Chloe nodded. “Still there.”
Laura sighed. “Great. That’s just great.”
“What’d your mom say?”
“Apparently Carberry Hotels wants the inn, and they’re prepared to make us a ‘significant’ offer.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Chloe asked, responding to Laura’s less-than-enthusiastic tone. “At least then you’d get some money out of the whole thing, right? If your mom leaves and the inn goes to the church, you get nothing.”
“I don’t want money,” Laura insisted. “I want to keep Gram’s legacy alive. I want Emma to be able to stay in the only home she’s ever known. I want to do something with my life, build something for our future.”
Emma finished her pizza and, for the umpteenth time that day, started singing her favorite song. “Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony...”
Laura used a baby wipe to clean tomato sauce off her daughter’s face and added a surprise ending. “Stuck a feather in his cap and called it spaghetti!”
Emma giggled helplessly, shaking her head. “No, Mom! Not spaghetti!”
“Oh, lasagna, right? Stuck a feather in his cap and called it lasagna!”
Emma let her head roll back so she was looking at the ceiling. “No, no, no, Mom! You’re so silly! Not lasagna! Macaroni! He called it macaroni!”
“I’m silly? You’re silly!” She tickled Emma and made her squeal in delight. “Come on, honey, do you want to watch a cartoon?”
“Yeah!”
Laura took her into the parlor and cued up a kids’ show on the TV. She propped the swinging door open and went back into the dining room with Chloe.
“She told me the lawyer looks like her dad,” Chloe said.
Laura snorted. “Well, it’s not like she has the best idea of what the man looks like anyway. Five minutes of video chatting on Christmas and her birthday is hardly enough for a four-year-old to have a clear mental picture of her father.”
Chloe scrunched her nose in disgust. “I’m sorry, but I never liked him.”
“Sadly, that makes one of us.”
Chloe leaned forward and placed her hand on Laura’s forearm. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I knew he wasn’t that committed to church. I knew he was very ambitious. I should have realized that our priorities weren’t aligned. I shouldn’t have let him talk me into getting married so fast.”
She’d heard that women gravitated to men who were like their fathers, and that had definitely been true in her case. Her father was the managing director of the Hong Kong division of a global management consulting firm. All through her childhood, he’d worked at least eighty hours a week and rarely taken time off. The fact that Conrad had been similarly driven should have been a huge red flag, and yet she’d been smitten almost from the moment they met, and had married him a mere six months later.
“Hindsight, right?” Chloe asked.
Laura shrugged. “I learned my lesson. I’m never getting involved with a guy like that again.”
“Okay, but are you going to get involved with any guy again? It’s been almost five years, Laura. You know your grandmother would be doing cartwheels up there if you found someone nice...”
“I have more important things to think about than dating, Chlo.”
“I know, but you’re not going to meet anyone if you don’t put yourself out there. Let me set up a profile for you on that Christian dating site—”
Laura arched a brow. “Because you’ve had such stunning success with it?”
Chloe laughed. She’d been on more bad dates than anyone they knew. “At least I’m trying.”
“If it was just me, maybe,” Laura said, shrugging. “But I’ve got Emma to think about...”
“So no to dating apps. But I could set you up with one of Brett’s friends—”
Laura shook her head. “I already know all your brother’s friends, and I’m just not ready right now. My heart wouldn’t be in it.”
Chloe gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.” She narrowed her eyes and shook her finger at Laura. “But don’t think I’m going to drop the subject forever. You’re too young to give up on love. And Emma needs a good male role model in her life.”
As if on cue, her daughter called out, “Mom! The show’s over!” At the same time, there was a knock at the door.
“You mind getting Emma ready for bed?” Laura asked.
“Of course not,” Chloe answered.
Chloe took Emma upstairs, and Laura opened the door for Jonathan Masters.
This time, he was carrying a suitcase.
He was probably six or seven years older than she was and five or six inches taller, with dark hair, dark eyes and a runner’s build. He had gel in his hair—just enough to keep it in place—and cuff links in his sleeves. His black suit, like the black car parked at the curb, looked expensive, and his red tie, which was slightly askew, highlighted two spots of high color on his cheeks.
It was late in the day, so he had a bit of a five o’clock shadow going on, and just the very faintest hint of a cleft in his chin. He was very good-looking, if you liked that clean-cut, corporate kind of look.
Which Laura did. A lot.
Much to her chagrin.
“So, hello again,” she said, not sure if she sounded awkward or sarcastic. In light of his kind eyes and easy smile, she wasn’t sure which she’d prefer. “We’re not normally open for guests this time of year, but please, by all means, come in.”
She’d expected him to look smug when she let him back in, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked almost...relieved.
He stepped into the parlor and glanced around. “Where’s your mini me?”
“Emma? She’s getting ready for bed.”
He looked at his watch, not his phone, and Laura’s estimation of him crept up a notch. She liked people who weren’t always glued to their cell phones. “It’s seven thirty.”
She raised an eyebrow. “She’s four.”
