The Inn at Summer Island Read online

  “I’d invite you in but we’ve just arrived, and…” She glanced over her shoulder at the footprints she’d left in the layer of dirt on the floor. The stale mildew odor from the house drifted past her nose and she hoped it was from the house being closed up for so long and not because there was some sort of leak causing actual mildew somewhere.

  “She’s a bit of a mess right now, but the plan is to restore her to her former glory,” she said, adding mildew check to the ever-growing fix-it list. “I guess we won’t be taking guests yet, but before the summer is over, she’ll be the thriving inn she once was.”

  “Inn?”

  Millie turned to him. “Yeah. I’ll probably run it more like a bed and breakfast than an inn. My aunt never really liked the B&B title because she—”

  “You’re not selling?” Braxton cut her off, his eyebrows knitted together.

  “Selling?” The question caught her off guard. “Of course I’m not selling Seascape. Why would I want to sell something that’s been in my family for generations?”

  “You live in Chicago, so I guess we all assumed…” He let his voice trail off.

  “I used to live in Chicago.” She tried to sound patient, but why was she having to explain herself to this man? “Now I live here at 121 East Shore Drive where I’ll be running Seascape Inn.” She didn’t want to be rude to her new neighbor on her first day in the neighborhood, but she couldn’t help the hint of bite behind the words.

  “Huh,” Braxton said as he looked past her, his eyes sweeping across the front of the house. “You realize you can’t turn this property into any sort of hotel, right? Using it for commercial business is against Oceanside Estates HOA regulations.”

  Her new neighbor might have once been known as America’s most charming bachelor, but he was starting to get on her nerves. “I’m not turning it into a hotel. It is a hotel. Since it was built in the fifties, Seascape Inn has been a commercial business. This isn’t something new.”

  “Perhaps in the past. But it’s been vacant for a while.” His gaze returned to her, no longer sparkling and friendly. “I can tell you with good authority that the current HOA rules are very clear. No businesses. Especially hotels.”

  “How can you make a rule prohibiting something that is already here?” She’d quit her whole life in Chicago and moved here to start over, to have the sort of life she dreamed about as a kid when she spent her summers here with her aunt. Reviving Seascape and running the inn wasn’t just going to be her livelihood, it was a chance to keep her family’s legacy alive.

  Sensing her growing frustration, Bear abandoned his spot next to their new neighbor and sat next to Millie, his ears perked and on full alert.

  Braxton offered another polite smile. She was growing to hate them. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the rules were designed to benefit everyone in the community.”

  Millie crossed her arms in front of her chest, defiance swelling inside her. “Well, I’m part of the community now, and I’m meeting with my lawyer later today. We’ll see what he has to say about this.”

  It sounded a bit like “I’m telling my mom on you,” but it was the best she could come up with after all the surprises she’d dealt with today.

  “I always find a lawyer’s opinion helpful.” There was a bit of snark in his voice that only made the fire in her belly burn brighter. “And if you need any further clarification or want to file a complaint, you’re always welcome to attend one of the HOA general meetings.”

  Braxton backed down the steps to where his slick new sports car sat on the crumbling and cracked driveway. He had gone from handsome celebrity to uptight know-it-all faster than that car went from zero to sixty.

  “Great,” Millie called out after him. “I’ll be there.”

  He hesitated as he opened the door. “Then I’ll see you there.” He offered her one of his Braxton Channing famous grins, just as empty as his polite smiles. “And since you’re moving in, I guess I should say welcome to the neighborhood.” He slid into the driver’s seat and the engine purred to life.

  She stood there with her arms crossed in front of her chest and glared until his car drove through the rusted gate and turned onto the street.

  “I’m glad we didn’t ask him for a picture,” she said to Bear. “It would’ve ruined our Instagram feed. And if I need a cup of sugar, I am not going to ask him for it.”

  Bear’s tail wagged in what she assumed was agreement.

  Millie drew in a deep breath and turned to stare at the dank and dusty inside of the house. “So it’s not what we were expecting,” she said again, scratching Bear behind the ears. But, honestly, when had anything in her life gone as expected? She was tired of sitting idly by and watching her dreams turn to dust because someone else told her she didn’t deserve it. No. Not this time.

  “This is our new life and nothing’s going to stand in our way of making it great.” Not a crumbling house in disrepair, not some stupid HOA rule, and certainly not some self-righteous former celebrity.

  Chapter Two

  Braxton pulled into the parking lot of Summer Island Memory Care Home for his daily chess game with his friend, still caught up on the conversation with the new owner of the property next door. That meet-and-greet hadn’t gone at all like he’d planned. He hefted the giant flower arrangement out of the front seat and headed across the small parking lot, replaying the encounter in his mind. For starters, he hadn’t expected the inheritor of the estate to be so young. Or so pretty.

  But that surprise quickly gave way to the fact that she was moving into the property. He supposed he could appreciate wanting to renovate the place. The old beach house had a sort of vintage charm that could be beautiful once again with several coats of paint and lots of landscaping. But turning it into an inn?

