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Chapter 1
Jasmine
Jasmine pulled the sheet over the two fluffy pillows, smoothing out the wrinkles before reaching for the soft, pink comforter. A paper card fell off the nightstand. Picking it up, she smiled. Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy! The script no doubt belonged to one of her sisters-in-law, but the shakily scribbled Z’s all over the card were from her favorite person in the world. Zoey had drawn two smiling faces: one for Jasmine and one for herself. Jasmine set the card back on the nightstand before running her hand over the bedspread once more. Never in a million years would she have imagined having such a feminine color in her space. Motherhood had changed more than just her body.
After tucking the edge of the comforter under the pillow, she moved across the small room she shared with her three-year-old daughter. She pulled open the old and worn dresser, wiggling it side to side at the same time so it wouldn’t stick. Like everything in her life, it had been used almost beyond its limit. She placed Zoey’s carefully folded clothes inside before wriggling it closed again. She scanned the room, catching the few dolls scattered across the floor. Jasmine bent and picked them up, opening the wooden dollhouse that Mikel, her brother, had made especially for Zoey. He’d painted it bright pink at her request. Jasmine bit back her smile. Only she would end up with such a girly girl for a daughter and be terrified.
She sighed, tracing the edge of the doll’s expression. The two smiling faces on Zoey’s Mother’s Day card flashed in her mind. Her chest tightened. Would Zoey have had a better life if I’d let someone adopt her? Would she have two parents who loved her, rather than just me? I can barely keep a roof over her head and used clothes on her quickly growing body.
Maybe it had been selfish to keep Zoey, but the moment she’d seen that little heart beating on the ultrasound, she’d known: she’d never be able to give her up. But will I be good enough? Will I be able to protect her? Will she resent me when she knows what I’ve done? Who I was? Life would be so much easier if Jasmine was someone else with a different past.
The walls seemed to be closing in. Her ribs squeezed and the backs of her eyes burned. She gently placed the doll inside the wooden house and straightened. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. I just need to keep doing better. For Zoey. Her phone chirped, jarring her out of her thoughts. She had one guest checking in today, and that was what she should have been focusing on. She needed guests to keep her inn—her livelihood—afloat.
She wiped her hands on her ripped jean shorts that had seen better days and opened her door. As she walked down the stairs to the desk, a tall figure caught her eye. His back was to her, all attention focused on the painting of the crashing ocean waves on the wall.
“Good morning. You must be Mr. Remington.”
A low chuckle sent a shiver through her. “My father is Mr. Remington. I’m just Atlas.”
She smiled politely as her eyes darted to his face, and she froze. Time stopped. The air evaporated as terror gripped her heart and squeezed it like a vise. His tall frame filled out an expensive-looking suit. His black hair was long at the top and flecked with grey at the shorter sides. Dark scruff peppered his perfectly chiseled jaw. She shivered, remembering the way it had felt brushing across her shoulder. And those eyes. Grey and bright. She only knew one other person with the same cloudy orbs. Zoey.
He’d changed some in the last four years since she’d seen him. Not that she’d had much time to really look at him before she’d nodded towards the dingy bathroom in the bar where he’d followed her and bent her over the sink. Flames of embarrassment lapped at her skin. She’d been looking for an escape that night, and the stranger had been more than willing to help.
Atlas.Atlas Remington. She finally had a name for Zoey’s biological father.
“What are you doing here?” She gasped. Was he here to take Zoey from her? Had he known all this time? No. That wasn’t possible. No one knew what had happened in that bathroom except them.
His eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, checking in. I should have a reservation for two weeks.”
Did he not recognize her? Was it possible? He’d smelled strongly of whiskey that night. Maybe he had no idea who she was.
“Right. Sorry. We don’t know each other, do we?” She held her breath.
“I think I’d remember if we did.” He smiled. Was he flirting with her?
“What are you in town for?” she asked carefully, finding his paperwork.
He looked around the room at the high, white patched ceiling and then over to the paint-chipped furniture, rather than at her before he answered. “Just needed a little vacation.”
“And you chose my inn? Was it my two Yelp reviews that convinced you?” She couldn’t hold back her smile.
He chuckled again. Those grey eyes flashing as they focused on her. “I like the location and wanted to see it for myself. The pictures didn’t do it justice though.”
Her eyes flicked down momentarily. “Well, someday I’ll hire a professional photographer.”
“Oh, no. The pictures were great. I just meant it’s even better in person.” He smiled, showing off his perfect, white teeth. Good God. Was he a toothpaste model?
“Do you need my credit card?” he asked.
Shit. She’d been staring. “Uh, no. It’s all on file. Just sign here.“ She pointed to the space on the form ready and waiting on the counter. “You have the Lighthouse suite like you requested. There are extra towels in the closet in the bathroom. I’ll come in to clean every three days unless you need it done sooner—just let me know.”
He nodded and scribbled his signature on the paper. Jasmine held out the lone key ring with a lighthouse chain and his receipt. “I’ll charge the card you provided when booking with any incidentals. Your room is just up the stairs to the left.” Across from mine. “There’s a sign on the door. The silver key works for the front door, and the brass key is for your room. Did you need more than one set, or will it just be you staying with us?”
“Just me. The one is fine.” He took it from her and reached to grab a duffel bag she hadn’t noticed in the shock of seeing her baby daddy from a one-night stand—if you could even call it that. Were ten-minute stands a thing?
“Enjoy your stay. I leave my number at the desk here.” She pointed to the folded card stock sign right next to the one stating No cash kept on premises. “And it’s also on the copy of your receipt. Just text me if you need anything and I’m not at the front desk.”
“You run the inn by yourself?”
