grease. Mel was the same age as Jack, and they’d been friends for twenty years. Mel had worked his way up from seasonal ride mechanic to head of maintenance and knew every nut and bolt on every ride. Now that the whole weight of Starlight Point rested on Jack’s shoulders, he needed Mel’s expertise and advice more than ever.
“How are your mom and sisters handling your father’s sudden passing?” Mel asked.
“About as well as any of us,” Jack said. “Can’t decide if it’s the best or worst timing in the world. Going so sudden like that, only a month before season opening.” Jack sipped his coffee. “Threw us all into a tailspin.”
Mel nodded and fiddled with the gauge in his hand.
“Then again, running our butts off to get this year going takes our minds off it,” Jack said. He leaned an arm on the side rail of the truck bed. For a few seconds, he considered confiding in his friend. If telling someone would make the situation better, he’d do it. Mel was loyal to the Hamilton family and to Starlight Point. The secret would be safe. But there was nothing Mel could do about the loans piled on loans Ford Hamilton had concealed from everyone—even his own son.
“You’ve been training to run this place your whole life,” Mel said. “Probably have a record season. Just wish your dad was alive to see it.”
Jack crumpled his empty cup and tossed it in the construction Dumpster under the new ride.
“Me, too.”
* * *
GUS MURPHY PLACED cookies in her display case and glanced out the gleaming front windows of Aunt Augusta’s Downtown Bakery. Her bakery. Starting this shop with the blessing and help of her namesake aunt had been a leap of faith. She hoped coming home to Bayside last October was the right thing to do. With everything riding on her success, forward was the only direction she could go. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
A woman with short silver hair stopped on the front sidewalk. She was pulling a red wagon carrying a medium-sized brown, white and black dog, its nose and front paws hanging over the side. The woman left the dog and the wagon outside and came through the door, setting off a cheerful jingling. She dug in her purse and pulled out several envelopes.
“Wanted to deliver these personally,” she said, smiling. “Thank-you notes for being so kind when my husband passed. The sweets you sent to the house were much appreciated. Especially by my son, who would live on cookies if he could.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Gus said.
“Virginia!” Aunt Augusta came through the swinging door from the back of the bakery. She hustled around the counter, her apron a loud mix of color and frosting.
“Got some new turnovers for you to try on for size. Let’s sit by the window where you can keep an eye on Betty, just in case the old gal takes off after a bicycle.”
Gus went out front and sat next to the wagon on the sunny sidewalk. She’d hoped the wrought-iron table and chairs in front of her window would attract people in need of a coffee and pastry break. But today she was the only person taking advantage. The life of a baker meant early mornings followed by long days on her feet. She stretched her legs and rested her back against the front wall of the building whose mortgage kept her up at night. What had she been thinking? And now her brilliant idea to bolster her immediate cash flow meant she’d divide her time between her bakery and her business venture at Starlight Point.
She groaned. Betty woke up, nose twitching, and licked Gus’s hand. “I’ll have to wash that later,” Gus told Betty. “Who knows where your tongue has been?” She scratched the dog’s ears.
Betty licked her palm once more as a long shadow crossed the sidewalk. Gus glanced up. Way up. The kayaker who liked cookies stood over her. He looked even better in the daylight. And in a button-down oxford with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Betty leaped from the wagon and put her paws on the man’s knees. He picked her up, ruffling her furry face and ears.
“I’m guessing you and Betty have met before,” Gus observed.
“We’re old friends.”
“You have a lot in common,” Gus said. “She’s tempted by my cookies, too, and I’ve caught her trying to steal one.”
“Still haven’t forgiven me?”
Gus shrugged and smiled. “I was never mad in the first place. I make sweets, people eat them. Sometimes they even pay me. I’m hoping to build a business on that idea.”
He glanced at her apron. “Are you taking a break right now?”
She pointed over her shoulder. “Aunt Augusta’s in charge at the moment.”
He leaned close to the window, looked in and waved. Turning back to Gus, he bent and placed Betty in the wagon.
“You know my aunt?” Gus asked.
“Nope, but I know my mother. I told her I’d pick her up downtown after she delivered her notes.”
Betty settled in with a sigh and put her nose on the edge of the wagon where she could see everything, including the door of the shop.
“Since I’m pretty sure we’re not cousins, there’s only one explanation,” Gus said. “If Virginia is your mother, and Betty loves you like family, you must be—”
“Jack Hamilton,” he said, extending one large sun-browned hand.
So the impatient kayaker who drove an ancient SUV was the new owner of Starlight Point? Of course she knew about his father’s sudden death a few weeks ago—the whole area had been shocked that such a relatively young man had been taken by a heart attack. She had met Ford Hamilton twice to discuss the contract for the three bakeries she would lease at Starlight Point this summer. In her downtown bakery, there had been a lot of speculation about the future of the amusement park, but the counter talk focused on the twenty-six-year-old son who was ready to step in.
Gus had returned to Bayside only last fall to put down roots, but her aunt and Jack’s mother were old acquaintances. Although Gus had seen Virginia a number of times over the winter, she hadn’t met any of the three Hamilton children.
Until now.
Gus took Jack’s hand and pulled herself up. A rush of endorphins whirled through her like a scrambler ride. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe she’d stood up too fast. She held on to his hand.
“Augusta Murphy,” she said. “Most people call me Gus.”
“Why?”
“When I was young, it was because Gus is a much cuter name than Augusta. These days, I think it’s so I don’t get confused with Aunt Augusta.”
“Who would make that mistake?” he said, grinning and keeping a firm grip on her hand. He inclined his head toward the door of the shop. “Can I buy you a