Butter Pecan for Two
By J.W. Garrett
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About this ebook
Lilly Sinclair can’t break free from the cycle of grief after losing her husband three years ago in World War II. Life in Pensacola is comforting, predictable, until a barely conscious stranger with kind brown eyes materializes on her stretch of beach.
When Tucker finds himself in 1946, can scoops of Butter Pecan ice cream from Lilly’s quaint little shop be the spark that opens his eyes to what really matters in life?
J.W. Garrett
J.W. has been writing in one form or another since she was a teenager. She currently lives in Florida with her family, but loves the mountains of Virginia where she was born. Her writings include poetry, short stories, and YA Fantasy. Watch for book two in her YA Fantasy series, Realms of Chaos, which will be out June 2019. When she’s not hanging out with her characters, her favorite activities are reading, running and spending time with family. You can join her mailing list and receive a free short story introduction to her YA Fantasy series by visiting her website at www.jwgarrett.com. J.W. would love to hear from you! Please consider leaving a review at your favorite site, or feel free to drop a note at her website. Thanks for reading!
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Book preview
Butter Pecan for Two - J.W. Garrett
And just like that, the familiar grit of sand beneath his fingers, he breathed in the ocean air, heard the squawk of seagulls, caught the scent of fish and the searing heat of the sun overhead. He turned over, squinted, and shaded his eyes. More barking… Thank goodness. Rudy, where…
His throat felt like sandpaper. He dragged his tongue over his salty lips. A woman appeared in his peripheral vision. But words wouldn’t come.
Cooper, who have you found?
Worry marred the woman’s pretty face, or was it sadness? Edging closer, she blocked out the harsh rays of the afternoon sun and scrutinized him. Her cool hand settled on his forehead. You’re burning up. Cooper, stay with him. I’ll get help.
Her gaze snapped to Tucker’s again. Ah, that’s better.
The tightness in his chest eased a bit. But then the beautiful blonde with eyes the color of the sea batted her long lashes at him and disappeared.
Rudy,
he rasped out, where the hell are we?
With Rudy’s paws clasped over Tucker’s chest, his eyes shut to the steady crash of the waves around him.
Butter Pecan for Two
by
J.W. Garrett
One Scoop or Two Series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Butter Pecan for Two
COPYRIGHT © 2022 by J.W. Garrett
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Edition, 2022
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-4368-6
One Scoop or Two Series
Published in the United States of America
When you find the one, time isn’t an obstacle. It’s the prize. And everything else sheds away.
~Anonymous
Chapter 1
Tucker poured coffee into his to-go mug, reveling in the quiet of the early morning in the home he shared with his parents. His father was no doubt at the office already, his mom, Grace, gone for the day for some charity function related to the D-Day celebration coming up here in Pensacola, FL, in a little less than two weeks. Dad would be expecting Tucker at work soon, which made his alternate activity today all the sweeter.
With a blink he activated the intercranial device in his head, cleared his calendar for the day, and, leaving his hover car parked, walked the short distance to the museum. He should make two miles with no trouble. The air quality in Pensacola wasn’t in the danger zone as of yet, so he estimated about thirty minutes to get there, maybe? Eight thirty a.m. sharp—that’s when the museum opened.
Several weeks ago he had received a personalized invitation to visit the exhibit today. They must have him on some automated list. Attendance was registered, like at any public event, via link with one’s IC device. He’d missed the one last year. Maybe that was why he’d gotten the notification for this year?
Tucker nodded to the museum staff, issued payment through credits stored in his intercranial device, and kept moving. The place would be crowded today with D-Day coming up, and he wanted to take his time and leave by lunchtime before the people came along in droves, their pint-sized versions in tow, screaming and whining their discontent.
Three hours later he shouldered his way through the growing crowd, somber but more ready than ever to have the conversation with his father. After he left the exhibit, the collective courage of the fallen seemed to be behind him. Reading that article dated July 5, 1946, by some journalist, last name Cooper, had stirred Tucker up.
How had he missed it until now? Maybe the piece had been a new addition? The newsprint had been torn in places and pieced back together, missing most notably the full byline. He would research the reporter’s name tonight and read more of the journalist’s work. He nodded his satisfaction. Tonight would be the first of many when he would be guided by gut instinct while he mapped out his own plan for his life. As he strode from the museum, his mouth inched up, his steps lighter. His future belonged to him again.
Most days he felt like his father, Timothy Jennings, had lost his aim. Not only that but had forgotten that Great-Great-Grandfather’s inspiration got the company, Jennings Marketing Creative, off and running. And the man had been a reporter after making it back home from WWII. He’d seen the opportunity driven from the growing consumer demand, anticipated the rise in the economy intuitively because he dug in and reported on it, then had ridden that wave, letting it shape and impact his future.
Joseph Jennings had snatched that ticket, and we’re all here and thriving because he did. Don’t know that he’d be particularly happy with the way things had turned out here in 2050.
The man had gotten to know people. Learned that from pounding the streets for his next story. Worked his way up to managing the newspaper’s city desk in Atlanta, GA. Then, in 1958, he had founded the company, hired a good management team so he could focus on the creative part of the business. Become a visionary… He’d known what made people tick, and that’s the secret sauce to marketing.
Tucker’s father didn’t have a creative bone in his body. He was no better than the automatons that did a shit ton of the manual labor at the firm. Tucker wouldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. Tucker’s degrees in finance and marketing, with a minor in journalism, would be put to good use elsewhere. I need to bust outta this place. To finally get out from under my father’s control.
Here’s to new beginnings…
A familiar, insistent bark instantly snagged his attention. Rudy, where have you been, boy?
The golden retriever leaped to Tucker’s chest in greeting, his tail thumping out an enthusiastic rhythm on the pavement.
What has it been this time? Two weeks?
Tucker eyed the six-year-old family pet. You look thinner. How about you stay home for a while, huh?
Rudy pulled from Tucker’s grip, planted his paws, and barked, turning his head toward the nearby park.
Okay. I’m coming. Lead the way.
He struggled to keep up while Rudy ran through the familiar setting, picturesque gardens, children playing, adults too busy to notice life around them, conversing through their IC devices. But farther back among the unkempt trees and vegetation lining the property, Tucker stopped to catch his breath. He didn’t remember ever being here. He tossed a tentative glance over his shoulder toward the activity of the museum, then wheeled toward Rudy and the unexplored knot of trees ahead.
Rudy angled his head as if studying him.
What, buddy? You got a family back here somewhere? Show me.
He barked several times in quick succession, then scampered off again.
Okay, you’re in charge. Here I come.
The two broke into a clearing. How is it that I’ve never been here before? Where is she? Have you got pups?
Rudy growled low and stepped forward slowly as if he were anxious. The wind hummed an odd sound. Strange… Something did feel off. Tucker’s veins buzzed with…simmering power.
Come here, Rudy. Enough.
Could be the beginning of some weird supercell forming.
The air took on a murky quality, shimmering, fading in and out of focus. An aperture opened up. The air left his lungs as Tucker met Rudy’s gaze for a split second right before his dog jumped into the disturbance. What the hell? He blinked, willing the scene in front of him to make some kind of sense. The odd field snapped and crackled, expanding and contracting with the influx of energy. Seconds ticked by, his heartbeat pounding in his