Chapter 6

Whenever Scooter pulled into the lot at Dockside, he had a sense of coming home, of welcome. For a moment, looking at the man sitting in the cab with him, Scooter tried to see the restaurant like a stranger might.

Built in the late 70s, the porch was wide, the windows large and plentiful to catch the ocean breeze. The wrap-around porch was littered with four-top patio tables and a bar. A series of barstools faced the ocean and a hook-toss game was set up at the far end. The sign was old and battered—it had been hand-painted by his dad back in the day, and Jason had touched it up a few times, but no amount of fresh paint could disguise its weather beaten state. The roof was tin and could use repainting; the pale blue weatherproofing was rusting through in patches.