The Inn at Summer Island Read online

  Table of Contents

  Content Warning

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… Written for You

  A Lot Like Love

  The Matchmaker Bride

  Accidentally Family

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Rachel Magee. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  [email protected]

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon and Amy Acosta

  Cover design by Bree Archer

  Cover photography by runna10/Getty Images

  aceshot1 and Lopolo/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64937-202-4

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2021

  At Entangled, we want our readers to be well-informed. If you would like to know if this book contains any elements that might be of concern for you, please check the book’s webpage for details.

  https://entangledpublishing.com/books/the-inn-at-summer-island

  For Kathryn.

  I wouldn’t be here without you.

  Chapter One

  Millie Leclair had arrived.

  Not in the sense that she’d taken life by the horns and was living the dream. Not yet, anyway. But she had made it to her destination, her favorite place in the world, and things were about to change for the better.

  “This is it, Bear. The first glance at our future,” she told her caramel-colored labradoodle buddy, who was already enjoying the coastal breeze with his head sticking out the passenger side window.

  The GPS voice piped up to let her know she still had another six hundred yards to go. Okay, technically she hadn’t quite arrived at her destination yet, but after driving a thousand miles over the last fifteen hours, she was close enough. The fresh scent of tropical vegetation mixed with the briny tang of salt air floated into the car. The familiar smell caused some of her favorite childhood summer memories to flood her mind, and she let out a squee.

  “Can you believe we live on Summer Island? The beach is practically our backyard. How incredible is that?”

  Just to think, six short weeks ago, she’d been sitting in her tiny gray cubicle, wondering if winter was ever going to end in Chicago, when she got the call that she’d inherited her great-aunt’s oceanfront property in the South Carolina Lowcountry. And now here she was, about to pull into her new life as owner and operator of her aunt’s historic bed and breakfast.

  “You’re going to love Seascape, Bear. I suffered through the school year just so I could spend my summers in this magical place. The ocean is breathtaking and the house is…” She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds and pulled up a mental picture of what she considered the happiest place on earth. Palmetto palms, vibrant teal shutters flanking every window, laughter floating alongside the sound of crashing waves. Millie let out a happy sigh as she blinked her eyes open.

  In a word, this place was paradise.

  The target on her GPS inched closer. “Our house is next!”

  From where they were, she couldn’t quite see it yet. A new modern concrete and glass monstrosity was blocking her view, but that was fine. It was like the extravagant wrapping paper around her perfect gift.

  She slowed to a crawl, wanting to savor her first glimpse of her new home. Her dream. Her future.

  Anticipation buzzed through her, making it impossible to sit still. She bounced in her seat, her smile so wide it strained her cheek muscles, as she inched past her new neighbor’s house and—

  The sight hit her like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. All of her air along with a good bit of her exhilaration gushed out, leaving her feeling as flat as a popped balloon.

  “Oh.”

  It was the only word she could get out before she ran out of oxygen.

  In her memory, the beachside beauty she’d called her happy place had been a whole lot more Cinderella’s castle. What stood in front of her looked closer to The Haunted Mansion. She stared at the house in front of her, trying to reconcile what stood there with her dream-fueled expectations.

  Admittedly, it had been longer than intended since she was last here, but it hadn’t been that long, had it?

  Millie winced at the stab of guilt in her chest. Of course, she had an idea of what happened, but she didn’t want to think about that at the moment. If she did, she’d start placing blame. And since that blame would most likely fall square on her shoulders, it would be best to focus her attention on something more positive.

  Hesitantly, she pulled down the long, crumbling drive. Tilting her head to the side, she examined the house again, hoping a different angle would make it look less in disrepair. Even in this sad state, the British West Indies–style house carried a certain elegance and southern flair that the newer homes in the neighborhood didn’t have. Seascape used to be the only house down the road, a bright and welcoming sight.

  Right now, though…

  “I mean, it looks a bit dreary, but it has a solid, um, structure,” she told Bear and prayed it was true.

  She tried again.

  “It’s by the ocean so the sunrises are spectacular. And it has, you know—” Twisting her mouth to the side, she scanned the property for something else to add to the positive column. Although, it might’ve been easier to name the things it didn’t have. Like the peeling paint that could now more accurately be described as the color of dirty sand or the many shutters that were broken and hanging by one corner.

  “Character,” Millie said. “It has tons of character.”

  The labradoodle pulled his head in the window and whined.

  “Come on, I’m trying to be positive.” Millie scratched behind the dog’s ear. “So, it needs a little work.”

