Meet Me at the Grand (Jonathon Island #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

F or the love of all that was holy—where had she placed those boots?

Dani Sullivan switched her cell to speakerphone mode and placed it on the edge of her bed before dropping to her knees to inspect underneath the full-sized mattress. The hardwood floors bit into her knees. “So, Florida’s good then?”

“More than good.” Her dad’s baritone filtered through her phone, the sound only slightly muffled by the fact her head was now underneath her bed, her eyes scanning around the wrapping paper and boxes of old junk she’d shoved there when she’d moved into the apartment above the now defunct Island Pizzeria five years ago. “Seventy degrees and sunny. Unlike somewhere else I know.”

She popped her head up. “Aw, come on. Our winter has been positively toasty this year, and the spring’s starting off the same. It’s only March seventh, and next week it’s supposed to reach forty-five. Can you believe that? I mean, the ferry’s already running regularly and everything.”

“Not that anyone is ever on it. Unless they’re leaving.”

Dani held back a sigh. This again? “Dad, you know I love talking to you, but why do we have to have this conversation every time you call?”

“We don’t. I?—”

“Hang on a sec, okay? I’ve gotta find my shoes so I’m not late to Myrtle’s retirement party.” Ducking back under her bed, she did another quick scan in case she’d missed the boots the first time. Wait, was that them? Lying flat on her shoulder, she stretched her arm toward the lump in the shadows.

It meowed indignantly. A flash of orange bolted past her, squeezing through the crack in Dani’s bedroom door and out into the tiny living room, most likely to wreak havoc on her cat palace with her claws.

“Sorry, Roma,” Dani called after her.

“Who are you talking to?”

Standing, Dani dusted off her hands before grabbing the phone. “The cat.”

Dad chuckled, whistled. “We need to get you off that island, girl. Get you around some people.”

She forced a laugh—it wasn’t like it was the first time Dad had said it. And it wasn’t any funnier now than it had been then. More like a slice to her heart. “Dad, there are plenty of people here.”

“Not many from what I’ve heard. Didn’t the Hayworths finally jump ship?”

“They retired. Wanted to move closer to their daughter in Dallas.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“They did .” Dani stalked into her living room. Good thing this wasn’t a video call or Dad would surely berate her for how she’d left her Eiffel Tower throw blanket tossed askew over her tiny green couch, or the way her plump London Bridge- and Colosseum-printed pillows dotted the floor beside the couch.

How she’d left on her forty-inch television all day despite the terrible waste of electricity that was.

Her beloved Travel Channel flickered back at Dani from its mount on a turquoise rummage-sale TV stand. She reached for the remote to turn the TV off. But no, the pictures of the gorgeous Italian countryside brightened her space, and she didn’t want them to disappear.

“And I also heard the Johnsons abandoned the bookstore and their home. They’ve owned that place for fifty years, Dani. Fifty. Years. And now they’re gone.”

Pivoting from the television, Dani stuck her phone on the kitchen counter next to the tiny box she’d wrapped for Myrtle in purple paper—her former boss’s favorite color.

“The Johnsons just…decided they wanted a new adventure.” Well, that and the bank had been about to foreclose on their home. Uncle Seb had offered an extension on the bookstore lease payment, but Bob and Lucinda had seen the writing on the wall.

And they weren’t the only ones.

“New adventure, my right eye.” Dad snorted. “And what about Henrietta? Gave up the bakery, I heard. Oh, and the Quinns left for a year-long RV trip, didn’t they? They’ll probably find somewhere else they love and let the horse property go to rot.”

“Henrietta is well past retirement age, and managing the place without Hank was too hard.” Hands on her hips, Dani walked the room. If she were a shoe, where would she hide? She’d already searched the closet, underneath the couch, over in the corner behind the couch. And with a four-hundred-square-foot apartment, there weren’t that many places to hide. “And the Quinns didn’t let anything go to rot—they left a nephew behind to tend the place.”

“That may be, but it seems to me that Jonathon Island is past its glory days. I just don’t want you wasting away along with it.”

“I got a promotion, remember?” Myrtle’s leaving meant Dani was moving up in the world. A chance to make a difference…somehow. “And yeah, people have left the island over the years, but that’s normal. People move. People leave. But they can come back, if the enticement is big enough.”

Oh, how she hoped that was true. Otherwise…

Opening the tiny hall closet—where she’d originally begun her boot search—Dani kicked at the dust bunnies that attacked her foot. If the boots weren’t in here, she was calling it. Staying in, curled up on the couch watching the Travel Channel with the leftover soup she’d heated on the stove yesterday.

