Every Little Kiss (Kissed by the Bay Book 1)

by Susan Hatler

  So much for technology making my life easier.

  “What are you doing, sis?” Brian walked up and peered at the paint samples. In addition to running the inn with Grandma, he was a handyman. So he knew what paint samples look like and he knew exactly what I was doing. But I placated him anyway. “I’m trying to decide between that beige and that blue.”

  He sipped his latte. “The blue, for sure. Grandma would have you weeding outside for days if she saw that boring ugly white.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not white. It’s beige.”

  “It’s ugly,” he said, without hesitation.

  “No, it isn’t.” I tilted my head, suddenly wondering if beige was ugly. Great. My brother had me questioning my Realtor eye, something my clients gave me a fat commission for since I knew what I was doing. “We should go with the beige. It’s classic.”

  He stepped closer to the paint sample, until he was eyeing it from inches away. “Okay, it isn’t run-screaming-with-your-eyes-exploding-ugly, but it’s not the color the inn has always been either. I don’t like it.”

  I looked at him. He had a roll of painter’s tape in one hand, and his foot tapped quickly on the floor. I raised my brow. “Change can be a good thing you know.”

  “Not when it comes in beige.” He plucked the beige sample off the wall.

  I yanked it back from him, then taped it up firmly. “Stop messing with stuff. We shouldn’t make the decision based on what you, or I, or Grandma would want. We need to choose what will make the inn sell well.”

  He shook his head. “Look how pretty the blue is. It looks almost like the current color, but it’s not faded.”

  I tapped the phone into my palm, and surveyed the room. “Just think what this room would look like in this beige, though. The pictures would stand out more. The place would lighten up, and it would look—”

  “Boring.” He raised his cup to me, then knocked back the rest of his coffee.

  There was no point in responding. I just needed to clear my head, and make a rational decision on which color would work better for the sale. I stepped back a few inches, then a few more. I closed one eye, the opened them both again. The beige was the obvious choice. That little patch was clean, shimmery, and perfect. The image of Grandma waving her finger at me popped into my head, and I cringed. No, I had to leave emotion out of the equation, and order the beige. Decision made. I tapped the screen on my phone again, but did not hit the dial button.

  The beige was perfect, but I loved the blue. Sigh.

  Brian stepped back, until he was next to me. His shoulder jostled mine. “Admit it, sis. That beige does not look right in this inn.”

  “It’s clean, neutral, and the smart choice. People don’t always buy houses that have blue walls. In fact, it can be the kiss of death. I had a house in Sacramento that was gorgeous. It was huge, and the lot was impressive. I couldn’t sell it, though, because the owners had painted the interior bright colors. Not everyone likes bright colors. It looked like the Easter Bunny had gone postal in there. The sellers wouldn’t listen to anyone either. They refused to paint, because they loved the colors. It sat on the market for almost two years.”

  “But it did sell, right?” His head turned and his eyes met mine.

  “Yes. But not until they relented, and repainted the interior. Guess what color?”

  He raised his brows. “Sea-foam blue?”

  “You’re hopeless.” I walked up to the wall again, tilting my head at different angles.

  Brian gave me an odd look. “What are you doing?”

  I blew out a breath. “Just trying to view the colors from all different perspectives. The freaking beige just doesn’t look right in here for some reason.”

  My phone rang from my purse on the front desk. I gave Brian an apologetic look, then strode over and pulled it out. I checked the number. It was my assistant, Janine. Uh-oh. I’d just talked to her twenty minutes ago, and asked her not to bother me until the afternoon unless it was urgent.

  There had to be something wrong, and I just didn’t need any more problems right now. Not when the image of Grandma wagging her finger was still haunting me.

  ****

  I walked away from Brian, who was busy taking the beige sample down and sticking it to his forehead. I had no idea what he was hoping to prove with that gesture.

  I answered my phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Wendy. I’m sorry to bother you.” Janine’s voice came out rushed.

  “What’s up?” I asked, crossing fingers there wasn’t a problem.

