The Candlemaker (Kinkades #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Chandler

“Another one fell through?” I pulled off my blue-light blockers and stared at my VP, Tom Morgan.

At his grim expression, I let the glasses drop onto my desk, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, the familiar pound in my temples coming into focus. Damn headaches. I’d worked late into the night for as long as I could remember, but only in the last few years did my head start to pound by eight o’clock. I wasn’t going to cut back my hours. Not a chance. So, I’d settled on the glasses to help with all the screen time, but I was starting to suspect even they weren’t going to cut it for much longer.

“Afraid so.” Tom grimaced and crossed his arms. “They didn’t give a reason either, except to say they were no longer interested.”

Just like the last five.

I was still getting used to his bald-and-beard look since he started shaving his receding hairline, but honestly, it took at least ten years off his sixty-eight. I wished it took off ten years from his impending retirement because I wasn’t sure what the hell I was going to do when he retired from Collins Realty and Acquisitions. He’d been my right-hand man from the beginning. Older. Wiser. His name belonged on the front of the building just as much as mine, but he’d never allow it. Never wanted it. Never wanted anything but my success. So I refused to think about how I’d manage all of this when the man who’d been with me through everything left.

“What the hell is going on up there?” I muttered low, my jaw clenching. This deal—this should’ve been a piece of cake sale—was turning into a shit show.

Nine months ago, I’d inherited an old, long-closed, former inn in the small town of Friendship, Maine, from my father. And I wanted nothing to do with it. Not the inn nor the man who’d abandoned my mother. So, I did what I did best: I slapped a for sale sign on it.

Collins Realty handled forty percent of the commercial real estate sales in Manhattan and almost sixty percent of commercial deals in Boston. The sale of some nondescript, historic inn in some seaside tourist town in Maine should’ve been a breeze. Instead, each of the five prospective buyers had fallen through with no clear reason why.

I’d never had so many prospective buyers evaporate so suddenly before, and it was starting to piss me off. I wanted nothing to do with my father—nothing to do with anything he decided to leave me—including this damn inn.

“It’s like he’s still fucking with me. Even in death,” I growled. “Like he knows I’m going to destroy what he left behind.”

My father was also in the real estate business up until a few years ago. His company, GC Holdings, had been strong while he’d been at the helm, but after he got sick and stepped down, things started to flounder, and I saw my opportunity. Over the last three years, I’d carefully begun acquiring properties I knew my half-brother, Mark, was bidding on. I had more capital. More resources. It got easier and easier to pluck investments right out from under them, and GC Holdings started to flounder. And in a few weeks, it would more than flounder; it would sink.

“Or it’s just not our usual inventory,” Tom offered instead.

He wasn’t wrong. Collins Realty dealt in billion-dollar buildings. High rises. Condos. Hotels. Not in ramshackle inns.

“There’s still one offer on the table?—”

“No,” I clipped. “The Kinkade offer is too low.”

“Maybe they’d up it if you talked?—”

“And it’s too messy,” I cut him off, and it earned me the kind of chiding stare only Tom could dole out to the CEO. “Sorry,” I muttered.

When my dear old dad passed, the deed to this inn was given to my younger half-brother, Mark—the oldest child from his current marriage. A legal oversight because I’d done my damnedest to distance myself from Geoff Collins. However, a closer inspection of Geoff’s will indicated the inn was supposed to go to his oldest son—not from his current marriage. Not from any marriage. Oldest son, period. Which was technically me. In name fucking only.

But in that lag time between Mark thinking the inn belonged to him and realizing it was willed to me, Mark sold it to a local family in Friendship. Kinkade. I couldn’t even remember the guy’s first name. So, there was a whole legal shit show because the property was never Mark’s to sell. Anyway, once Collins Realty listed it for sale again, Kinkade made a second offer. I admired the perseverance, but the offer was too low, and the whole thing was too fucking muddled to sell it back to them .

“All right.” Tom sighed, knowing when he’d hit that stone wall of stubbornness in me. “I’ll drive up next week and see?—”

“No.”I sat back in my chair, glancing out the windows lining my corner office for the first time all day.Below, Copley Square was lit up for the night, a crowd of people all dressed to the nines collected under the red awning at the Fairmont hotel across the street. A wedding, it looked like. How much of my life have I spent watching other people live outside my window?

I shook off the thought and added my signature to the document I’d been reviewing when Tom came in and sent it off, sealing my acquisition of a multi-unit property in Boston that would’ve promised salvation for GC Holdings. But in my hands, it spelled their ruin.