  After parking, she got out of the car and walked over to examine the fountain that sat in the middle of the circular driveway. This used to be her favorite feature of the house. It was a cheerful welcome that set the mood for guests coming to stay at her aunt’s inn. Now, the two cherubs sitting back-to-back were covered in a green mildew so thick that Millie wondered if the color was permanent, and all three of the scalloped bowls below them were cracked and chipped. The only indication it would still hold water were the lingering murky puddles pr
obably left over from the last rainstorm.

  To be fair, the estate lawyer who’d contacted her had said the house needed a little work. But this wasn’t a little work. This was—

  Nope. She wasn’t going there. This was her moment. Her new life. She wasn’t going to drag herself down dwelling on the negative.

  Bear hopped out of the open car door and trotted over to her side.

  Millie patted his furry head and stared up at the house. “What do you say we check out the inside?” Maybe it wasn’t as rough as the exterior. After all, this place was operational only a few years ago. How bad could it be?

  Digging the key out of her pocket, she marched across the driveway and up the wide stone steps to the porch. Bear followed and sat at her side.

  Rust and decay had eaten away at the wrought-iron door handles, making it nearly impossible to get the key in the lock. Flecks of oxidized metal fell off as she tried to wiggle it into place. How long had it been since someone had entered this place?

  Her great-aunt had been moved to a nursing home two years ago—maybe three years now?—but Millie assumed someone had been checking the house since then. As Aunt Mildred’s only living relative, maybe she should’ve been the one making sure of it.

  Frustration, and perhaps a tinge of guilt, prompted Millie to give the key one final jab, thrusting it into place. She paused and wiped the sweat beading up on her forehead courtesy of the South Carolina humidity, then she tried to turn the key.

  It didn’t budge.

  “It’s probably a little stiff since it hasn’t been used in a while. It just needs a tug.”

  Bear raised his furry eyebrows and tilted his head to the side. Sometimes she wished her dog had a less expressive face. It would make believing her own lies a bit easier.

  She clutched the handle and gave the door a gentle shake, then tried again. No luck. Getting more aggressive, she pulled the door toward her with a firm tug, but the key still didn’t budge.

  “Ugh!” She planted her fists on her hips and took a step back, squinting through the sun’s glare to stare up at the weathered exterior of her new house.

  Well, no one said starting over was going to be easy. Although, she had hoped any setbacks would wait until day two. She deserved a break.

  All her professional life, she’d worked as hard as she could, yet she was always the one left without a chair when the music stopped. Her love life wasn’t any different. In fact, the residual ache from her most recent heartbreak still lingered in her chest. The one from when she dared to go all in on a workplace romance, thinking what they had was bigger than office politics. She’d thought wrong.

  But all of that was in the past. This was her chance at a fresh start, her opportunity for a life full of adventure and unlimited access because she was the one who got to call the shots.

  Except here she was, on day one, locked out of her own house.

  “We’ll just find another way in,” she announced to Bear. She used both hands to pull the key out of its vise hold and headed down the steps toward the rear of the house. Maybe the key would work in one of the other locks, but she didn’t have to go far before she spotted the break she was looking for.

  The literal break.

  One of the panes in the front window had a softball-sized hole. If she stuck her arm through it, she could unlock the latch and push the window up.

  “Stay there, Bear. I’ll be right back.”

  She grabbed a towel from her car and wrapped it around her arm as she hurried over to the window. It was higher off the ground than she’d originally thought. Luckily, among the items in her car was a small box she’d crammed full of her favorite books.

  “They always say books can take you anywhere.” She jumped over a bush to retrieve it from her trunk.

  When the box was in position under the window, she stepped on it, raised as high up on her toes as she could, and reached in. The angle was awkward, but she nudged the lock with her first two fingers until it gave way, sending the window popping up slightly in response.

  “Got it!” Millie pumped her fists in the air, and Bear, who was still sitting on the porch, wagged his tail in celebration.

  “Stay, Bear. I’m coming for you.”

  Millie put both hands on the windowsill and pushed herself up like she was trying to climb out of a pool with a very tall side. Only, she’d never struggled this hard to push herself out of a pool.

  Her first attempt didn’t work out. So she tried again, this time starting out with a little hop. Her arms shook under the effort while her legs scrambled against the side of the house in an attempt to give her extra traction.

  It wasn’t pretty.

  In fact, she was thankful no one was there to record it.

  But she managed to push herself up far enough to get her stomach on the wooden ledge.