“So, not a night owl?”
She laughed at his wry tone. He grinned. She wished he wasn’t quite such a good-looking man. It was distracting, and she didn’t need any distractions in her life right now. Not when she had to figure out how to convince her mother to stay for the summer without signing the inn over to Carberry Hotels.
Remembering her manners—which she actually did have, despite the fact that barely an hour ago she’d literally pushed this guy out the door—she asked, “Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Leftover pizza?”
His eyes lit up. “You have pizza?”
“Sure.” She nodded for him to sit on one of the light blue couches in the parlor. “We have cheese or—wait for it—cheese.”
He laughed. “I guess I’ll take cheese.”
She retrieved a few slices for him from one of the inn’s three fridges and microwaved them. She gave him his pizza, Chloe came down and said her goodbyes, then Laura went upstairs to say good-night to Emma. From the second floor, she could overhear the sounds of Chloe and Jonathan talking, although she couldn’t make out any of the words.
When she came back to the parlor, Chloe was gone and Jonathan was standing up, examining a newspaper clipping that was framed and propped up on the mantel.
“My grandfather,” she said. “He was a Korean War vet.”
He inclined his head. “Respect.”
She nodded and sat on the couch opposite from his, wondering how he saw the space. She loved this room. She’d helped her grandmother remodel and redecorate it shortly after Emma was born.
They’d knocked out the back wall and replaced it with huge plate glass windows on either side of a sliding glass door that opened onto a wraparound porch, where guests could sit and watch the sunset over the ocean. Then they’d painted the remaining walls a creamy blue, fixed a seascape over the fireplace an
d found a battered treasure chest that they filled with sea glass, which the children staying at the inn could add to or take from as they pleased.
She and her grandmother had made the sea glass chandelier in the entryway themselves, painstakingly hand wiring hundreds of pieces collected over Laura’s lifetime. It had taken them two years to finish it. The only thing she took more pride in than that chandelier was her daughter.
Jonathan sat, took his last bite of pizza and nodded to the TV, where Emma’s cartoon was paused, a sea of smiling animal superheroes staring out at them. “What are we watching? The animal channel?”
Laura laughed. “Yeah, their new animated programming.”
His lips quirked into an easy smile.
“You don’t have kids, do you?”
He held up his left hand and wiggled his bare ring finger. “Nope. Not married, either.” Then he glanced at her ring finger. “I take it there’s no Mr. Laura hiding under the eaves?”
“Lessoway,” she said. “And no, I went back to my maiden name after the divorce.”
“You look too young to be divorced.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “And you look too old not to be married.”
He laughed and held a hand to his heart as though he’d been shot. “Oh, walked right into that one, didn’t I? Sorry. None of my business.”
She shrugged, but she was smiling. “It’s fine. I’m not offended.”
“So, this cartoon your daughter was watching. Let me guess. Animal superheroes trying to convince kids to save the environment?”
She shook her head. “Actually, it’s a Bible-based show.”
“Ah,” he said. “Interesting.”
There was something in his tone that gave her pause. She slanted a glance at him. “You’re not a Christian?”
He laughed. “I am on Christmas and Easter.”
“Oh.” She felt a twinge of disappointment, although she wasn’t sure why. “Right.”
“I take it you are? A Christian, I mean.”
She nodded. “My grandmother’s influence.”
He blinked, the relaxed, teasing manner gone. “Ah, well, that’s...nice.”
In Laura’s experience, young professionals tended to shy away from any mention of faith, as though spirituality might be contagious. Laura knew the truth, though. Before she’d found her faith as a teenager, she’d been a mess: a good girl who’d been abandoned by her own family, a good girl who hadn’t been good enough. She thanked God every day that her grandmother’s church community had embraced her and helped her see the truth of her identity as a child of God.
She looked at the man sitting across from her and smiled gently. “Nice doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
When she saw that he was at a loss for how to reply, she took pity on him, gave her hands a brisk clap, stood up and said, “Let me show you to your room.”
Chapter Two
Jonathan sat on the queen-size bed in his neat, compact room. It didn’t surprise him, this room, with its serviceable white bedding, creaky hardwood floors and small beige bathroom with its low showerhead. There was a medium-size flat-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the headboard and a wooden dresser with sticky drawers. Hanging over the dresser was a watercolor beachscape, the kind you might find in a local art gallery. On the bedside table sat a Bible.
Even the water stain on the ceiling didn’t surprise him, indicating that there was probably a leak when it rained. He remembered how badly Cape Cod had been battered during last year’s big nor’easter, and the thought of a single mom, her young daughter and her elderly grandmother riding it out alone didn’t sit well with him.
Jonathan couldn’t stop kicking himself for the way his conversation with the beautiful innkeeper had ended. “Nice?” he said out loud. “You told her her religious beliefs are nice?”
He was an idiot.
The truth was, he’d been raised in a Christian home. His mother had taken him and his sister to church with her every Sunday. Their father, on and off mood-stabilizing medication for his bipolar disorder throughout most of Jonathan’s childhood, had almost always stayed home.
