After All (Cape Harbor #1)(13)

He opened the magazine to the flagged locations and saw what design ideas she had in mind. He would need to measure the rooms, order the lumber, paint, and new fixtures. “I see someone has spent some time watching HGTV?” He laughed as he continued to flip through the pages of room after room with shiplap covering the walls. The wood was easy to work with, even easier to paint.

“It seems popular.”

“It is. What can you tell me about the renovator?” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to work with someone. In fact, he liked it a bit better than following architecture plans. In his experience, renovators weren’t sticklers for plans and would take suggestions when offered.

“I was thinking some of the rooms could be gray.”

“Gray is very popular.”

“And blue?”

Bowie scribbled her color suggestions down.

“And black?”

His pencil stopped moving across his notepad. He stared at his scribble, trying to comprehend what Carly was saying. She wanted a set of rooms painted black? An accent wall made sense, but full rooms? No, he couldn’t.

When he finally glanced at her, she bore a sheepish grin. “It’s bold, and the inn has always had this rustic feel. I want to liven it up.”

“With black?”

“And I’d like to paint the paneling in the lobby white.”

“White will make the wood beams pop.”

“Or we could paint them,” she suggested with a shrug.

Bowie leaned back in his chair as he recalled the vaulted ceiling in the lobby. Not unheard of, but cumbersome. He would need to bring in scaffolding to paint the ceiling and would need some extra manpower to get it done. Shouldn’t be a problem. Worst-case scenario, he could hire day laborers from the next town over. What he couldn’t put his finger on was why the drastic changes, and why so sudden? Especially after all these years.

He leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I know I haven’t been around for—”

“Fifteen years,” she interrupted somberly. “Time doesn’t matter, Bowie. It’s water under the bridge. Even if you had stopped by, I don’t know if I would’ve welcomed your company. It’s taken years for me to come to terms with the loss of my son, and now I have, I need to move on with my life.”

“And reopening the inn is your idea of moving on? Why not just sell it?”

Carly spread her arms out. “This is my home. It was Austin’s home. It’s where . . .” She paused and seemed deep in thought. “Where would I go?”

“There are a few of those retirement places around. You could play cards all day.”

“And give up my view? I’m not ready.”

Bowie could respect that. Retirement homes weren’t for everyone. He couldn’t blame her, honestly. The view the inn had was spectacular. It was what drew people to stay here. He knew once she announced the inn was open again, the town would flourish with tourism. This was exactly what this sleepy little town needed, and maybe more opportunities would arise for him.

“Tell me about your wife.”

“Um . . .” Her request caught him off guard. He was unprepared to discuss Rachel and truthfully didn’t want to.

“Simone says she’s lovely.”

“Simone? But not you?” He already knew what her answer would be before she said it. Carly hadn’t left the house since Austin’s funeral, and if she had, he hadn’t heard about it. Surely, people would talk. Years ago, he would look for her at the market or pier, hoping she would show up for the annual celebration Austin’s friends held for him, but she never did.

“Do you have children?” she asked, ignoring his question completely.

He would not get the answers he sought. “Rachel and I are going through a divorce, and no, we don’t have any children. I . . .” He paused and scanned his notes; the words were nothing more than a blur. If this had been fifteen years ago or if he had been a man and stayed connected with Carly, he’d have no issues telling her his problems. But this was now—he was embarrassed and didn’t want to talk about life.

He couldn’t take any more awkwardness; it was time to leave. He closed his notebook, placed it back onto his clipboard, and slipped his pencil into the front pocket of his shirt. “I have to go,” he said, pushing away from the table. He showed himself out, slamming the door behind him in frustration.

“So stupid,” he muttered to himself as he stalked toward his truck. He threw his clipboard onto the passenger seat and got a wet, sloppy kiss from Luke spread across his face. He nuzzled his dog, feeling somewhat calmer in his presence.





FIVE

Brooklyn felt so out of place in the grocery store; the trucker hat she was wearing was pulled down as far as possible, and dark sunglasses masked her blue eyes, likely making people assume she had a hangover. As she passed by the other customers, she couldn’t help but stare, trying to figure out if she knew them or whether they recognized her. There was one time in her life when popularity had ruled, where she’d been the “it” girl because of who she’d dated. Everyone had known her, and everyone had wanted to be her friend. The truth was, she was hiding from the people around her and from herself. Ever since she’d woken up this morning in the strange yet familiar carriage house of the Woodses, she’d questioned why she was really here.