I looked up at Tom and declared, “I’ll go. I just signed the paperwork for the Stocker building. I need you to finish up the acquisition.”

I’d tried to give Tom this office when we opened our New England headquarters, but he wouldn’t even consider it. Something about how if I didn’t have windows, I’d never get any sun. At that point, I knew any attempt to argue would only result in a conversation we’d had countless times before, and one I didn’t want to have again. I respected the hell out of Tom Morgan, but only my business was his business, not my lack of work-life balance or personal life.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” I interrupted, my jaw clenching. “I’ll stop and visit Mom.”

That instantly appeased him because he visited her more than I did. Another tenuous conversation we’d had multiple times.

“She’ll be happy to see you.”

For all the wrong reasons. A sharp pain pinched my chest, making me clear my throat. “Yeah. ”

Mom and Tom were the only two people I really cared about and the only two people who cared about me. Well, it was more like one of them these days…

“And you’re sure about the Stocker deal?”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He stared at me for a long moment, finally accepting that I was going to make him spell it out. “Because it will mean the end of GC Holdings.”

My jaw ticked. “That’s the whole point.”

“Is it?”

I ignored his deeper intonation. “GC Holdings will go under, and I’ll buy what’s left of it for more than anyone else, but still at much less than what it’s worth now.” And the last of my father’s legacy would be gone.

Tom cleared his throat. “And the fact that GC is based in New York?”

“We have an office there. It will expand,” I said nonchalantly. “I’ll move there for a few years until everything is incorporated.”

“A few years…” He trailed off and shook his head, his distress obvious.

Mom was up here, living in Maine. My visits to her were already too infrequent for Tom’s liking, and New York would only give me another excuse to stay away.

He let out a deep exhale. “I hope this is really what you want, Chandler.”

“It is.” I dared him to question me again.

Instead, he gave me a sad smile and a nod, and somehow, that managed to feel even worse; it was times like these, when our conversations strayed from business, that I really saw his age and the toll this job took. And his worry about what it was taking from me .

“You should go home. It’s late,” I said gruffly and rubbed along the side of my jaw.

“And what about you?”

I had a good thirty years on him, not to mention the stamina, the drive, and the buried resentment to keep me going.

“I’m fine.”

“Did you even eat dinner?”

I didn’t even know what time it was; I sure as hell hadn’t stopped when it was time to eat.

“I’m fine, Tom,” I said firmly and glanced at the door.

“I promised her I’d look out for you,” he reminded me with a low, resolute voice.

My jaw locked tight. That was back when Mom was here—physically and mentally—and saw the work-obsessed path I’d been heading down. She was the only one who had the pull to get me to step back and take a break. And she hadn’t been able to do that in five years since the dementia set in. Now, she hardly remembered who I was. Which, ironically, was preferable to the alternative: when she thought I was my father.

That was why my visits had become less frequent. Nothing like wanting to see one of the few people I loved only for her to mistake me for the singular man I hated.

“Good night, Tom.”

“Do you want me to arrange transportation?—”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’ll drive.”

His chin dipped, and he gave me one last look—the kind that spoke volumes—before letting himself out.

I swiped open my iPad and typed in the address of the inn, watching the pin drop on the coastal stretch of Friendship. It was a prime location—an ideal spot for an inn or any business, really. My eyes narrowed. There was a business name tagged at the spot. The Lamplight Inn. I grunted. This Kinkade fellow must’ve claimed his business before the property reverted back to me. Another tap brought up the image of the business—an artist’s rendering of the inn—and refocused the map, several other businesses highlighted nearby.

The Maine Squeeze.

The Friendship Lighthouse.

The Kinkade Gallery.

Maine Stems.

The Candle Cabin.

How fucking quaint. My jaw tightened, and I closed the screen. If there was one thing I’d learned in this industry, it was that there was no coincidence when buyers repeatedly walked away from a deal. Something questionable was going on in the not-so-quaint seaside town of Friendship—something that was scaring away every chance I had to remove all ties to my fuck-up of a father. And I was going to find out what.

“Tell Scott the deal was fifteen million. He knew that walking into the building, and I’m sure as hell not going to let him try to talk me down from it now,” I barked to my assistant, Ashley, her call filtering through the speakers in my car. “If he’s not interested at the agreed price, there are a dozen other developers who will be.”

“Will do, Mr. Collins.”

