The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(16)

Maisie shifts positions and her leg flops across mine.

She tried sleeping in the other bedroom, but she’s used to sharing a room with me. It’s a hard habit to break. Yōkai is curled on the floor beside the bed like a furry throw rug, unwilling to be parted from her new—and apparently only—human friend.

At home, the hum of traffic was incessant, so quiet had a different definition than it does here. Kelleys Island is utterly still, and I can’t sleep. Anna would say this job is too perfect to pass up. Mom would point out that Mason made a mistake and his apology was sincere. Both would be right, but he seems scattered. Lost. And fixing him is not my responsibility. Especially not when I’m trying to get my own shit together.

What am I doing here?

A tear slips down my cheek. I’m homesick. I’m farther away from my sister than I’ve ever been. And, even though I shouldn’t, I miss Brian. Maybe I’m not the kind of person who can run away from home. But when I close my eyes, I can picture the cabins so vividly. Exteriors painted navy blue, forest green, and cranberry red. Interiors that are Hudson’s Bay blanket meets Provence, maybe with a splash of flokati. I imagine the disgusted flare of Mason’s nostrils at the description, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

I ease myself around Maisie to get out of bed, pull on my jeans, and slip a cardigan over my tank top. It’s so much colder here than in Florida. The back stairs creak as I make my way down to the kitchen. I nearly jump out of my skin at the sight of a dark form outlined by the moonlight streaming in through the kitchen window.

“Sorry,” Mason says. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I didn’t need those extra years of my life anyway.”

His laugh is short and deep.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“The quiet here is so dense. Like nothing I’ve ever experienced,” I say. “But I bet the stars are amazing out here with no light pollution.”

“They are,” he says, crossing to the coat pegs. He’s not wearing a shirt, only a pair of green plaid pajama bottoms, and even in the shadowy kitchen, I can see the definition in his shoulders and chest. Not cut like a bodybuilder, but solid. Strong. He takes my coat and holds it out to me. “Come on.”

Bundled in our coats, we head outside and take a few steps away from the house. Our breaths steam in the chilly air. When I tilt my head back to look at the night sky, it’s as if the entire galaxy is on display. Like the night after my encounter with Blackwell, I sink to my knees, spreading out on my back in the grass. The ground is cold under my bare feet and dampness seeps through my jeans, but the sky is so vast.

Mason doesn’t lie down, or even sit.

“So, uh—have you made a decision?” he asks.

On Kelleys Island, I’d hoped to find a hotel where I could step behind the front desk and be myself again. I’m tired from driving and thrown by the unexpected state of the hotel, but I thought this would be easier. I wish I could say yes, but I want to go home. Before I can answer, the stillness is broken by a series of hoots that remind me of a child playing a repeating note on a plastic recorder.

“Is that … an owl?” I ask.

“Northern saw-whet.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a real owl before.”

Something shifts inside me. This property is filled with possibility. A bubble of excitement wells up as I imagine capturing the magic and giving it to our guests. I’m going to say yes. I’m going to transform those concrete pads into little pockets of wonder, where people can look at the stars, listen to the owls sing their night songs, and feel at home. And it’s going to be perfect.

“I’ve decided.”

A shooting star comes into view and disappears almost as suddenly.

It feels like a sign.

Mason clears his throat. “Any chance you might share the answer with me?”

It’s my turn to laugh. “Before I say yes, there’s one more thing you need to know. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he says warily.

“The Limestone Inn and Public House is the worst name I’ve ever heard,” I say, pushing up off the ground and getting back to my feet. I brush my hands off on my jeans. “I mean, can you imagine having to spit out that mouthful every time you answer the phone?”

“Fuck. I never considered that.”

“What about … the Limestone?”

He sighs, then extends his hand. There, in the moonlight, I take it and we shake. He offers me the ghost of a smile, something I’m already discovering is a rare thing for Mason Brown. “Welcome to the Limestone.”





CHAPTER 6



Dépaysement

French

“a feeling of restlessness that comes with being away from your country of origin and feeling like a foreigner; a mix of disorientation and culture shock”



A few days later the sky is mostly clear, and the lake is calm and blue as Mason drives the pickup onto the deck of the ferry. I rest my arm on the open window frame, enjoying the hint of warmth in the air and the morning sun on my face. I was going to take Maisie to the mainland to pick up some groceries and a few things for our new rooms, but Mason offered to drive us on his every-other-Sunday supply run. When I suggested we’d slow him down, he scoffed and said it was ridiculous to make a special trip when he was already going. Which is how I ended up heading to Sandusky with a man who doesn’t listen to the radio.