CHAPTER ELEVEN
Emily arranged the stems for the front reception desk at the inn in a deliberate, geometric fan—yellow tulips, two lengths of eucalyptus, three white peonies placed at angles for effect.
She worked without looking at her hands, eyes instead fixed on the shadow the window’s mullion cast over the parlor’s armchair.
Even after she set the last peony, she didn’t release the bouquet, just held it inches above the cut-glass vase and watched as a fine mist of pollen drifted onto the table below.
She adjusted the flowers so the tallest tulip faced the door, the better to impress whoever entered next.
The gesture was reflex, more for herself than for the guests.
She'd always found comfort in arranging things—people, schedules, the movements of her family through their days. But nothing about her interior life was in order today. She’d slept only a handful of hours, and the argument with Daniel had replayed all morning in her head, and even now her lower back throbbed from tossing and turning, a persistent ache that resisted every stretch or repositioning.
It was a quiet morning, and Emily sat down behind the desk in the lull, pulling out her phone.
She had a missed call from Amy. The sight of her best friend’s name made Emily’s eyes prick with tears.
If she called Amy back, would she be able to stop from bawling and spilling everything that had happened over the past few days?
Emily decided she needed to hear Amy’s voice, even if she ended up losing her composure.
She hit the missed call, and then the callback icon on her phone screen.
Amy answered the call on the second ring. Emily pictured her best friend, phone pressed to her ear, as she stood in a bustling Manhattan street. The sounds of the city filtered through the line, reminding Emily of her past life in the Big Apple.
“Hey, Em! Are you surviving Harry without me around to keep him in line?” she joked, the warmth of her voice a familiar comfort.
Emily hesitated for a moment, trying to keep her voice steady. She latched onto Amy’s joke about her fiancée. “Harry is the best kitchen manager I’ve ever had,” Emily said with a forced lightness, “but I can always tell he’s better when you’re home. How’s New York?”
“Ugh. Chaotic. Rude. Amazing. Jayne says hello. We just had lunch.”
Emily smiled, thinking of her old friend, a little envious of the lunch that she and Amy had just had. She didn't want to ask what fabulous restaurant they'd dined at. "So, you're working hard, huh?"
Another snort. “I’ve been here a month now, and I get to finally meet tomorrow with the decision-makers at the new distributor. Keep your fingers crossed. If I land this, that’ll mean my candles are in all fifty states, at high-end margins.”
“You’re going to kill it. I just know it,” Emily said. But her voice wavered just a bit.
“Is everything alright?” Amy asked, the playful banter falling away as she heard the tremor.
Emily couldn’t hold it back any longer. The floodgates opened, and she confessed all of her troubles to Amy, blubbering, pouring it all out in a rush of words.
The stress of Roy’s declining health, the strain in her relationship with Daniel, Chantelle and the offer for the summer, and even the baby news.
The relief of sharing her burdens with a friend washed over her, taming her frayed nerves just a little.
After a moment of silence, Amy's voice came through the line, soft and sympathetic. “I’m coming home, Em. As soon as my meeting is over tomorrow, I’ll be on the first flight to Sunset Harbor. You don’t have to face all of this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” Emily protested. “I understand that. I have so much support. It’s just… it all feels like a lot.”
Amy was adamant. “I won't hear it,” she insisted. “I’m part of the battalion, and we leave no man or woman behind. Besides, Harry’ll be thrilled if I come home ASAP.”
Emily sniffled. “Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you too, girl. See you soon.”
As they said their goodbyes and hung up, Emily felt an even greater sense of relief wash over her. Just voicing her worries had helped. She took out her compact from one of the reception desk drawers, smoothed her hair and made sure her eyes weren’t red, and patted her face with cool fingers.
She’d barely finished straightening herself up when the front door opened, ushering in a gust of salt air and the sound of unhurried footfalls. Emily smoothed her blouse, pinched the bridge of her nose, and put on her neutral innkeeper smile.
The smile widened into a genuine one when she recognized the man who’d just come in.
Roman Westbrook was lacking his typical shaggy hair, a new cut that was shorn short on the sides, making him look almost corporate.
He wore an oxford shirt and dark jeans, perfectly tailored but with the easy slouch of a man used to moving through airports and living on tour buses.
Even in sunglasses, he was a shade too conspicuous for Sunset Harbor, and he seemed to know it, glancing down the hall as if to check for paparazzi.
He removed his glasses and folded them with careful precision.
They probably cost what Emily made at the inn in a month.
“I always feel like I’m stepping inside a postcard here,” he said, glancing around the parlor as he leaned on an elbow on the reception desk.
He grinned, teeth very white against the olive of his skin. “How are you, Em?”
“I’m happy to see you, Roman. Are you staying? You should have called.”