“Thanks.” My voice rasped a little just before we hung up, and I made a mental note to message Tom to buy Ashley’s lunch today for my boorish behavior.

I hadn’t slept more than a few hours last night—all of them on the couch in my office. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; I’d usually head down to the gym in the basement, work out, shower, and then just change into one of the dozen spare suits I kept in my closet there for this exact reason. Except that what I was doing today was uncommon.

So, it wasn’t the minimal sleep or the lack of caffeine that sent my attitude squarely to the center of being an asshole; it was this. Having to deal with this fucking inn and whatever the hell ties it had to my father.

I flipped my blinker and made a hard turn onto Maine Street. “Jesus—” Before I could hardly hit the brake, my Tesla jolted to a halt, alarms blaring to alert me to the person in the crosswalk.

I hadn’t hit her, but for some reason, my hands tightened harder on the steering wheel rather than relaxed when I met her surprised stare. Not met. My windows were tinted so she couldn’t see me, but damn, could I see her.

It was breezy outside because it blew strands of her honey-blond hair in front of her face, and they caught on a pair of the fullest lips I’d ever seen. Almost too full, I would say, if they weren’t balanced out by her big brown eyes.

Damn.

I didn’t have time for this, I chided myself, pressing back in my seat and waving her on like she was wasting my time.

I drove on, slightly slower now, down the center street in Friendship, the sides of it rimmed by seaside shops that would make the picture-perfect postcard. Mom loved it up here. Kennebunkport. Ogunquit. She loved the slow coasts where it wasn’t too hot or too crowded. It was the reason I’d moved her to Edgewood Estate when it became clear she couldn’t live on her own.

The private, expensive assisted-living facility was about an hour inland from here. When I’d picked it, I thought it would make for easy day trips out to the beaches and lighthouses she loved .

That was before the dementia got so bad that she rarely remembered who I was.

Again, the Tesla slowed on its own when I got too close to a pickup truck moseying through town.

“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath, trying to peek to the side of the vehicle. “Not all of us have nowhere to be.”

The GPS dot ticked painfully closer to my destination. I was surprised the car even registered a speed rather than a picture of a snail on the screen. Letting out a drawn exhale, I glanced in the rearview, wondering if the woman I’d almost hit was catching up to me.

What the hell did that matter?

The corner of my eye caught on a bright orange sign. The Maine Squeeze. But it was the coffee menu stuck to the window that caught my attention. I was already in a shit mood; if I was going to find out what the hell was going on with this property, I shouldn’t do it without caffeine in my system.

I swung into a spot right out front, and the thought struck me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d parked on the street—parked, period. I rarely drove myself in Boston. Even for short distances, I used a driver so I could take calls and work on my laptop in the back seat. There was too much to do. And it was easier to not think about what I was missing if I never looked.

Shutting off the car, I flipped down my visor, ran my fingers through my hair, and saw what I imagined the woman from the road seeing: an out-of-town asshole.

“Dammit,” I grunted and tugged my tie loose and pulled it through my collar. Tossing it onto the passenger seat, I unbuttoned my collar and then reached for the cuffs of my sleeves, rolling them to my elbows.

I should’ve already thought this through. Appearance—perception—was everything. Walking into town as the callous real estate investor who was going to sell some historic landmark to the highest bidder wasn’t going to make me any friends—not that I wanted friends, but enemies wouldn’t share information. And information was what I needed.

I got out of the car, and it locked itself behind me.

The bell above the entry into the Maine Squeeze toned off-key as I entered, alerting the barista behind the counter to my presence.

The charming smile that graced my face was staged, just like the rest of me. Like the buildings I sold, I knew how to look and what to say to get people to buy into me— into the person I wanted them to see.

“Welcome to the Maine Squeeze,” the barista said cheerfully over her shoulder; she was in the middle of cleaning the espresso machine. “We’ll be right with you.”

We—

“Hi. Welcome,” another woman said as she appeared from the back, a bag of cups in her arms. When she looked up, I did a double-take, my keys falling from my hand onto the floor.

It was the woman from the crosswalk. Except it wasn’t.

Her hair was styled differently—braided down either side of her head—and she had big glasses on, and her clothes were now a Maine Squeeze uniform, but it was her. It had to be her, right?

I swiped up my keys, and when I straightened, she regarded me with a pleasant, ignorant smile.

Tinted windows, I reminded myself.

“Welcome to the Maine Squeeze. What can I get for you?”

