"Wow, that must have been quite expensive," Grace said, her eyebrows raising slightly as she looked back at the necklace.
I shrugged with a small smile. "Price doesn't really matter."
Grace nodded, a satisfied look on her face. "Well, that's sweet of you, Jack. Come on in, both of you. I've got breakfast ready."
We followed her into the dining area, where the table was already set. There were plates of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and golden toast with butter.
A bowl of fresh fruit—pineapple, oranges, and strawberries—sat in the center, and next to it, a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice and a pot of coffee.
Charlotte's father was already sitting at the table. He was a tall man, maybe in his early fifties, with a bit of a tan, probably from working outside or spending time on the water. His hair was short and graying at the temples, and he had a neatly trimmed beard.
He wore a casual polo shirt and Khaki shorts.