  “We have a problem. A big one. Well, three.”

  I pressed the phone closer to my ear, and dropped my chin to my chest. “Tell me. What’s going on?”

  “You know how you asked Elizabeth to cover for you? Well, that’s not working out so well.”

  “What? Why not? She has great sales skills, and she knows houses. Her dad was an architect and her mom is a designer. She knows values . . .” Okay, I was rambling. Talk about denial.

  “The woman is going through a nasty divorce, and I think she’s turned to the dark side.” Janine paused, then groaned. “She worked with three of our clients this week. The first client, Reader, said he would stick a knitting needle in his ear before he went on another showing with her again. You’ll recall his budget is one-point-five million?”

  “Yes.” My shoulders squeezed together, hoping Elizabeth hadn’t let her personal life blow his business for us. “I’ll call him, and see if I can smooth things over. What else?”

  “The Obersts. They called me, wanting to pull their house from the MLS, because Elizabeth described their house as Neo-Gothic style in the listing.”

  “It is Neo-Gothic. Did you tell them Elizabeth consulted with a well-respected architect and designer before labeling the home this way?”

  “Yes, but they didn’t want to hear it. Mrs. Oberst wants her home listed as traditional, but Elizabeth said she couldn’t do that since, you know, it’s Neo-Gothic.”

  I paced the floor, flexing the fingers on my free hand. “Elizabeth is right, Janine,” I said, shuddering at what it would do to my reputation to list a home as traditional when it was totally Neo-Gothic.

  “Lastly, there’s Mr. O’Malley. In preparation for listing his house, he painted the interior pastel pink. Elizabeth warned him that it’s unlikely to sell unless he changes the color, but he won’t hear of it. Can you imagine someone purchasing a one-point-four million-dollar house with a pink interior? Mr. O’Malley doesn’t even have a mortgage, but he says he can’t move until his house sells.”

  “When he asked me what color to paint the interior I’d told him beige.” That sentence made me turn my head to look back at the paint samples, one of which was currently stuck to Brian’s forehead. I marched over to him and yanked it off then taped it back on the wall.

  “Elizabeth just can’t handle clients with the same finesse you do, Wendy. These three clients are threatening to withdraw their contracts from you.”

  “What?” I tilted my head, staring at the paint samples, wondering if Mr. O’Malley painted his house pink, because of a deceased grandparent’s will that seemed just as strong from the great beyond as it had seemed in life. I pressed my fingers to my temple. “I’m sure Elizabeth can handle this, Janine. Don’t you remember that client, who wanted three times what his house was worth? She got him to come down on his price, and the house sold in a week.”

  “I know, but that was before her divorce proceedings started. She’s like a different person now. You have to come back, Wendy. We can’t lose these clients.”

  Janine was right. These were big clients. My savings was being seriously depleted thanks to the major amount of cash I was pouring into the inn’s makeover. The inn would sell, yes, but I’d have to wait until escrow closed before getting reimbursed.

  Panic began to set in. I stopped walking. “I can’t come back, Janine. I have to be here a month, and it hasn’t been a full week yet. My family’s dependi
ng on me, and they have to come first,” I said, thinking of Brian and my grandma. I would not let them down.

  She made an exasperated sound. “Can you come back for a day or two? Take care of these problems, then head back that way?”

  “No, I need to be here one month. There’s no way around it. I’ll do my best over the phone to get them to give Elizabeth another chance. In addition to that, I need you to step up and be there in person with them as a buffer with Elizabeth. I know you can do that.”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes, I’ll do my best.”

  An idea hit me. “Tell Elizabeth to show Reader Mr. O’Malley’s pink house. Reader wants a good deal, and Mr. O’Malley needs to move. It could work out.”

  “But, it’s pink!” Janine might have actually been hyperventilating.

  “Yeah, but that’s why she should tell him to bid well under the asking price. Have her reassure Reader that it’s all about the layout, and that interior paint is a quick fix. Mr. O’Malley is asking well above market-price anyway. If Reader buys the house, that would solve two problems at once.”

