Harbor Lights

The salt air hit Sophie before she even opened the car door.

Five years. She'd been gone five years, and the smell of the ocean hadn't changed one bit. Neither had the weathered sign hanging above her family's restaurant: The Anchor, est. 1952.

What had changed was the condition of the place. Peeling paint, broken shutters, and—she squinted—was that a hole in the roof?

"Well," she muttered to herself, pulling her suitcase from the trunk, "this will be harder than I thought."