  She paused for a second to catch her breath and stared at the Spanish tile floor inside the house. It was covered with leaves and other debris that must’ve blown in through the hole in the window. She shimmied herself forward and dove in hands first to walk herself inside the house, trying not to think about what else might have used the hole to get in. Hopefully, any critters that had let themselves in had already let themselves out.

  Glancing around, she stood up and dusted herself off. She’d fallen into the dining room, and, unfortunately, the haunted mansion theme continued in the interior. The layer of dust covering the dining room table was so thick she’d have to carve through it, and the once stunning wrought-iron chandelier, which was short most of its bulbs, now hosted enough webs to be considered a spider condominium. All the place was missing was Casper gliding through the wall to greet her.

  Okay. So the inn wasn’t what she remembered, but it was still hers. For the first time ever, she owned something. Maybe it wasn’t much at this exact moment, but it had potential, which was what really mattered. She just had to find it.

  “Coming, big guy,” she called as she walked through the grand foyer to the front door.

  The lock on the front door was still tight on the inside, but she managed to get it to release. Out of breath and sweaty, she wiped her grimy hands on her shorts, then swung the heavy wooden door open.

  “Who’s ready to come inside and take a look at our new home?” she called out in a singsong voice while distracted by the peeling wallpaper. She’d always loved the faint metallic gold pineapples on the soft yellow background. What were the chances she could find the same print to replace it?

  Finally turning her attention to the door, she jumped. Because standing right next to Bear on her front porch was a gorgeous stranger with an amused smirk.

  “Tempting offer, but I’ll take a rain check.” There was a friendly glint in his eyes and the sunlight danced off his neatly cropped dark blond hair. If these were the kind of ghosts hanging out in this haunted mansion, she was totally in.

  “Sorry,” she said, looking around to where he might have come from. And how long had he been there? Surely he hadn’t seen her not-so-graceful attempt at crawling through the window, right? “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “I saw you pull in and wanted to stop by and say hello.”

  “Oh, hi. We just arrived into town.” She motioned at the house behind her. “I inherited Seascape from my great-aunt, Mildred.”

  The stranger nodded. “I heard about her passing. I’m sorry for your loss.” His gentle expression echoed the sympathy in his voice, which touched Millie.

  “Thanks.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Millie by the way. Millie Leclair.”

  He stepped forward and grasped her hand with his firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you, Millie Leclair.” He let go and scratched the dog behind the ears. “And who is this guy?”

  “This is my dog, Bear.” Bear’s tail happily thumped against the ground.

  “I’m Braxton.” His e
yes sparkled in the sunlight. They were the exact same shade as the blue stripes on his pressed button-down shirt. Something about him looked vaguely familiar, and she racked her brain for some idea of how she might have known him. Before she could figure it out, he continued, “I live over there.”

  Millie leaned out the front door to take a look at the house in question. Of course this perfectly put-together, semi-familiar, gorgeous man would live in the modern concrete and glass beauty she’d admired on the way in.

  “Now I’ll know who’s around next time I need to borrow a cup of sugar.”

  His brow furrowed in a sort of questioning look, but he recovered with a polite smile. “Right… Anyway, I wanted to say that we all want to see this property thrive in our neighborhood, so thank you for considering the—”

  “Oh my gosh! You’re that golfer.” She’d recognized the camera-ready smile. “Braxton Channing.”

  Braxton shifted, losing the smile and looking slightly uncomfortable. “Used to be.” He studied the ground for a second, then shook his head as if shaking away a thought. “I used to be a golfer. I’m still Braxton Channing.”

  “Used to be” was a good description. A few years ago, he was the most well-known PGA golfer in the US. Even people like Millie, who didn’t know much about golf, had heard of him. He appeared on the scene at the age of twenty-four and took over, winning everything, and for the next five or so years the name Braxton Channing was synonymous with the PGA.

  Being incredibly attractive probably aided in taking him from a golf superstar to a regular household celebrity. Everyone wanted to know more about the handsome athlete with the charming smile and the funny southern one-liners. Then about two years ago, he left the PGA, his face disappeared from the media, and the world stopped talking about Braxton Channing.

  Except here he was, standing on her front porch, and she had to admit he was even more attractive in person than on the cover of People. A thrill jolted through her. She was living next door to a celebrity. Well, a used-to-be celebrity with some sort of mysterious disappearance from the public eye, but still.

  “It’s nice to meet you, neighbor.” She started to ask him if he’d take a selfie with her but managed to stop herself before the words came out of her mouth. People who lived next door to celebrities probably didn’t ask for pictures or autographs. At least not until they’d had a full conversation first.