That didn’t sound half bad, really.

Oh, but wait. There. In the corner of the closet. Her white coat had somehow fallen from its hanger to the ground.

“That’s a big ‘if,’” Dad said. Something like paper shuffled in the background. Was he at his home or still at the office? Knowing Daniel Sullivan, Dani wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter—despite the fact it was past seven on a Friday night. “I know you think things will change now that you’re the tourism director, but it’s time to face facts, kiddo. It’s too big a job for any one person. And it’s too late. Too much damage has already been done.”

“Thanks, Debbie Downer.” Coughing, she bent down to pick up the jacket. And underneath—yes! Her missing black, mid-calf boots. She stood and shook out her jacket before rehanging it. “The proper response is ‘Congratulations, Dani! You’re going to be the best director of tourism since sliced bread.’” She held a tease in her voice, trying to keep out the hurt.

“Come on, Dani. You know I didn’t mean to say…” She could practically hear his frown, picture his handsome face, tan from one too many golfing games on the Florida course at the hotel he owned in Palm Coast.

“That you don’t believe in me?” Dani headed for the couch, boots in one hand, phone in the other. As she sank into the couch’s familiar comfort, she breathed past the heaviness in her chest and placed the phone next to the old family photo she kept there to remind herself of what used to be.

Of the things her dreams were made of.

A smiling Dad, his arm wrapped around Mom, who looked at him—not the camera—with pure love in her eyes. They were surrounded by seven kids, a range of ages and dispositions.

James, the oldest, so serious even at eighteen, looking straight at the camera, no smile but a hitch upward on one side of his mouth. A seventeen-year-old Ashley, every bit the actress she still was today, flashing a brilliant smile and pretending not to be annoyed by the antics of Tyler and Zachary, whose eyes lit with mischief while they poked Ashley’s ribs from either side of her. Then there were the twins, Kate and Oliver, fifteen at the time, their arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Loyal to each other, to the end.

And finally, an eight-year-old Dani—the caboose kiddo—standing a bit off to the side, her eyes turned not to the camera but toward her family. Taking them all in. Smiling. In awe, even at a young age, that this wonderful thing was hers. That she belonged to it. Safe and confident in the love her family had for one another.

If that little girl had only known how her life would change in six years.

“Dani, you know it isn’t you that I don’t believe in.” Dad cleared his throat, paused. Strange. He wasn’t one to get overly emotional unless he’d been drinking, and he hadn’t had a drop of liquor since that day ten years ago when he’d accidentally burned their family legacy to the ground. “Besides, sliced bread is overrated.”

“Dad.” Dani rolled her eyes, at once fighting a laugh and wanting to shake the truth into her father. Why couldn’t he see her side of things? How much this meant to her? “I know things have been rough here since the pandemic, but I’ve got the chance to turn things around. I have all kinds of ideas for driving up tourism?—”

“Honey, what tourism? The Jonathon Island we knew is dead, and it isn’t coming back.”

Her boots thudded to the ground, and her head sank into her hands. His words pierced and burned, and suddenly the heated apartment felt like ice.

She’d been praying for weeks, months—okay, years —for a solution. And at any moment, one could be just around the bend. She simply had to keep the faith.

Or maybe God had abandoned Jonathon Island just like he’d abandoned the Sullivans fourteen years ago.

Not that she could exactly blame God for her mother’s actions. Or her father’s. But couldn’t He have stopped all of her brothers and sisters from leaving? Not even her Uncle Bryan, Aunt Mary, and three Sullivan cousins had stuck around. Pieces of her heart had been taken, scattered on the wind in every direction.

“I just want you to have a life that isn’t attached to a dead, stinking carcass,” Dad continued, pausing. “Which is why I wish you’d consider coming to work for me in Florida.”

“Really, Dad? A dead, stinking carcass? Lovely metaphor.” Dani shoved one foot into a boot, then the other. “I appreciate the job offer. I really do. Working at your new hotel with you and James would be wonderful. But this island is home. And it isn’t dead. It’s just…hibernating. Now that I’m the tourism director, I’ll have a little more say in ways to fix the tourism problem.”

“Some broken things just can’t be fixed, Dani.”

Inhaling sharply, Dani closed her eyes against the tremor in Dad’s words. “I don’t believe that.” She couldn’t.

Meow.

Dani’s eyes opened to find her tabby sitting at her feet, looking at her like she expected something of Dani. Get in line, cat .

Dani bent down and hauled Roma into her lap, petting her against the cat’s protest, which she wailed right into the phone on the side table.