  Janine sighed. “Okay. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Thanks.” I hung up and walked back to the wall, thinking of Mr. O’Malley. Why couldn’t he have just painted the interior beige like I’d advised him. That made so much more sense financially.

  The porch door opened and Max sauntered in, pressing his lips to my cheek. “What are you doing, beautiful?”

  I glanced up into his baby blues, feeling the tension leak out of me. His hair was wet and I wondered if he had gone for an icy dip in the ocean. His arm bumped mine, and little flakes of sand fell to the floor near our feet. “I’m trying to decide which of these two colors we should use to paint the interior of the inn,” I said, and found myself leaning into him.

  He slipped his arm around my waist, squeezing me closer. “Which one do you like best?”

  “I love the sea-foam blue.” I gestured toward the walls, which surrounded us. The walls that I’d grown up in, that would soon belong to someone else. “The color looks like the paint that is already on the walls, though. I also love the beige, because the whole place would look clean and fresh, making the inn show better to a buyer. I’m torn.”

  His hand slipped around mine, his warm fingers closing over the top of my hand, and in between my fingers. Electric darts shot through my belly. I let myself sink into his hard and lean frame, until his warmth washed through me.

  He lifted my hand, so our fingers were a bare inch from the samples. “Close your eyes,” he said softly. “Stop thinking. Just go with your heart.”

  I took a long breath. He was too gorgeous, too sexy, and far too wonderful. I let my fingers stay in the air, breathing slowly and feeling his heat, his strength. My fingers came down on a sample, and it felt electric under my fingertips. I opened my eyes.

  The sea-foam blue.

  “Okay, blue it is,” I said, and somehow the decision felt right.

  With Max still holding me, I hit the screen on my phone, called the paint store, and ordered the sea-foam blue. I waited for my inner Realtor to scream at me for blowing this sale. Instead, the image of my grandma appeared in my mind. Her emerald-green eyes were as solemn as always, but the corners of her mouth curved upward, and she smiled at me.

  Chapter Nine

  I walked into the inn Saturday morning, holding a paper tray with four coffee drinks. I’d just gotten back from my morning ritual at Bay Side Coffee, where one of the baristas, Sandy, had greeted me by name. Next she asked me when the Inn at Blue Moon Bay would officially be listed for sale. I’d blinked in response, having forgotten that everyone knew everyone’s business in a small town.

  Instead of embracing the word-of-mouth advertising, as a Realtor should, I finally found myself saying, “We’ll see,” then I’d ordered four lattes, instead of two. Max had been working steadily with Brian, to prep the interior of the inn to be painted, so the least I could do was bring his morning caffeine. I also ordered a latte for Megan, since we had an appointment to view her initial website designs for the inn.

  After the small talk at Bay Side Coffee, I thought about ordering a real espresso machine instead of going into town for coffee every morning. The clincher had been when Sandy tucked the cups into the holder, she’d said, “I hope you don’t sell that beautiful inn to one of those tacky chain hotels that have been trying to get in here. I would die if I had to look at such a building every day.”

  That comment had left me feeling frazzled. Did I want to be responsible for the death of a really good barista? Or, for a decision that might adversely affect the people in town? Um, no. But would selling the inn really matter so much to the locals? I was afraid the answer was yes.

  I strode across the inn’s lobby, and spotted Brian and Max standing in opposite corners of the room, sanding the walls. Max’s tee shirt clung to his strong upper body, and I took a deep breath, remembering what those muscles had felt like beneath my hands. Keeping things on the “friend” level with Max was getting harder every day. Plus, tonight would be our double date with Olivia and her new guy.

  I’d barely handed Max and Brian their lattes when Megan sashayed through the double doors into the lobby. She’d swept her blonde hair to one side, secured with a rhinestone barrette. Her bright pink messenger bag swung near her hip as she walked.

  “Morning, Megan.” Brian gave her a wave. “I’d stop and talk, but I’ve been pressed into service. Manual labor. Don’t let her get you, too.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry. I already set a fee.”

