Chapter 7: The Unexpected Stranger
In late spring, when the wild lupines were blooming in purple and blue spikes along the roadside, an old, faded green pickup truck pulled up to the cottage driveway.
The truck carried a load of seasoned cedar fence posts and a wooden skiff in need of repair.
Stepping out of the truck was David Miller—a thirty-four-year-old local boatbuilder and former Coast Guard rescue specialist who operated a small, traditional wooden boat restoration shop down at the harbor.
David took off his canvas work cap, his blue eyes kind, open, and respectful.
""Afternoon, ma'am,"" David said, his Maine cadence slow and unhurried. ""Hannah mentioned down at the post office that your north seawall took some damage during the spring high tides. I brought some split-cedar cribbing to shore it up before the summer squalls.""
Clara stood on the porch, holding six-month-old Evelyn on her hip.
She felt no fear, no instinctive need to guard herself. In David’s quiet, grounded demeanor, she saw the same unshakeable honesty that her father had carried.
""Thank you, Mr. Miller,"" Clara smiled. ""The kettle is on the stove. Would you like some tea before you start?""
May you like
David looked up at her, a warm, genuine smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. ""Black with a drop of honey, if you have it, ma'am. Thank you.""
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