This was easy.

Simon couldn't believe how easy and natural it was to just be with Mary. He expected to feel nervous, anxious, or even scared. Afraid he might make a mistake and drive her away. But he didn't feel any of those things. A calm surety stayed with him all morning from the moment he woke up and found her in his bed. That confidence made him brave. So brave, he'd kissed Mary in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

And she'd kissed him back.

"Cash or credit?" The gas station employee, Hank, according to the blue and white name tag pinned to the man's shirt, didn't look up from the screen of the phone in his hand. The tinny sound of a crowd cheering squeaked out of the device, and Hank tossed it on the counter, grunting in disgust.

"How bad is it?"

"Damned pitcher just gave away a home run. Bases loaded."

Simon shook his head in conciliation to the other man's loss. "What's the score?"

"Eight to two. Now."

With a whistle for effect, Simon gave the appropriate response. "That's bad." He preferred hockey to baseball where the score was earned goal by goal, but even he knew this was a decent lead and would be hard to come back from.

"There goes their shot at the finals." Hank ran his fingers through his greying hair.

"Sorry man. That sucks."

"I'm supposed to be there. Had tickets to the game." He shook his head. "Cash or credit?"

"Credit." Simon pulled out his wallet. Clara's business card fell onto the counter, and his thoughts turned to the idea of spending a night at her inn with Mary. Another dinner. Another bed. Another breakfast. A warmth spread through his chest. "Say, can you recommend someplace to eat?"

Hank looked at the clock on the wall. "Bit late but Judy's Place might still be serving her pulled pork on a bun. Best in the county."

"Judy's Place. Sounds perfect. Where can I find it?"

Hank pointed out the window. "Back the way you came, if you came from the interstate. Middle of town. Can't miss the red and white sign."

"Thanks." Simon's pocket vibrated, and he pulled out his phone to see Tim's face filling the screen.

"Boss. When are you coming back?"

Simon's eyes flickered to the large glass window through which he could see Mary as she sat in his truck, her head down. He didn't know what would happen when they returned to the lake house, but he wanted the option to stick around and find out. Not just drop her off. Would Mary invite him in? What would Finn think of seeing him with Mary?

"How bad is it?" Same question he asked Hank.

"Gisele called in sick, we're out of pickles and Rain tried to set himself on fire." Simon opened his mouth in alarm, but Tim cut him off. "Don't worry, he's barely singe. The kitchen's fine. A tad smokey, but fine. It'll be good for the ribs."

"Are you sure he's okay?" Simon handed his credit card over the Hank.

"Promise."

"Okay. Send him over to Stephenson's' Grocery to buy whatever pickles they have and see when the next shipment from Carol's is due. Then call Anabelle. She might be able to pick up a shift. If not, text me and I'll see what I can do."

"Got it."

"Anything else?"

"Um... one more thing." Here it came. Tim was capable of handling all of this without him. Simon knew there had to be another reason for the call. "That guy from the development company was in here again."

Simon rubbed his temple. In the last year, Bridgetown showed up on the radar of the Washington elite as a "quaint" get away steps from the hustle and bustle of Pennsylvania Avenue. Ever since, various entrepreneurs made offers to buy the restaurant as part of a gentrification of the harbour area. Like the other owners of businesses in the small town, Simon refused them all, not interested in selling. This latest company didn't take no for an answer, kept upping their offer. The last was almost ridiculous.

And Tim hated dealing with suits. They made his normally cool and collected restaurant manager agitated and grumpy.

Hank handed Simon back his credit card, and Simon nodded a thank you. "What this time?"

"Not sure. But he didn't come alone. There was a trio this time. I don't like it, boss. They ordered coffee and sat in the corner booth staring at the customers like they might be the lunch special instead of the tuna melt on rye."

"They didn't ask for me?"

"Nope. Just drank their coffee. Slowly."

Simon opened the door and pushed into the fresh air of the late summer day. "Thanks for letting me know. We'll chat when I get back."

"K." And the line went dead.

It wasn't that Simon was overly attached to the Waterfront Café. The restaurant managed to make a profit, more so over the last two years as he shifted suppliers, tinkered with the menu and stemmed the tide of turnover when it came to the staff. He had a solid team now; a reliable clientele, and things were looking good. But he knew the place would never be a moneymaker. He didn't own the restaurant, didn't keep owning the restaurant to make money. He had other properties, other assets to achieve that goal.

He kept the restaurant for one reason. Simon walked toward that reason now. Mary had exited his truck, was leaning against the side, watching a car drive off. No, the only reason he kept the Waterfront was because of its connection to Mary. Before her family sold the lake house, he kept it for the times she would walk through the door and make his heartbeat like a teenager in love. After the Montgomery family sold the lake house, he kept it for the chance she might come back. So she knew were to find him. If she wanted to find him. 

How much of his life was guided by thoughts of, hopes of, desires of Mary? Years. How much time had he actually spent with the woman who domineered his life? If he added up the evenings spent vying for her attention from Tony, stolen moments in the stockroom, his office, the one time in his bed. A month in total maybe? In the last year, since Finn found Emily again, maybe another month? Yesterday and today was the longest stretch of time he'd ever spent with her.

Yet the feeling, this was where he should be, with Mary, reverberated down to his very toes.

Her face lifted, and Simon started to smile at her. Panic licked at the expression hardening her lovely features, turning them to stone. He picked up his pace, never taking his eyes off her. "Is something wrong?"

She pushed herself away from the vehicle, stepped forward, and threw her arms around him. Hands caught her waist as he tried to steady himself against the onslaught of her momentum. The tips of her fingernails bit into the back of his neck as her mouth crashed against his.

Over the last 24 hours, they'd shared many kisses, some fiery and hot, others sweet and tender. This kiss was different. Simon wasn't sure what it was, but it felt... emotional, desperate even. Mary pressed herself against him, as if trying to burrow into his body. He happily obliged, wrapping his arms around her and tipping her backwards slightly to deepen the kiss. She moaned slightly in satisfaction and some of the tension leaked out of her body.

A car honked somewhere, and they came up for air. Like she had in New York, Mary tucked her head into his chest, perhaps in embarrassment. Or did she not want to break contact with him? Simon wasn't sure. He held her tightly while nodding at the impatient driver. The man would have to wait. Simon would stand here like this with Mary all day, if it's what she needed.

She didn't move, just clung to him, arms around his neck. Simon felt her inhale, take deep breaths. Not quite knowing why, he didn't want to let go.

Another car honk. Mary flinched. With a sigh, she pushed away from Simon, avoided his gaze. "We should get going."

"Mary..."

But she was already climbing back into the car.

Food. Like last night, she just needed food. They hadn't eaten in hours. Maybe Mary suffered from bouts of low blood sugar. Could be why she was so cold to him every time they met. Probably not, but something was wrong, and this he had a solution for. There was so much he didn't know about her. But wanted to find out. Yes. She needed to be fed. Then everything would go back to the way it was before. Normal. Or what he hoped was now normal.

Shifting the truck into drive, Simon waved at the impatient motorist behind them and pulled out on to the pavement. "Word on the street is Judy's Place makes a mean pulled pork sandwich. Shall we test the theory?"

Mary curled up in the corner of the passenger seat, head turned toward the window. "We should get back." Her voice was small and wavered a little. "No point in delaying it."