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Once she’s nestled against me again, she sighs hard enough to rattle her frame. “Miles, if anything happens to you—”
“It won’t. I told you, I’m all right. It’s under control. There has to be another way to push back at her for this shit, and I’ll find it.”
For a moment, she’s quiet.
Then she says, “Are we all right?”
My jaw tightens.
If she has to ask, I wonder if we are.
“Yeah. Is there a reason you don’t think we are?”
“...it just feels like you’re comfortable discussing whatever it is with Louise, but not me.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve told you what’s going on. Louise just reports what Legal says, and they say it’ll take more effort to shred her.” I pick up her hand and rub my thumb over the top. “We’re fine.”
“And you’ve told me everything about Niehaus?”
“Yeah.”
“So you were just old friends who discussed a business merger until one day you weren’t?”
I stare at her, hating the doubt in her eyes. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“Not necessarily, but... this whole thing seems a little too intense, if it was all business. It feels personal.”
A low bitter laugh burns my throat. “Welcome to Corporate America, where we jagoff CEOs care so much about business and the almighty dollar that there’s no distinction with our personal lives.”
If only that was the truth.
If only Jenn wasn’t too close to my waking nightmare.
If only every smile didn’t feel like a cut to my face the rest of the night, where I pretend to forget about Niehaus and convince Jennifer there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.
A few days later, Jenn sets three plates on the table in front of me. “Try these.”
I look up from a pile of breakfast food.
“Since you’re in the scone game, I need your input,” she explains. “First up, my grandma’s orange zest scone recipe—”
My nostrils flare as I inhale citrus heaven. “I can already tell you that’s a winner. Your grandma made the best scones.”
She laughs. “I’m not worried about the recipe. It’s more the execution—my execution. There’s also a homemade cinnamon roll and a strawberry French toast.”
I pick up the scone and take a bite. “Tastes awesome. It’s just missing Lottie’s honey butter.” Using a fork, I cut a piece of the cinnamon roll off. “Why are we doing this again?”
“I’m trying out breakfast recipes for the grand reopening. Ace said the painting should be finished today.”
“How often do you talk to that guy?” I growl between bites.
“Um, often enough to know what’s going on with my own inn? Don’t worry, if he ever makes another pass, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Woman, if he so much as sniffs you...” I don’t finish that sentence.
I just stuff the rest of the scone in my mouth and make a show of chewing like the jealous wolf I am.
“God, you’re ridiculous.” She slaps her thighs, but she laughs brightly. “Take your time with the roll.”
I take a bite of the cinnamon roll next after rinsing my mouth with water.
“Decent. It’s not quite Sweeter Grind Regis roll tier, but it’s not bad at all. Nice and sticky.” I finish devouring the spread, saving the French toast for last. “Yep. You’re Lottie’s granddaughter. No question.”
“What was your favorite?” She beams.
“The scone. You did her old cookbook justice and the flavor pops with coffee. Bet they’d pair well with anything. Your guests will leap out of bed if their morning starts with those.”
She gives me a kiss of gratitude as I refill my coffee, then head to my office.
A few hours later, I’m working on reports, not so patiently waiting for more on Simone when Jenn blows through the door. “It’s ready!”
“What?” I look up.
“The painting’s done. Ace just texted. Let’s go look.”
I need to finish this expense report, but the place is next door, and she’s so giddy I can’t stand to tell her no. “Coming.”
The dogs follow us over, bounding along behind us, always thrilled to be back on their home stomping grounds.
“Damn,” I whisper, taking her hand as we stop in front of the old building.
I’ve never seen Bee Harbor look so good. The fresh burst of colorful paint really livened the place up, giving it some soul. “Do you think this is what it originally looked like?”
I know she tried to stick with the original colors she found sifting through her grandmother’s things.
“I think so. I’ve seen the old photos, but they were black and white. The building is ready, though, but I’ll need to find some help if I’m going to open this year. If I can find a few good people, I could be open in time for the Christmas stragglers.”
Paul Bunyan steps out from behind the inn, carrying empty paint buckets he tosses in the back of his truck. “It came out looking pretty good, don’t you think? All set except for a little touch-up.”
