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Sully arched a brow, his frustration clear. “You think it’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Maybe. If I can’t fight the perception that this place is haunted—if I can’t change people’s minds about the murders, or the bones they found on the grounds—maybe I have to embrace it. To turn it into something beneficial.”

“Beneficial?” Sully repeated incredulously. “You think letting a bunch of ghost hunters stomp through here is going to save this place? You think that’s the legacy it deserves?”

Amy’s jaw tightened. “It would be my decision.”

Sully stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “So they pay you just for the honor? The ghost hunters?”

Amy didn’t answer. She turned back to the plans spread across the table, tracing one line with her finger. The silence between them was louder than the storm had been.

Sully let out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Amy let a few beats of silence stretch in which she breathed through her defensiveness. Then, with a softened voice, she asked, “Do you really think the crew won’t come back if I sign with Dead Reckoning?”

“I don’t know,” Sully admitted. “I’ll try. But after what happened with Garrett…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “The crew was committed to the entire project. This is the biggest job we have, and the only job on the island. Otherwise, they’d have to travel to the mainland. That or become a handyman to the summer visitors, but there are already plenty of them.”

Amy frowned, surprised by the worry in his voice. “How long will this set us back?”

“I don’t know yet; I was working that out,” Sully said gruffly. “With the crew I have left and myself working extra… we will have delays. But if we make some concessions, maybe leave some work for after the opening, we can still stay mostly on schedule.”

Amy nodded slowly. It wasn’t ideal. Her gaze fell to the plans on the table, and she stepped closer to look at them. Standing side by side in heavy silence, they both leaned over the table.

She felt the heat of him beside her in the cool room.

Her bracelets clinked softly as she adjusted the edge of a blueprint, and Sully frowned. “Those things are distracting,” he muttered.

Amy blinked, glancing at him. “What things?”

“Your bracelets.” He gestured vaguely. “They’re noisy.”

Amy smirked faintly. “They bother you?”

“Yeah,” Sully grunted. “I’m trying to focus.”

She almost laughed, but the moment was cut short as one of the rolled-up plans slipped off the table, landing on the floor between them. Instinctively, they both bent down to grab it.

His large, rough hand closed over hers as she picked up the rolled paper.

Amy froze. The touch was brief but electric, a jolt that shot straight through her. Her breath caught as she looked up, finding Sully’s face inches from hers.

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow. The inches between them were charged with electricity. Sully’s gaze dropped to her lips, and her heart skipped. She felt the pull, undeniable and dangerous.

But then she stood quickly, breaking the moment.

Sully straightened, too, his expression unreadable. He said nothing, and Amy didn’t wait for him to. She turned and walked out of the room.

She felt his eyes following her as she left the room, but she didn’t look back. Her footsteps echoed down the hall all the way back to her office.

The last thing she needed was to add that to the chaos of her life.

Amy sat cross-legged in the old library, staring at the email on her laptop. Words blurred as her eyes moved over them for what must have been the tenth time, but they hadn’t changed. The ghost hunters’ proposal was clear: five episodes, filmed over several weeks. The payment they were offering was more than fair. Generous, even. Thirty thousand dollars, together with the town funds, would be, enough to cover the next phase of renovations, the property taxes, and more importantly keep the project afloat.

Her fingers hovered over her mouse as she scrolled back up to the top of the email. Dead Reckoning: Filming Proposal for Widow’s Point Island Mansion. She winced a little at the bold, dramatic header. Just seeing the mansion referred to in such sensational terms made her stomach twist. What would the hard-headed historical society think? What would Truman Costigan think if he knew she was even considering this? When he’d left her the mansion, it had been because he believed in her vision, her ability to transform the empty, dark, crumbling old house into something light and healing.

A sanctuary.

Amy pushed her chair back and stood, pacing the small room with restless energy. She glanced at her cluttered desk, where her scattered ideas and drawings of the retreat lay. They depicted yoga studios, meditation rooms, and cozy guest suites filled with natural light. She had even envisioned a small café that served farm-to-table meals. It was perfect. Or at least it had been in her mind.