  The rules were clear. No commercial lots. Millie Leclair was in for a rude awakening if she came to debate the issue at the next HOA meeting. And he had no doubt she would be there, all feisty determination with passion burning in her beautiful caramel eyes.

  Braxton shook his head at the image and pressed the buzzer with his elbow, moving the huge flower arrangement out of the way so the security camera could see his face.

  “Hello, Mr. Channing. Come on in.” The peppy voice came through the small speaker and the sound of an electric lock being disengaged hummed next to him. He shifted the flowers and pulled the door open enough to get his foot in so he could push it open the rest of the way. Veronica, the director of the facility, held the inner door open for him.

  “Hello, Braxton. Mr. Henry is waiting for you. He’s set up and reset that chessboard three times already.” She took the flowers from him in her gentle brown hands.

  “I’m running behind today.”

  “No worries. You’re here now. And look, you used pink lilies this week. Aren’t they lovely?” She took a big whiff. “They smell so good. Your flower arrangements always make our foyer so cheerful.” Her dark sable eyes glittered and she gave him a wide smile before she shuffled off.

  Braxton wiped the pollen off the front of his shirt and walked over to the table under the window where eighty-two-year-old Henry Donovan sat staring at a chessboard.

  “Hey, Henry. How’s it going today?” Braxton asked as he slid into the empty seat in front of the black pieces.

  “You’re late,” the old man said grumpily.

  Braxton moved his pawn to c5. “I know. I’m sorry. I had an errand to run before I came.” The more Henry’s Alzheimer’s disease progressed, the more the man got agitated if things deviated from his normal schedule. Braxton knew this. But this morning, he hadn’t wanted to miss his chance to personally thank the new owner for considering his client’s offer to buy the abandoned property. He figured the effort would be worth the cost.

  He’d figured wrong.

  “I had to meet my new neighbor. Do you remember th
e estate next to me? Seascape?” He moved his rook in response to Henry’s last move.

  “Mildred Leclair owns Seascape.” Henry studied the board before moving his knight.

  Braxton nodded. “She did. But she died a couple months ago. I told you about that. One of her relatives inherited it. Her niece.” He left off the fact that Mildred’s relative was younger than he’d expected. And prettier.

  Braxton moved his next piece.

  Henry grunted. “Predictable move. You play chess like you play golf, only taking the safe shots.”

  Henry was the only person in Summer Island who dared to talk to him about golf anymore. Braxton wasn’t sure if it was because his disease had caused him to forget it was an off-limits topic, or because he’d been Braxton’s coach since he was a freshman in college and didn’t think those rules applied to him.

  Braxton preferred to think it was the latter.

  “Sometimes safe moves win games.”

  “Only if the other guy makes a mistake, which I don’t.” Henry moved his rook and took Braxton’s knight. His memory might be hindered, but he still had great game strategy.

  “Mildred’s sister. Is she going to take over running the inn?” Henry asked.

  It took a second for Braxton to register the topic change.

  At some point, probably when he first bought his house five years ago, someone had told him the rundown place next door had been some sort of famous inn back in the day, but it must’ve been way back in the day. Since he’d known it, there’d never been any paying guests that he’d been aware of, and the property was in desperate need of repairs. The situation only got worse when the elderly lady who lived there moved into a care facility some years back.

  When Braxton first approached the estate’s attorney about his real estate client’s offer to buy the property from the new owner, the lawyer had reported the inheritor lived in another state and hadn’t visited Seascape in at least a dozen years. Meaning there was a better than decent chance she’d be willing to sell, especially with the extremely generous offer being put forth. So when he saw her arrive this morning, he assumed she was here to settle the affairs and leave.

  Imagine his surprise in learning that she wasn’t only sticking around, but she wanted to reopen the inn.

  Braxton held back a scoff. It just wasn’t doable for a whole lot of reasons.

  “Not her sister,” he corrected. “It’s her niece. Her great-niece, actually. But the neighborhood rules won’t allow for it to be an inn anymore.”

  Henry stopped studying the game board and looked at Braxton, shock distorting his face. “Not be an inn? That’s the most beautiful place to stay in town. In fact, if it wasn’t for Mildred’s inn, this town wouldn’t even be a town.”

  It was often futile and upsetting to disagree with the old man, so he just nodded. “That nice, huh?”

  “I could tell you some stories, but you’d have to be older. They aren’t all PG-rated.”

  Braxton laughed. “Those I would like to hear.”

  “And that woman, oh, how she could bake. Sweetest treats I’ve ever put in my mouth.” Henry closed his eyes and licked his lips as if he could taste the memories. After a second, he opened his eyes and made his next move. “Does she bake?”

  “The new owner? I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” Braxton wasn’t interested in making new friends, whether or not his new neighbor caused a slight tingling somewhere deep inside his chest. After two years of being dead inside, the feeling was…unsettling. He pushed the thought of her out of his mind. “Are we here to chat about pastries or to play chess?”

  Henry let out a heavy breath. “I thought we were here to play chess but you’ve gone and gotten yourself distracted by Mildred’s beautiful sister.”