“All right, well, I’m burning daylight here, so I’d best let you go. Think about my offer, Dani. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad.” So much.

The phone screen went dark and Dani just sat there, staring at the television and petting the cat. She was late late to the retirement party now, but nothing in her wanted to face the crowd of Jonathon Island regulars. Not Martha Kelley, who had already told Dani she wanted to speak on Monday—Dani’s first official day on the job—about ways the Tourism Bureau could support local small businesses like hers.

Not Mac, who was still looking to offload the now defunct “adventure resort” his family owned on the northeast side of the island. He had hopes of selling it to the town for a pretty penny. If only he was privy to the town’s painfully low coffers, maybe he’d sing a different tune.

And she definitely didn’t want to face Myrtle herself, who—despite her old-fashioned ways—had taught Dani everything she knew about hospitality and tourism. Who had taken Dani under her wing when she was just a hurting teenager. Myrtle, who was herself moving away to be closer to her kids.

Sure, it was only an hour from their little island on the upper Michigan peninsula, but it might as well have been a whole country with how isolated they were. The only ways in or out were by ferry or prop plane.

Roma settled on Dani’s lap, her claws digging into her jeans ever so slightly. Dani gently unhooked them and then stroked between the animal’s eyes. Her purr warmed Dani through as visions of Italy flashed across the TV.

Dani’s shoulders sank into the back side of the couch just as they always did when she did her “travel-watching therapy,” as her cousin Mia liked to call it—a funny thing for someone who had never actually traveled anywhere exotic.

She was already late. Maybe just a few minutes more of this would help her power through the party.

Reaching for the remote, Dani turned up the volume. While the camera swept across different angles of a small Italian village nestled among trees, open areas of green, and the Maiella and Gran Sasso mountains, a narrator described the village—and the problems Italy had experienced post-pandemic.

“Like many European countries, the lockdown was difficult, especially on urban centers where residents could not easily get out of their homes and enjoy fresh air. Relationships suffered from lack of physical gatherings, something we all took for granted before that.”

Thank goodness that hadn’t been Dani’s experience. Sure, there were some who had stayed locked in their homes on the island, but for the most part, they’d been like many small communities, still going about their business and seeing each other once they felt it was safe. Of course, the island had closed for tourism for a full year, and many had left during that time because they simply couldn’t afford to stay.

The narrator continued, his words highlighted by shots of deserted cobblestone streets. “However, something the pandemic did do was show the world at large that remote work was possible. And those who worked from home began to see more work-life balance—and to crave even more. At the same time, many smaller communities were in need of a fresh influx of residents to revitalize them.”

Seemed Jonathon Island and the small Italian villages had something in common.

“So experts decided to do something radical.” The narrator paused for dramatic effect. “They sold small village homes for one euro—the equivalent of $1.16 at the time.”

Dani’s hand stilled. Roma meowed in protest, head butting her fingers. But Dani couldn’t do anything but sit forward and listen. The cat leaped to the ground, and Dani clutched the couch cushion beneath her.

“This scenario was a win-win for both the village and those looking for a more peaceful existence. It made such a move affordable to the outside world, and it brought in much-needed money to small, struggling communities whose tourism had lagged or dwindled completely thanks to the pandemic.”

“This is it.” The answer she’d been praying for—she could feel it in her bones. Maybe God hadn’t abandoned Jonathon Island after all.

And maybe He hadn’t abandoned the Sullivans either.

* * *

Liam Stone usually celebrated the end of a business trip with an ice-cold root beer—a call back to the days of his youth.

But tonight’s drink would, apparently, have to wait.

“You need me to do what?” He unbuttoned his gray suit jacket and swiveled on the stool at his favorite pub at Orlando International Airport, where the crew knew him by name. Just outside the bar, the masses bustled past, headed to their destinations all over the world. Flicking back his wrist, he stared at the face of his Breitling Aviator 8. “I’m supposed to be boarding a flight home in thirty minutes. And why are you working so late, anyway?”

“I’m so sorry, shoogs,” Marianne drawled through his AirPods. The administrative assistant at Stone Development may have lived in Los Angeles for thirty-six years, but she’d never forgotten her Texas roots. “I know you’ve been on the Pascal Hotel job site for two months, but there’s just nobody else to cover the McAllister. Allan feels terrible, but his mother’s fall is hardly his fault, and he’s the only one who can take care of her post-surgery. He can’t possibly spend the next three weeks in New York. And everyone else is committed to new jobs at the moment. Plus, you’re already on the East Coast.”

