1. Callum #2
There was no denying that land itself could be useful.
I could clear out the brush, renovate the barns, and create more guest spaces.
Expand the Drifted Spirit beyond the main house and give visitors a full Star Harbor experience—fresh air, walking trails, maybe even a farm-to-table restaurant.
If I played this right, I wouldn’t just be running the best inn in town, I’d be running a destination—a legacy for Levi instead of another thing left to rot.
I could finally open my own restaurant.
That felt more like my dream than simply running a glorified bed-and-breakfast.
Helen had been badgering me for years to expand—with enough sweat and hard work, Drifted Spirit Inn had been making more than enough money. But the thought of a second location seemed daunting. My days were already filled with maintenance, staff schedules, dealing with guests, and Levi.
Something less than a hundred yards away ... now that could be an idea worth considering. I let the possibility roll over me, walking in companionable silence with my old friend.
We reached the bend in the road where Stan would continue on, and I needed to get inside the inn to make sure breakfast went off without a hitch.
But for the first time, I wasn’t just thinking about today’s to-do list.
I was thinking about what came next. The possibilities of expanding the inn and having my very own restaurant on-site burrowed into my chest. For the first time in my life, I let a tiny spark of hope ignite.
I turned, holding out my hand. “Tell you what—if you ever decide you’re ready for those changes, you tell me first, how about that?”
His eyes smiled as he shook. “You’ll be the first to know.” Stan’s grip was strong, and he didn’t let me go. “You should also think about coming with me to BOLD. We meet next week.” His eyebrows bounced alongside the offer.
I bit back a grimace. Stan had been hounding me for the last few years to join his widow/widower support group.
BOLD: Brave, Optimistic, Living Dynamically.
Even if it wasn’t designed for the over-sixty crowd, it was a hard pass.
“You could meet a nice lady,” he continued with a hint of mischief in his voice. “One who won’t even care about the scars.”
I suppressed a wince and tried to ignore the phantom pain in my shoulder.
I mustered up a smile for him, knowing the old man was meddlesome but always meant well. “I’ve got my hands full with a fourteen-year-old who thinks he’s twenty-five. Thanks for the invite, though.”
Stan nodded, knowing full well there was zero chance I would be hitting up BOLD.
My thoughts flicked to Mary and the gaping hole she’d left in Levi’s life. On the long list of ways I had failed her, Levi’s latest struggles were the hardest to ignore.
Much to Mary’s dismay, despite her unexpected pregnancy at twenty-two, I had never planned to leave the Army.
Sure, I had agreed to marry her, but I had been selfish.
I’d joined the Delta Force operators as soon as I was eligible and had been gone more than I was home.
Her brother, Wes, was one of my best friends and a fellow operator.
When Mary died, he was the sole reason I managed to hold my shit together as a man who had no clue how to raise a son alone. Sometimes I wondered whether Wes ever regretted bringing me home to Thanksgiving that time and introducing me to his little sister.
With heavy shoulders, I dipped through the cedar fence and walked across the yard toward the Drifted Spirit Inn.
The old Victorian stood proudly against the stark magenta sunrise.
The three-story house had been built in the late 1880s and had survived various renovations over the past 140 years, but the goal was always to retain its historic charm.
Mary had begged to take over the inn, saying she was a lot less lonely when I was gone if she was surrounded by people.
I preferred my solitude.
Still, in my absence, Mary had worked hard and made the Drifted Spirit Inn what it was today.
Every room, every board in that place, was hers.
When her tragic car accident and unexpected death had forced my retirement from the Army, the inn had been yet another saving grace.
The settlement from her accident was more than enough to make sure Levi was taken care of for a long time.
Any amount that was left, I poured into making her dream a living, breathing thing.
It was my penance for not being the man she had deserved.
I walked through the side entrance of the Drifted Spirit, entering the kitchen. After my detour to the cottage from hell, I was already behind schedule. I grabbed my apron off the hook and slipped it over my head. I tied it in the back as I read over the detailed notes I’d left myself last night.
The morning’s breakfast menu included German apple pancakes with whipped maple sour cream, glazed breakfast sausages, scrambled eggs, and pineapple carpaccio with mint sugar. It would feed eight to ten people and take me about forty-five minutes from start to finish.
I looked around the kitchen. In the bustling chaos of an inn, the kitchen was my sanctuary.
Everything had a place. A timeline. A result.
Helen could handle the guest requests for extra towels or recommendations for the best ghost walk in town, while I could disappear into the kitchen and keep to myself.
Learning how to cook was easy compared to worrying about how to raise a kid who barely knew me.
I had never seemed to shake the times as a child when I went hungry.
Not having something as basic as food sticks with you—cooking for others eased a bit of that ache of a scared little boy I had once been.
Over time, I’d found my rhythm with both food and Levi.
As I measured the ingredients and placed them on the large island in the center of the newly renovated kitchen, my son came sauntering in.
“Where were you?” I asked, glancing up. He was freshly showered, and his brown hair looked nearly black with the water clinging to it. He needed a haircut, and I mentally added that to my to-do list.
“Out.” Levi barely looked at me as he rummaged through the industrial-size refrigerator.
I whipped the eggs with more force than necessary. “Breakfast will be ready in about an hour. Then I’ll drive you to school. ”
He turned, grabbing a muffin I’d baked yesterday off the island. “I’m fine.”
“You like it here, don’t you?” I asked, watching my son leave his garbage on the counter.
“I guess.” He shrugged, then paused. My breath caught in my throat as I waited for him to give me anything else. “It’s just ... not the same without her.”
Mary had been gone for years, but her absence still haunted us. I swallowed past the rocks in my throat. “I know.”
I struggled to find words of comfort and wondered where my bright-eyed little boy had gone. More and more the easygoing Levi I once knew was disappearing right in front of me.
Was it trouble with friends?
Girl problems?
Drugs?
“Good morning,” Helen singsonged as she pushed through the door, breaking through my spiraling thoughts.
I bit back a curse as batter sloshed over the side of the bowl. I wanted to finish my conversation with Levi, but when I looked up, he was already gone.
Helen was in her sixties, with warm brown skin and a smattering of freckles across her nose, like shadows of the sun.
Tight coils framed her face, neatly styled in short twists that brushed her temples, streaks of silver threading through the black.
She was always smiling, a hint of mischief sparkling in her deep-brown eyes.
“The couple who checked out of 2A just called and said they accidentally left a box of...”
I glanced up when she paused.
Holding back a giggle, Helen pressed her lips together, failing miserably at looking professional. “Um, special items . They’re hoping to get those back.”
My eyes closed. “Jesus Christ.” I exhaled, fighting my own smirk. Special items most definitely meant sex stuff—it always did.
“Oh, well you’re going to love this next part.” She leaned in with humor dancing in her eyes. “They said they’re pretty sure the big one rolled under the bed.”
I dropped my head back. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
“You should ask the boss for a raise,” she offered, knowing full well I was the boss in charge of salaries.
I held up my fist, ready to rock, paper, scissors Helen in hopes of getting out of sex-toy recon duty. It was how she and I settled most disagreements these days.
We pumped our fists, and when her rock beat my scissors, I let that curse fly. “Fuck.”
Helen laughed. “Have fun. Wear gloves ... maybe a hazmat suit.”
I waved her off and focused on finishing up breakfast before I lost what was left of my patience.
How the hell was this my life?