“Why not?” Charley’s tone remained conversational, but his penetrating gaze delved deep.

Too deep.

Jack slipped out of his chair and picked up his empty coffee cup. “This isn’t her kind of place.”

“No?” Charley looked toward Christi again. “What kind of place would she like?”

“A big city, with lots of glitzy, high-end stores and gourmet restaurants.”

“Funny. That wasn’t at all the impression I got of her. She came across as low-key and down-to-earth. Also a bit discouraged, to be honest—and in need of a friend.”

He’d gotten the same vibes.

But she’d fooled him once, and despite the down-and-out image she now projected to the world . . . despite the fact that Charley’s insights were typically spot-on . . . he wasn’t taking anything about Christi Reece at face value.

“Be careful with her if she hangs around, Charley.”

The man tipped his head. “You have a history?”

“Yes—and not a happy one.” That was more than he’d planned to reveal, but the town sage had a knack for eliciting confidences. However, he also kept them. So at least the revelation would go no further.

“I’m sorry to hear that. But history doesn’t have to define us. As Thomas Jefferson said, ‘I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past.’”

“I’m more of a Santayana fan myself.”

A fan of wrinkles appeared at the corners of Charley’s eyes. “He was also a wise man. Remembering the past does help us avoid repeating mistakes. At the same time, it’s important to recognize that people—and circumstances—can change . . . and positive changes can bring a plethora of possibilities. And now, with that eloquent example of alliteration, I’ll let you get on with your day.” He winked, touched the brim of his Ducks cap, and wandered over to speak with Marci from the Hope Harbor Herald.

Jack frowned after him. Was Charley suggesting he give Christi another chance? But why would the man do that when he had no idea of their history? No clue how she’d used him—or how devastated he’d been? How broken?

Or perhaps he was reading too much into Charley’s comment. The resident philosopher was prone to erudite musings. Always thought-provoking but often general rather than specific.

Except this one had hit close to home.

Jack angled back toward the window. Christi had resumed her stroll down Main Street—and toward The Perfect Blend.

His cue to exit.

Maybe she’d changed. Maybe she hadn’t.

But despite Charley’s inference, there were no possibilities between them.

Because he wasn’t putting his heart at risk ever again. Whatever affection or love he had to spare from this day forward was going to be directed to the daughter he hadn’t known existed—and who deserved it far more than Christi.

8

The help-wanted sign was still in the window.