One More Taste by Melissa Cutler

After a while, we stopped minding Clint sneaking away because we always knew where to find him. Right here.”
    Knox’s dad had always professed to hate fishing. Swore he didn’t have the patience for it. Yet another facet of his father that he’d never known.
    The boathouse was little more than a glorified shack situated at the water’s edge. It was large enough to fit a couple of kayaks, along with boating and fishing supplies, but little else. Truth be told, Knox had been considering tearing it down and rebuilding a new one with modern amenities and more weatherproof building materials.
    By the light of her cell phone’s flashlight app, Granny June led the way around to the back of the boathouse, though their progress was halted by the thick brush surrounding the building. “Move those branches, there,” she said, pointing with her cane.
    Knox handed his flashlight to Emily and moved to do Granny June’s bidding. When he saw what the secret was, his ribs squeezed tight and his breath caught, the discovery was so exhilarating.
    On an old, weathered board, beneath the crudely fashioned, burned letters reading Clubhouse were the names Jacob and Clint .
    There was no doubt in Knox’s mind that his dad’s ghost had led him to this property, to this lake, so Knox would find these clues about his dad’s childhood. This wasn’t about secrets, but about discovery. It was about growing even closer to the father he’d lost too soon.
    This time, the emotion fuzzing up his head was love and peace, a renewed closeness to his dad, and an appreciation for his childhood at Briscoe Ranch. His dad hadn’t always been so bitter. He’d been a young man, full of energy and a bounding joy for life. Knox would give anything— anything —to have an hour with his dad again, to ask him about growing up in Dulcet, about fishing on this very lake, but having his spirit guide him here, to this place in this moment with Granny June and her treasure trove of stories, was the next best thing.
    With his finger, he traced the burnt letters of his father’s name. As soon as he could, he’d hire landscapers to clear away the brush from around the boathouse, and he’d hire a contractor to renovate the structure, rather than tearing it down. Knox had never put much value in old buildings and sentimental treasures—his job of renovating businesses practically demanded that he didn’t—but this discovery changed everything. If Knox had had any doubt about his mission in returning to Briscoe Ranch and restoring his father’s legacy, he sure didn’t now.
    What other treasures about his dad’s past did the resort hold? Where else had his dad left his mark for Knox to find?
    By the time Knox roused from his thoughts, he realized that Granny June and Emily had relocated to the dock. They stood arm-in-arm in the moonlight, chatting.
    â€œHow’s the fishing been for you?” Granny June asked when he’d joined them.
    Knox cleared his throat. “I never fished much. Or at all. It’s on my ‘to do’ list, though. As soon as I have the chance to give it a whirl.”
    If either Granny June or Emily thought it odd that his dad hadn’t taught him to fish, then they kept it to themselves. “I’m sure Ty would be happy to teach you,” Granny June said.
    Knox bristled. Ty was the reason Clint had given up fishing, his friends, his life. Knox would no more seek out Ty for advice than he’d ask the Devil. “I think I’ll be fine teaching myself.”
    â€œWell, when you catch one, I’ll cook it up,” Emily said.
    â€œDeal.”
    Granny June tucked her cane on her elbow and rubbed her hands together, her eyes twinkling again. “Have you ever seen the view of Briscoe Ranch from the water at night?”
    â€œNo,” Knox said. “It’s good?”
    She gestured to the rowboat moored to the