One Bossy Offer (2)

“I still can’t believe you quit your nine-to-five at the rate they were paying you to dabble with this place. You know Brock Winthrope’s wife personally. It’s not too late. I’m sure he’d hire you back in a heartbeat if you just talk to them and—”

“Stop.” I cringe at the thought. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m not spending my life trapped behind a desk for ten hours a day. Gram left me the inn because I’m the only one in this family who gets it like she did.”

I hold a breath, my mind stewing with frustration.

You got what you wanted, Dad.

Money. Now why can’t you leave me the hell alone?

After another long silence, he says, “I’m only making you second-guess because I love you, Jenn. I can’t stand to see you making mistakes that are easily preventable.”

“But they’re mine to make, aren’t they?”

“Yes, and you’re still my only daughter. I worry about you, believe it or not.”

Damn him, I smile. “Believe it or not, not everyone needs money piled up in some stocks to be happy.”

“No, but it certainly makes emergencies easier to handle and buys you all the fancy coffee and pastries you could ever want.” He laughs.

He just had to go and mention food, didn’t he?

My stomach rumbles, thinking about those mammoth cinnamon rolls from Sweeter Grind, my favorite shop back in Seattle. I miss it.

“Maybe you’re right, though,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t worry about this.”

I cock my head and stare at the phone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You love that place because it’s sentimental. You’d spend a few weeks there every summer and again at Christmas growing up. It was a change of scenery. Your special escape with Grandma where she’d spoil the living daylights out of you. Jenn, I lived there with your mom under their roof for a few years. In a couple months, you’ll see what I mean. Then you’ll get bored and come home.”

I dig my teeth into my lip, more determined than ever to prove him wrong.

“You should be happy I’m taking care of it. Somebody has to.”

“Well, Lottie should’ve sold and moved to town years ago. God knows we tried to convince her. Especially when she was getting older and less mobile. We were always so worried about her out there, living alone...”

“Miles away from civilization? The horror,” I tease.

He clears his throat.

“Gram loved this place for a reason. Honestly, I think it kept her alive to a ripe old age.”

He goes quiet again.

Yeah, this conversation is a waste of time. My parents have never appreciated the beauty of the ocean without a twinkling city skyline and a thousand conveniences.

They never stopped to admire the vibrant colors of Gram’s roses, the nights talking in her kitchen while savory homemade pasta sauces simmered behind us, or the fresh honey at breakfast from the bees she kept.

And now that she’s gone, they aren’t going to start.

They aren’t going to figure it out any more than they’ll start understanding me.

I’m about to get off the phone when a loud woof! from below grabs my attention. I look down.

Cream stands at attention next to the fence with her huge white head thrown back, barking for all she’s worth.

A black nose pokes out of the dirt on the other side of the fence behind her, and then the jet-black head its attached to.

Inwardly, I groan, even before I see it.

There’s a new trench dug under the fencing—almost in the same spot I filled in a few days ago.

Another reason I can’t let this place go.

Gram’s two beasts are almost two hundred pounds of Doberman Pinscher trouble.

“Coffee! Again? You’re such a pain.” I push away from the railing—and is that another board swaying under my feet?

“What now?” Dad asks sharply.

“Coffee tunneled under the fence again. I’d better go before he takes off on the neighbor’s property.” I hang up while I have a chance.

Coffee and Cream are another good reason to stay and fight.

What Seattle rental would ever let me move in with two hulking Dobermans?

I’ll never land a place with a yard, and I can’t handle the thought of giving these dogs away. I don’t care what Dad thinks.

I run inside the house, toss my phone on the king-sized bed, and start down three flights of stairs to corral Coffee before he’s rocketing around someone else’s acreage like a wild man. Hopefully before Cream follows him out, too.

The dogs are guardians, brats, and huge babies all in one. Trying to shepherd both of them is almost impossible sometimes.

By the time I get to the beach where Coffee is galloping around in the sand with his tongue hanging out, Cream pops out of the hole. She sees me and starts backing away from the fence.

Good.

While Coffee tires himself out with a few more flying laps, I grab his collar and start gently walking him back toward the house. I’ll let them chill in the sunroom—their favorite spot—until I can get that hole filled.

But I barely make it five steps before more loud barking starts.

Coffee bolts out of my grasp.

I whirl around, just in time to see Cream prancing around in circles, happily kicking sand up with her long white legs.