“Yeah, no, of course. I understand.” Liam rubbed the corner of his right eye, which itched with a lack of sleep. “Whatever the company needs.”

“And that’s why I’m working late—because this company means a lot to me too. As do you and your father.” She paused. “He isn’t any happier about this than you are, you know. He’d planned a whole welcome-back dinner for you at the penthouse.”

“And by that you mean that you planned a welcome-back dinner.” Liam couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his sixty-four-year-old dad planning anything domestic. Not that he wouldn’t want to—it just wasn’t on his radar.

“Yes, well, he approved it. And paid for it.”

“I believe it. Dad’s nothing if not generous.” He loosened the knot on his favorite blue tie. “Speaking of the old man, how is he?”

“As stuck in his workaholic tendencies as ever. Y’all are just two peas in a pod in that regard. Oh, and he’s been taking his medicine just like you instructed. Though I must say, he was a wee bit on the stubborn side at my constant nagging.”

“And by that you mean he huffed at you and called you a nuisance?”

“How’d you know?” She laughed. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Aw, Mare, you’re too good to us. I know it’s not really in your job description to take care of him like that. To take care of us.” Then again, Marianne had been like a second mother to Liam since his had passed when he was ten, and a good friend to Dad too. Liam slid off the stool, tossed a twenty on the counter, and grabbed the handle of his suitcase. “Now, when’s my next flight?”

“Same time as your previous flight. I’ve already sent you the details via email, along with your hotel check-in information and the details on the McAllister project and what’ll be expected of you the next few weeks. Do you need me to call the airline about transferring your luggage?”

Liam already had his phone out, scanning his email for the flight number. “Nah, I’ve got everything in my carry-on. You know I’m an expert at packing light by now.”

“Don’t I know it. All right, now, skedaddle. And let us know you got in okay.”

“I’m not texting you so late at night. I’ll be fine. Thanks for everything. And tell Dad I said not to worry.” Dad had enough on his plate—helming a multi-million-dollar corporation with fifteen full-time employees and thousands of contractors around the country was enough to make anyone stressed. But a diabetic who already struggled to take care of himself?

Yeah, that was a recipe for disaster.

But Liam had a plan to help alleviate some of that stress—if Dad would approve it.

Checking out the Departures screen in the airport concourse, Liam groaned. Of course his new gate would be at the opposite end. He’d have to hoof it.

Twenty minutes later, a bit sweaty and in desperate need of some hydration, Liam was boarding his new plane to a new city instead of home.

Although, did something really count as home if a guy was elsewhere more often than there?

Liam waited his turn in line, scanned the boarding pass on his phone, smiled at the gate attendants, and waited again in the jetway, the white noise of the plane’s engine cocooning him in the space, muffling out the conversations of the people around him excited to travel to their next destination.

Sliding off his suit coat, Liam tucked it over one arm and finally made his way to his business class seat at the front of the plane. Most of the seats were already filled with an assortment of guests who were drinking champagne and cocktails, dressed up in designer suits just like him.

After removing his laptop and phone, Liam placed his suitcase in the overhead compartment and settled into his aisle seat beside an older Asian gentleman typing away on his own computer.

A flight attendant who looked around his thirty-two years approached, her sleek brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail. “Good evening, Mr. Stone. We are so glad you could join us. Is there anything I can get you to make your flight more comfortable?”

“Some coffee would be great.” He glanced at the name tag pinned to her blue uniform shirt. “Thanks so much, Pamela.”

She lifted her eyebrows knowingly, a smile in her eyes. “Coffee, huh? Guessing this will be a working flight for you?”

He chuckled back at her. “You got it.” Liam slid out the tray table in front of him and placed his laptop on it. “I’ll need you to keep me well supplied.”

She winked at him. “I’m on it.” Then she turned and made her way to the service galley, disappearing behind a red curtain.

Liam allowed his shoulders to sink back against the seat. This airline wasn’t his favorite, but it definitely beat the one he’d flown to Seattle six months ago. And the one to Dallas a few months before that. Must have been what was available last minute, though. Oh, well. He’d have to make the best of it since he was due to meet Phil McAllister, CEO of the McAllister Hotel, tomorrow morning at ten.

Yawning, Liam pulled up Marianne’s email and began to scan the basic details of the project. Stone Development specialized in designing, building, and revitalizing high-end, boutique hotels, and this project wasn’t much different from the rest. Shouldn’t take too long to get up to speed.

His phone rang, and Liam snatched it up. What was Travis doing calling him on a Friday night? “I’m surprised Monica let you call this late.”

“She’s out with her friends. I’m on diaper duty.”

