One Bossy Offer (55)

I smile, seriously grateful the dogs haven’t destroyed anything yet. I also think they’re growing on him.

“Thanks.” But it feels so high school.

I moved out of here my freshman year and I haven’t been back under their roof for more than a summer since.

Breathe. It’s just a few weeks.

Mom returns with a giant chocolate pancake and a bowl of whipped cream to slather on top, placing them in the center of the table. “What did I miss?”

“I was just saying it’s nice having Jennifer back.”

“Oh, yes.” She cuts the cake and starts serving it up. “I just wish you’d stayed more local, dear. We could do this more often.”

Dad looks at Mom. “She can move back in anytime. Did you see the new condos going up in Bellevue? They’ve been advertising them as perfect for single professionals—and dog friendly.” He stresses the last part.

“Guys, I’m right here. And thanks, but not interested.”

Slowly, Dad meets my eyes. “Jenn, with your experience, there’s more opportunity out here than being stuck in the boonies. And it won’t be hard to bring your favorite part of your inheritance with you.”

Coffee barks upstairs in loud agreement.

“See? Even he agrees.” Dad chuckles, stuffing a bite of cake in his mouth.

“I’m still not sure those are indoor dogs,” Mom says.

“They’re fine as long as they get their daily run in,” I say.

She sets her fork down and folds her hands, leveling a look at me. “Well, now that you’re home, I want to talk about this. I’ve been trying not to touch the subject on the phone because we know you have a mind of your own. You’re a smart girl, Jennifer, but really, there’s no point in letting that old dump in Pinnacle Pointe bleed you dry—”

Two bites into the cake and it’s already ruined. My fork clatters against my plate.

“It’s not a dump.”

She gives me her biggest Mom eyes.

“Sweetie... the place wasn’t easy to manage in its heyday, and now it’s ancient. We always did fine financially, but sometimes, I don’t know how my parents managed. There was always another big, unexpected expense looming. They were constantly fishing for cash, fighting through dry spells for customers when the economy was bad. And back then, the place had a lot less wear and tear. I don’t know how you can look at me and claim you haven’t inherited a money pit.”

I fold my arms, trying not to lose my shit.

My parents mean well.

Just because I’m living with them again doesn’t mean I can’t prove I’m an adult.

“This is my decision.” I look at her and then Dad. “With my assignment back here, I’m making enough bacon to get the place renovated. I’m also avoiding Seattle rent increases, and in this environment, that’s a lot of money saved.”

“Except you don’t have your Seattle income anymore,” Dad points out.

“Homer—” Mom starts.

“No, it’s okay.” I hold my father’s gaze. “Actually, I’m making more freelancing than I ever made working full-time. My consulting won’t always bring in big money like this, but when it does, I’m pretty well set.”

He’s silent for a minute, turning it over in his head like he isn’t sure whether or not he believes me.

“You have to keep the money coming in somehow to run that place and plan for your future,” Mom says. “It’s not just the inn. If you want to start planning for retirement, for children—”

“Whoa, whoa.” I hold up my hands. “I’d kinda need a man for that first and I’m not shopping.”

My mother’s face falls. I think she’s about to launch into her usual I-need-grandchildren guilt trip, but Coffee saves me.

He must be as tired as I am of this conversation because he lets out a deafening bark that tells me he’s not in my room anymore.

I turn my head and stare up at the open railing behind me, seeing a huge black shape.

Sure enough, his coal-shaped nose pokes between two spindles.

I laugh. “The grown-ups are talking. Go back to my room, boy!”

Another bark rips through the place, and Cream adds a few feral yips.

“They can’t be indoor dogs,” Mom says, aghast.

Coffee spins around and takes a few steps.

I assume he’s heading back to my room, so I tuck into my cake again. The sooner I’m done with dinner, the faster I’ll get away from this table and this judgy conversation.

“Jennifer, get that dog!” Mom screams.

I follow her eyes up.

Coffee’s front paws hit the top of the second-story banister as he stands, shoving his weight forward.

Oh, no.

“Coffee, down!” I stand and scream, right before he—

Too late.

His front paws are stretched out like he’s diving as he goes over.

Sweet Jesus. Please don’t break a bone!

A whimpering pup and a four-figure vet bill flash before my eyes.

Until he lands on the couch in front of us with his limbs stretched in all directions.

There’s a breathless second before he bounces up. He barks playfully, bounds off the couch, and comes over to sniff my hand.