As a kid, he’d enjoyed church. Sunday school was fun, and each week there was a big potluck in the hall after the service. He’d gorge himself on muffins and macaroni, Jell-O and corn bread, cookies and cake. In the warm months, he and his friends would then spend the afternoon playing by the creek. In the winter, they’d build Lego forts in his friend Pete’s basement.
As he’d gotten older, though, and more focused on earning a scholarship, he’d come to see church as little more than time spent away from achieving his goals.
And his goals had been so important to him back then, so all-consuming. He supposed they still were, although lately he’d been feeling...tired. He’d even started wondering if earning a partnership was really going to be enough to make him happy for the long haul.
He’d always had this idea that if he could just reach that brass ring, if he could just grab it and hold on, that would be the thing that would make everything in his life work the way it was supposed to, the thing that would make everything okay.
But would it? Would it really?
Making partner wouldn’t magically fix his father’s illness. Making partner wouldn’t change the fact that he’d been a scared, bullied kid. Making partner wouldn’t mean that his father, who’d gone missing when Jonathan was just seventeen, would ever come home.
He gave his head a little shake. He knew his mentor, Mike Roe, wouldn’t like this train of thought.
But then he thought about Mike’s life: the penthouse apartment and the fancy sports cars, the top-rated restaurants and the best tailored suits. Jonathan used to think Mike’s life was what success looked like—and maybe, for some people, it did—but what about Mike’s high-maintenance ex-wife? What about the kid he never saw? What about the fact that he had more money than he could spend in a lifetime and he still spent every waking moment at work?
Was this some kind of early midlife crisis? Jonathan wondered. What would he even do with himself if he didn’t have this job?
He drummed his fingers on the bedside table. What was with him tonight? He was wildly unfocused, and it was messing with his head.
It was the woman—Laura. She’d thrown him off balance with her beauty and her wit and her kind, gentle smile. Just thinking about her emerald green eyes—which could, by turns, be sharp or playful or kind—made him feel...strange. Whimsical.
And Jonathan never felt whimsical about women. He was more practical than romantic. Back when he’d started at Harvard Law, he’d made a decision not to get distracted by a serious relationship until he made partner, and he’d stuck to his resolution all these years.
He always kept his promises—to others and to himself. After growing up with his unpredictable father, he was very disciplined that way.
Still, he couldn’t ever remember feeling drawn to a woman the way he felt drawn to Laura, and it made him wish that circumstances could be different. That he could be here just to get to know her, instead of here to close a deal.
But that was just wishful thinking, and he didn’t have time to indulge in frivolity like that. He was here to earn his partnership, period. Here to do due diligence on Carberry Hotels’s acquisition of this inn.
If he brought Carberry Hotels on as a client, he’d be a hero at Meyers, Suben & Roe. But if he didn’t deliver, he had no doubt it would be only a matter of time before he was shown the door.
Up or Out was the motto of practically every one of the big law firms in the country. If your star wasn’t rising, it was falling. Ever since Mike had told him he was “a dime a dozen,” Jonathan had felt the clock ticking.
He had only so much time to turn things around.
* * *
When Jonathan came downstairs the next morning, he wasn’t sure what to
expect. He had his suit on, ready to review the inn’s contractual obligations, including property contracts, mortgage contracts, supplier agreements and food and beverage licenses. He also wanted to review the inn’s business plan and its financial and tax positions.
Not that any of his findings would matter that much to Carberry Hotels—well, Connor Carberry, specifically, the one who was driving this deal. Connor had been on the lookout for a suitable property for months, and nothing had fit the bill. When Jonathan had called him about The Sea Glass Inn, he’d immediately declared it perfect and wanted to move forward with his plan to build a luxury beachfront resort right away.
Jonathan and Connor had been roommates at Harvard, sharing an apartment in a redbrick walk-up halfway between Harvard and Porter Squares. Jonathan had been at the law school while Connor pursued his MBA.
They’d lost touch after graduation. Jonathan had thrown himself into work while Connor had done pretty much the exact opposite, absconding to Europe and Vegas and Dubai. He’d come home about a year ago after a fight in a nightclub that had put him in the hospital, and he was determined to make things right with his dad. Buying and tearing down The Sea Glass Inn and the homes surrounding it to make way for the new resort was, according to Connor, the key to making that reconciliation happen.
It had been beyond perfect that Eleanor Lessoway and The Sea Glass Inn had fallen into Mike Roe’s lap—and then been delegated straight to Jonathan due to his relationship with Connor. He still wasn’t exactly sure how Eleanor had ended up talking to Mike, although he suspected the fact that Eleanor’s husband was a bigwig at a global management consulting company that had the law firm on retainer probably had something to do with it.
Regardless, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially in light of the report he’d just gotten from the private investigator he’d hired to try to find his father. The report that indicated it was possible that, if Jonathan’s father was still alive, he was living on Cape Cod.
Falling for the Innkeeper Page 2