“Wow. That’s the life.”

“It’s something, all right. I love my son, but this guy produces more poop than can possibly be healthy.”

Liam pictured his gym rat friend trying to change a diaper—and just couldn’t. He laughed. “That’s disgusting.” The captain said something over the loudspeaker. “Hey, I won’t be able to talk long. My flight’s about to take off. I’m assuming you didn’t call me to talk about your kid’s pooping habits.”

The man across the aisle from Liam turned his head slightly toward him, his lip curling in disgust. Liam offered an apologetic shrug.

“Ha, no. I wanted to tell you that I finally heard back from one of the locations we were scouting. They weren’t planning to sell, but they’re willing to entertain an offer. So I set up a meeting with the realtor tomorrow?—”

“Dude, I can’t.” Liam groaned. “Allan’s mom broke her hip, so I’m on my way to New York to take over his project. Won’t be home for three weeks.”

“Seriously? Bro, you were just gone for two months. That’s insane.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Aren’t you tired of living out of a suitcase? That’s the whole reason we’re pitching this project, right?” Travis paused. “You’re still in this with me, aren’t you? Because even though we’ve both worked at Stone for ten years, I don’t think a pitch coming from me will mean much to your dad. But from the Golden Boy…”

“Shut up.” Liam shook his head. “And yeah, of course I’m still in this. We’ll just have to postpone a bit. Or you go to the sites, take lots of photos, or maybe even video chat me in. We’re going to find a way to make this project work.”

“All right, cool. Because Monica is really excited about the prospect of me staying in town full time. Can you imagine? No more travel for weeks on end.”

“I really can’t imagine it.” But Liam wanted to. He needed to. Dad would never consider retiring unless Liam was in California more often. But most of their home-based projects went to their senior site managers and those with families. “But I get it. This life definitely isn’t for everybody.”

“Admit it—even you’re tired of all the travel. Sure, at first, jet-setting around the world was fun and exciting. But once you have something to come home to, it’s just not the same.”

Something to come home to. Now wouldn’t that be something?

A deep ache wound through Liam and squeezed.

“Mr. Stone?”

He glanced up to find Pamela there with a white cup of coffee, steam rising from the top. “Oh, hi. Thanks.” He moved his laptop aside, making room for it.

“I’m so sorry it took so long, but I wanted to brew you a fresh cup.” She placed it in the empty spot, along with a napkin. “Only the best for our most distinguished guests.” With another smile, she moved to the next aisle to help another guest.

“Who was that?” Travis asked.

“What? Oh, just the flight attendant.”

“Is she hot?”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Does it matter?”

“You should get her number.”

“You know I don’t date when I’m working.” Raising his coffee to his lips, he took a sip of the brew, the warmth trailing down his throat and whooshing energy into his veins.

“You’re always working.”

“Yeah, well.” He took another sip. Ah. “Maybe once we get this proposal off the ground and I’m in California full time, I can actually settle down. Become boring like you.”

Travis snorted. “Monica and I are anything but boring. Just the other night, we?—”

“Dude, I really don’t want to know.”

Travis’s maniacal laughter nearly drowned out whatever the captain was saying now.

“Shoot, man, I think I have to hang up in a sec.”

“All right, well, I’m going to move forward with the Bertram viewing tomorrow then.”

“Good. If it’s as good in person as on paper, I think it would go to the top of our list of potential properties. As far as the rest of the proposal goes, you might have to keep working on anything we need to be on site for, and I’ll keep working on the rest in the evenings.” Liam finished off his coffee. “We’ll get this thing done, and hopefully it’ll be ready to present at the end of the month when I’m back.”

Like a magician, Pamela appeared again ready to collect his trash. He smiled his thanks, and she beamed back at him. Then, pulling his laptop off the tray, he tucked it away before putting the tray back into position for takeoff.

“You think your old man is really going to go for this?” Travis asked. “It’s not what we usually do.”

It was true. They’d never purchased their own hotel to revitalize. But Liam’s projections didn’t lie. If this thing succeeded, it could set Stone Development up for the future. Dad’s retirement could become a reality—if Liam could convince Dad to actually give up the reins. “He’ll see the potential.”

“I hope so, man. Monica and I are really counting on it. But I know how reticent Chaz is to take risks.”

“I can convince him. You do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

“Deal. Have a good flight.”

“Will do.” Liam hung up with Travis, buckled up, and prayed he wasn’t in over his head on this thing.

Because the idea of finally making a life in California full time—for Dad’s sake, if not for his own—was almost more than he dared hope for.