  “Good for you.” He smiled.

  I glanced back and forth between them, and decided I had to have imagined that little flirtatious exchange. After all, she was dating that guy from the yacht club. Or . . . I guess not anymore. I shrugged the thought off, because Megan having a romantic interest in my pain-in-the-booty brother was too disturbing. “Here’s your latte. Why don’t we work in the library?”

  “Sounds good.” Her gaze left Brian, and zoomed in on Max. She lifted a brow. I knew she’d probably deduced this was the guy I’d told her about, so I gestured between them. “Megan, this is Max. He’s a guest at the inn, who has been helping us out with the renovations.”

  Max held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Megan.”

  She took his hand, and gave it a little bounce. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  My face heated. I hoped he didn’t think I’d gone into detail about our evening on the beach. Because I hadn’t. Yet.

  Max gave me a look that was filled with curiosity, so I quickly turned to Brian. “Have you seen the painters, who were supposed to start on the exterior today?”

  Brian shook his head. “I’ll give them a call.”

  “Great. I’ll be in a meeting for awhile,” I said, ushering Megan down the hallway and past the dining room. We sat on one of the sofas in the library, and set our lattes on the coffee table.

  Megan whipped her laptop out of her pink bag, then took a long drink of her coffee. “We’ll talk about domains and stuff like that today. I thought it would be best to do something really funky, and attention-grabbing for the website.”

  “This whole place is sort of funky and attention-grabbing already,” I joked, sitting forward in my seat as I sipped my coffee. I stared at her screen. “I’ve never built a website before. The realty company had one built for me.”

  “Don’t worry. That’s what I’m here for. I secured your domain name, and this is what I designed for your home page.” She pressed a key on her laptop, then a photo of the inn appeared, the ocean providing a beautiful backdrop. “Hey, that’s gorgeous. I love it.”

  She held a finger up. “But this is the best part. Watch.”

  I took a long sip of my latte, while I focused on the screen. The name of the inn appeared at the top of the screen one letter at a time. Then, seconds later, a giant whale jumped out of the water and ate the name of the inn. I choked on my coffee, gawking as the whale d
ove back into the ocean with a flip of its tail. A fake water splash hit the screen, the name of the inn reappeared, and Megan clapped her hands. “What do you think?”

  I gaped at her, then back at the screen. She’d refreshed the page, and now the whale was, once again, gobbling down the name of the inn. Uh. . . I’d asked for a simple website, with clean lines, not something resembling a theme park ad! But she looked so excited. I had to think of a way to praise her work, while also explaining why it was not going to fly. I mean, hello? Whale?

  “So, I love how creative and fresh the scene was. But I’m a little worried someone might wonder if they’re going to get eaten by a whale if they book a room here.”

  She titled her head, and checked the screen again. “I hadn’t thought about that. I have a few other ideas, though, if you would like to take a look.”

  Relief flooded through me. “That would be great.”

  “Okay, so how about this one?” She tapped a key on her laptop, and dolphins danced across the screen on their tails, holding bright blue beach balls with the inn’s name on it. Oh, the horror!

  My dreams of a very professional website crumbled right before my eyes. Why hadn’t I remembered Megan’s obsession with sea animals? She used to have pictures of them taped all over her room when we were kids.

  Her lips pulled back into a teeth-revealing smile. “Don’t you love it?”

  I grimaced. It wasn’t that I hated it, really. But it wasn’t a professional site that would help me sell the inn. I set my cup down, and laced my fingers together. “The idea is fun and original, but I think it might be a little confusing for guests. I wouldn’t want people thinking we had circus dolphins hanging around, and that a show option was available,” I said, hoping my rejection hadn’t hurt her feelings.

  Her face was still as bright as ever. “If you don’t love that idea, I have more.”

  The next sample site was a dark background, with a blue moon rising out of a steadily lightening sea. The words “The Inn at Blue Moon Bay” appeared on the screen, and beneath that, “Come experience the legend.”