Hargrave Flame Out (Brookwell Island)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
There were times when Celeste regretted being the responsible one among the three Hargrave sisters.
Although part and parcel of being born first, it meant she was saddled with a lot of the details behind the scenes that kept their business going.
The regular budget. Profit and loss reports.
Advertising and networking. All the maintenance schedules, just to hit the high points.
She had help—Veronica and Natalie were all-in on this venture as co-owners of the Hargrave Hideaway B&B on Brookwell Island.
And still, as much as she loved it, there were times when it felt so heavy. Maybe they shouldn’t have been so hasty to open their childhood summer home to guests.
But the house—like Celeste—had needed a fresh start and they were finding incredible success so far.
She enjoyed chatting with the guests and making them feel welcome. The flow of visitors breathed new life into the house, filling it with laughter and light once more.
Veronica—the middle sister—managed the booking software, reservation questions, fielded special requests, and handled the bulk of the email. A massive weight lifted from Celeste’s shoulders.
And little by little, as Natalie’s work allowed, she was spending more time on the island, taking on more tasks around the B&B.
She planned the menus, handled most of the grocery runs, and served as the airport shuttle service.
All three of them pitched in with the housekeeping and hired Billings Landscaping for the yard and surrounding property.
Celeste double checked her numbers one last time, then sat back in her chair and stretched out the kinks in her neck and shoulders. They were turning an excellent profit as a B&B. Quite an accomplishment for such a young business that sprouted from a tragic loss.
Swiveling around to gaze out the window, she watched the sunlight play across the glossy, dark green leaves of the magnolia tree. If she opened the window, she would hear the gentle thrum of ocean waves rolling into the private cove.
A sound their mother had loved to her dying day. She’d left the house to them in her will after succumbing to cancer. The length of the illness, the roller coaster of hope and despair, had wrecked them all. The Hargrave family changed shape during those eighteen months.
After the memorial, their father disappeared—walking away from his medical practice to travel the world. He’d told them he needed space and time to grieve.
Apparently, he did not need his daughters.
Celeste tried not to blame him for any of the feelings his abandonment caused her. He’d been a loving, involved father when they were young. They all knew he loved them still, despite his continued distance. But he loved their mother more.
Though she hadn’t been married for decades like her parents, having been widowed, she understood his loss in ways her sisters could not.
It was a strange point of bonding with her father—or would’ve been, had he stuck around.
Most days she counted it a blessing that he wasn’t here and they weren’t dwelling on what they’d lost.
Cancer sucked. Grief was no better. And everybody had to find their own way through it.
For Celeste, losing her mom so soon after her husband created a vacuum.
Too much time to think and wonder and wish for a different outcome.
Desperate to distract herself and fill the endless hours she’d once spent on caregiving, she’d poured her energy into this house her mother had loved so much.
And convinced her sisters this was the business they needed to invest in.
With little more than a few questions, they’d joined her—heart and soul. Rearranging their lives to accommodate her vision. She’d never forget their faith in her ideas.
This wasn’t a journey she would’ve wanted to take alone. Not a project she could’ve managed without their support and commitment.
Hours of brainstorming and design decisions had culminated in a place their guests raved about. They’d even had their first return visitors this season. A milestone that arrived well ahead of her projections.
She had so much to be thankful for as the primary B&B hostess and mind behind their original business model, that her new idea felt almost like a betrayal.
Her sisters would listen, but would they get on board?
The key would be explaining it without sounding ungrateful for what they’d already accomplished.
Several weeks ago, the Guardian Agency, a personal protection and investigations firm, had rented the entire B&B for a special protection service.
Until her routine had been interrupted, Celeste hadn’t realized she was growing tired of the schedule.
For nearly a month, her days had been her own.
No stripping and remaking beds, no linen changes.
No baking cookies for the afternoon check-in or getting up at five to have breakfast service ready in the dining room by seven.
What had she done instead?
Walked the beach, let Veronica—the fitness expert—upgrade her training routine, and met friends for coffee. She’d even baked bread just for the adventure of it.
Natalie always said Celeste didn’t know how to dial it down and unwind. Proving her wrong had been a bonus.
As much as she loved the hospitality cycle of welcoming guests, ensuring they had a perfect stay, and bidding them farewell, the break had opened her eyes.
She hadn’t wandered aimlessly. Hadn’t been bored or even overwhelmed by lingering grief. She’d been happy.
And she’d returned to the work with a fresh mindset. Rejuvenated and enthused as she flowed into the old patterns with enthusiasm.
Right now, she had the house to herself again. She’d deliberately blocked out the last Tuesday through Sunday at the end of September to give them all a break after a busy end-of-season rush.
Instead of enjoying the glorious weather, she was hip-deep in reports, requesting additional data from Veronica so she could build a solid case to change their rental format.
There was no real reason to rush, and most likely, some fresh air and sunshine would help clarify her thoughts.
Pushing back from the desk in her suite off the kitchen, Celeste plucked her phone off the charger and headed outside.