  “It’s her beautiful niece.” Braxton caught his slip almost as soon as he said it, but he didn’t bother to correct it. It would only make him look like he was trying too hard to cover up something that wasn’t there.

  Henry raised a knowing eyebrow, the way he’d always done when he knew Braxton was lying to him, and moved his king in front of Braxton’s queen. “Checkmate.” He shrugged and settled back in his seat. “At least one of us still has our wits about us.”

  Braxton grinned. “Well played, old man.”

  In the past two years, Alzheimer’s disease had ruthlessly overtaken what many would argue to be one of the most strategic sports minds of their time. These days, Henry often couldn’t remember how to perform normal day-to-day tasks. He was starting to not recognize people and his short-term memory was almost nonexistent. It was heartbreaking to watch, but even in the midst of the struggle, his mentor still had a sense of humor about it.

  “Best of three?” Braxton asked, starting to reset the board.

  “Sure.” Henry waved over one of the nurse’s aides. “Since I won’t remember who won this game, you gotta keep my friend honest. I’m up one to nothing.”

  The nurse’s aide pulled up a chair next to their table. “I always love watching you play chess, Mr. Donovan, but since I’ve been here, I’ve never seen you lose a tournament to anyone.”

  Henry made his first move. “And it’s not going to start today because Romeo here has gone and gotten himself distracted by the looker who moved in next door.”

  The nurse’s aide eyed him.

  Braxton shook his head and chuckled. “Just play your game, old man.”

  …

  The bell on the door jingled as Millie walked into Daybreak Café the next morning. The charming coffee shop and bakery with its whitewashed shiplap walls and pink flowers in the middle of each table looked like something out of a picture book.

  Delicious-looking treats sat upon vintage tiffany blue or white cake stands inside a glass display case, and shelves on the wall held neatly stacked, oversize white coffee cups and saucers. It was the kind of place that made everyone feel warm and welcome the second they walked through the door.

  After yesterday’s less than pleasant surprises, this little shop was an unexpected delight. Millie stood in the doorway and breathed in the sweet coffee and cinnamon scented air and let a glimmer of hope shimmy through her.

  She chose a table in the back and dumped her laptop along with the stack of file folders she brought with her for the meeting with her lawyer on it. She had questions for him. A lot of questions. But first, she wanted a treat.

  Millie strolled up to the counter and read the menu written in scripty white print on a black chalkboard. Normally, she’d order a black drip with a little room for cream. Someone had told her at some point that it was a sensible and efficient choice. But that was her old life, the one where she was always racing around and never getting anywhere.

  This was her new life, and now she called the shots. Of course, she ate dry cereal for dinner and slept on a sleeping bag surrounded by candles because her new house didn’t have electricity or a bed with clean sheets. But still, it was her house, her decisions, her chance to build something for herself.

  No, she didn’t drink boring drip coffee with a splash of fat-free milk anymore. This new adventure called for something decadent, something that needed to be sipped and savored and enjoyed.

  A lady with a warm smile who appeared to be in her mid-sixties walked out from the back and wiped her hands on the front of her crisp white apron. “Good morning, dear. Welcome to Daybreak.” She paused for a second and studied Millie before her entire body seemed to brighten. “Oh my! You’re Mildred’s niece. I’ve been wondering when you’d come to town.” The older woman scurried around the counter and wrapped her arms around Millie.

  The embrace caught Millie by surprise. People didn’t hug like this in Chicago. And on the rare occasion they did, it was only among close friends or family. This lady, as far as Millie knew, was neither.

  “Look at you, all grown up and just as beautiful as can be. You look
like your aunt, you know.” The hugger beamed at her.

  Millie forced a smile. “Do I?”

  “Oh, look at me going on and on and you probably have no idea who I am. I’m Bonnie Whitworth. My very first job was helping in the kitchen at Seascape Inn. In fact, I have your aunt to thank for my business today. She was the one who taught me how to bake.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Bonnie.” So this warm, overly familiar community might take some time to get used to, but she liked it already.

  “But enough about me. You came in here looking for some coffee, not to hear about my baking background.” Bonnie went around the counter. “Now, dear, what can I make for you?”

  Millie studied the menu again. “I’m still trying to decide.”

  “If you’re in the mood for something sweet, you should try our mocha,” Bonnie suggested. “Sophia, our resident chocolatier and owner of Sea Salt & Chocolate right down the road, makes our chocolate syrup. I don’t know what she puts in it, but it’s heavenly.”

  Millie nodded. “Sounds wonderful. And how about a croissant to go with it?”

  “A perfect breakfast pair if you ask me.” She packed the press with espresso and twisted it into place.

  “It’s nice to meet someone who remembers my aunt so fondly,” Millie said.

  “You’d be hard-pressed to swing a stick in this town without hitting someone who loved your aunt. She was a pillar of our community and will be greatly missed.” Bonnie paused while the hiss of the steamer filled the air.

  “And you’re planning on sticking around, I hope? The rumor is she left you Seascape.” Bonnie slid the coffee across the counter before she picked up a pair of tongs to grab a croissant.

  At the same moment, the bell above the door jingled again, and the white-haired lawyer she’d only talked to via video chat walked into the café.