He shook his head. “No. Just coming to pick up a custom guitar that the shop in town made me. Thought I’d come see my favorite innkeeper and crew.”
Emily gestured toward the front parlor. “Can I get you coffee? Tea?”
“Coffee, if you have it,” he said. “Black is fine.”
They moved the parlor, where the carafe on the sidebar was still warm. She poured for both of them, set the cups on the low table, and motioned for him to take a seat. He chose the window-facing armchair, crossing his legs and resting his ankle on his knee.
Emily sat opposite, hands curled around her cup, trying to discern what he was really here for.
“How are you?” he asked, relaxing across from her. “You sounded a little frazzled when I last called.”
Emily didn’t break down with Roman the way she had with Amy. Instead, she simply shrugged. “Well, my dad’s still sick, but we’re taking it day by day. And we might buy a lighthouse.”
Roman raised his eyebrows at her last words. “That’s very Emily of you. What in the world would you do with a lighthouse?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Any ideas?” Emily asked slyly.
The trademark Westbrook smile flashed again. “Hide from the press.” He looked at his mug, and then back to her. “Is now a bad time to talk?”
She startled a little, surprised he was just going to come out with whatever was on his mind. “Not at all. What’s up?”
“Chantelle and the summer program. Have you thought more on it? She’s good, and you know I don’t say it lightly. Boston’s a big opportunity.”
The words were soft, almost neutral, but Emily felt the latent weight of them. She forced herself to keep her posture open, but her fingers had begun to tap, staccato, against the rim of her cup.
“She’s nervous,” Emily said. “About leaving. About all of it.”
“That’s normal.” Roman’s tone was both reassuring and oddly personal. “Chantelle has raw talent, but that’s like having wings before you know how to fly. You can flap all day and not get off the ground.” He paused.
“One of my foster mothers used to say,” he went on, “that talent is a gift, but what you do with it is your responsibility. She was a realist. If she wanted something, she either figured out how to get it, or she learned to live with not having it.”
Her heart ached for him when he said foster. It was a fact she’d known, but it still hit her hard every time he mentioned it casually.
“Do you think we should push her?” Emily asked, not entirely meaning to voice it aloud.
Roman paused, thoughtful. “If you don’t, she might not get to the stage professionally. I mean, she did great with me at the local event you planned. But nobody goes pro by accident. But… it’s not about forcing it. You can’t want it for her. She has to want it for herself.”
Emily sat back. She thought of the times she’d hovered outside Chantelle’s door, listening for the faint trace of scales or the start-stop of her daughter’s voice as she tested new lyrics.
“We’re going to let her choose. I never want it to be something we’ve chosen for her. It has to come from her own heart.”
“She’s lucky to have you and Daniel as her parents,” Roman said, looking down into his cup.
They sat in silence again, but it felt lighter this time.
From Emily’s office just past the reception desk, where Emily had set Charlotte down for her midmorning nap in the travel playpen, Charlotte’s voice rang out—first a babble, then a wobbly crescendo that ended in a just-woken-up shriek.
Roman’s smile returned, this time with genuine amusement. “That your youngest?”
Emily nodded. “She’s finding her voice.”
Roman tilted his head, as if listening for harmony. “Hitting the high notes. It runs in the family.” He glanced at his watch—delicate and expensive, the kind a celebrity wore but probably never actually checked for the time. “I should probably go. I’m supposed to get that guitar by noon.”
She stood as he did, and the difference in height was more pronounced than she’d remembered.
“Thank you for the coffee,” he said. “And the conversation.”
“You’re welcome,” Emily replied, then added, “I’ll let you know about Chantelle. Though you might have me trying to sneak into her luggage if she went.”
Roman laughed, low and easy. She walked him to the door, then lingered in the foyer, hands jammed deep in her pockets.
The house was silent after the door closed.
Emily walked to one of the windows at the side of the door and watched Roman drive off in a sleek sportscar, the engine purring as he navigated down the driveway.
She felt a sudden pang of sympathy for him—despite his fame and success, he must feel pretty lonely on the road all the time.
She had so many loved ones around her—so many to lean on. And Roman must feel that the inn, and Sunset Harbor, was something special for him, too. As famous as he was, he kept returning. It warmed Emily’s heart that something in the successful singer felt at home here, just like she did.
Despite the ups and downs, the fights with each other, the money troubles, this place was a refuge where everyone was family.
A place where they figured things out together, supporting each other through thick and thin.
It helped ease Emily’s anxiety over the fight with Daniel.
She knew, deep down, that he was just worried about her.
Loved her. Wanted her to be healthy—and the baby.
The sound of Charlotte calling for her broke Emily’s reverie, her baby girl's sweet voice pulling her back to the present.
"Mama!" Charlotte's voice rang out again, a mix of excitement and demand.
With a smile tugging at her lips, Emily made her way to the office.