She was tempted to call Reed, the owner of the nearby Pelican Pub.
His bar had a laid-back atmosphere that made it a favorite with the locals.
On the weekends, he invited up and coming bands to perform.
Despite the smaller venue, the Pelican was earning a good reputation as a mini-audition for the Brookwell Music Festival the island hosted each summer.
Beyond his love of music, Reed’s girl-dad energy was set to ten and since their father had walked away, Celeste and her sisters often turned to Reed for business advice and guidance.
He was even helping her brainstorm some ideas to get in on the Brookwell First Date initiative. A new event the community leaders were planning as a counterpoint to restaurant week in Charleston.
The big concept was encouraging folks to have their first date at one of the many Brookwell Island restaurants. Special perks included photos, drink discounts, party-of-two menu selections, and more.
The first date week wasn’t something the B&B could directly participate in, but thanks to Reed’s reminder to lean hard on the Hargrave Hideaway strengths, she’d pulled together a Brookwell-themed prize package that included a weekend stay.
One of the best things about the Hideaway was their private cove.
Theirs was the only privately-owned beach on Brookwell Island.
Other properties had beach access, but the boundaries of the property her father had purchased decades ago gave them exclusive access to their cove.
An asset they’d reveled in as little girls and now emphasized as business owners.
She remembered her first visits as a little girl. When the original house was a tiny cottage with one bedroom for her parents and another the sisters shared. Back then, none of them cared where they slept. All that mattered was time outside and playtime at the edge of the endless ocean.
She stepped out of her flip flops and made a beeline for the incoming tide, letting the foam roll over her feet. The cool breeze off the ocean and the consistent drumming of the waves restored her peace of mind, taking her back on a wash of fond memories.
Salt air, sunburns, and aloe. Icy popsicles and sticky fingers they rinsed clean in the ocean. Roasting marshmallows over campfires their dad built in the sand.
Those images returned in a fast and happy flurry. Carefree days of wading and dreaming up adventures with her sisters. Afternoon bike rides into town for ice cream. Sleepy hours cozied up near the fire watching sparks float up into the night sky.
Maybe she could convince her sisters to dust off the bikes this weekend and take a ride around the island.
For the joy and nostalgia. And, if she was lucky, she could tack on a business brainstorming session at the end.
They’d been running the B&B according to the original plan for a year, but lately she was thinking that a strategic shift could open up room for more.
More fun, more income, more balance.
She could imagine it so clearly, and those weeks that the entire house had been rented were proof of concept. Fewer hands-on hours and more time to wade through the water or meet friends at the Pelican. As the summer faded, they’d have more time to chat around the firepit at Veronica’s house.
She could practically smell the security and comfort of it all. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision how best to pitch her ideas to her sisters.
Taking a deep breath, Celeste realized she was smelling smoke—right here in the present, not just in her memories.
She darted back from the water, her head on a swivel as she searched for the source of that smoke. The odor was sharp, not as clean or sweet as marshmallows melting over a campfire. This was all wrong.
But where was it coming from?
Rushing away from the water and back up the beach, she scanned the sky for signs of smoke. Spotting a thin, dark plume, she called 9-1-1, reporting the general area of the fire as she broke into a run.
When she saw the flames were devouring the new outdoor kitchen, reaching for the pergola, the shock stole her breath. “Oh, no!” She wheezed. “No!”
“Ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.
“My house. It’s my house.” She gave the address. “The outdoor kitchen!” Her stomach heaved. This couldn’t be happening. She hurried across the courtyard, skidding to a stop as the heat of the flames slammed into her.
“Do not approach the house,” the dispatcher said, her voice stern. “The fire department is on the way.”
“I need?—”
“Stay with me, ma’am. Stay on the line.”
Celeste dropped her phone on the nearest bistro table. They’d installed a fire extinguisher when they’d built the outdoor kitchen. If she could get to it, she might save the pergola and keep the fire away from the house.
They had guests coming in less than a week. This B&B was her career, her focus, her future. Her…everything.
The fire threatened to consume their livelihood, along with those fragile seeds of change so recently planted in her heart.
She would not let that happen.
Squinting against the heat of the flames, she looked for the red tank that should be in the bracket on the end of the countertop. It was gone.
Crap . She judged the distance from the fire to the garden hose while desperation clawed through her belly. She had to try. She couldn’t stand here and watch her world burn.
Tugging her shirt up over her nose and mouth, she crept around the blaze toward the hose.
The wind shifted and the flames lunged toward her.
Jerking away from the danger, she stumbled and fell.
Something cracked in her wrist, but she didn’t have time for the pain.
On her hands and knees, she scrambled for the hose and flipped the lever all the way open.
Water shot out of the hose and she aimed it like a fountain toward the place where the pergola connected to the house.
Within a minute it was obvious she was fighting a losing battle. There wasn’t enough force from the hose to douse the fire. With luck, it would be enough to save the home she loved and the business she wanted to grow into a legacy for her sisters and the families they might have one day.