My eyes flicked to her nametag. Lou.

“Iced Americano.”

“Small or large?” Her smile was constant.

“Large. ”

She plucked a cup from the stack and noted my order in marker. “Name?”

“Col—Chandler.”

Her brows perked up, and I knew the reason.

“Like from Friends ,” I grumbled, learning long ago it was easier to get the association out from the start and move on. Though it was easiest to avoid the conversation all altogether by introducing myself as Mr. Collins.

Unfortunately, that didn’t fit with this version of myself. Or my goal to conceal who I was from these people.

“Yes, right,” she said and nodded, almost like Mr. Bing hadn’t been her first thought. “I love that show.”

So did my mother.

“A classic,” I offered as she passed the cup to her counterpart at the espresso machine.

“Did you guys just open for the day?” I wondered casually.

I didn’t check the schedule on the door because the sign said open, but that was the only way to explain how she was crossing the street only a few minutes ago.

“Oh no,” she gushed. “We’ve been here since five this morning, but you’re a little early for the regular crowd.”

Since five?—

“Anything else? We’ve got some amazing blueberry muffins this morning.”

“I…sure,” I fumbled and pinched the bridge of my nose when she went to grab the pastry.

What the hell was this place? The Twilight Zone?

She—Lou—was the woman in the road. I knew she was. I hadn’t looked at a woman and had it affect me like that in…a long time. But if she had been here since five…

The bell clanked again, the flat sound interrupting my thoughts.

And my reality shifted again—which was far too many fucking times before eight a.m. and coffee.

The woman from the crosswalk—windswept waves, flushed cheeks, and loose blue pants—breezed into the coffee shop, the whole atmosphere altering with her presence.

There were two of them.

My exhale barreled out of my chest.

I wasn’t going crazy; they were twins. One in the crosswalk and one in the coffee shop.

“Hey, sis,” Lou called to the woman I’d almost hit. “I have your usual on the counter.”

“Great. I need it this morning after—” She broke off when she saw me. There was a blip of uncertainty—of questionable recognition—before it disappeared, and she smiled wide like her sister.

“Hi, I’m Frankie.” She strode right up to me and extended a tiny but brash hand, her head tipped almost all the way back to meet my eyes. “You must be new to Friendship.”

“Frankie—” her sister started.

“Just visiting,” I replied and took her hand. Warm, soft, small…and firm. Damn, this woman reeked of small but mighty.

“For friends, family, or work?” she probed without a filter.

“Family,” I replied easily and then took my coffee and muffin from her twin sister’s hand.

“Oh, you got a blueberry muffin. Those are Lou’s favorite,” she said, her eyes twinkling in a way that was less like stars and more like a fuse of dynamite.

“Makes sense she recommended it then.”

“Wow.” The way her mouth moved over that word was fucking sinful—and not what I should be thinking about right now. “She must really like you to offer up one of her favorites.”

Lou blushed, then stammered, and then channeled her focus into wiping the counter no one had dirtied. Meanwhile, her twin sauntered over to the register and picked up her drink like she owned the damn place.

The two of them were night and day. Lou, the serenity of the moon, and her—Frankie—the bright flash of the sun. Or maybe more like the violent explosion of a star.

“How long are you in town for, Mr.…”

“Just a few days.” I took a bite of the muffin and addressed Lou so I could avoid sharing my name—or anything else about me. “This is amazing,” I told her. “Thank you.”

She avoided my eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“Are you familiar with Friendship at all? My sister has some other great recommendations for places around town, don’t you, Lou?” the bold one hinted and then wrapped her lips around the straw to her coffee.

I gritted my teeth, feeling my dick start to thicken. Jesus Christ, maybe there was some brand of insanity infused into the air.

“Yes. Well, a few, but?—”

“A few?” She tsked. “My sister is too humble. She knows everything there is to know about things to do and sights to see in Friendship. She wants to go into hospitality, so just ignore her protests. She’d love nothing more than to be your local guide.”

“Frankie,” Lou hissed, and it was only because my head swiveled a half-second too slow that I caught the quick wink from the outspoken twin.

I might be a workaholic and a social hermit, but I knew when I was being set up.

But…if Lou knew everything there was to know about this town, maybe she had an idea why the hell no one was buying my goddamn inn.

I gave Lou my best charming smile. “Well, if you have the time, I’d love a private tour.” Thank God for muscle memory, though I was sure some dust fell from the corners of my mouth from how infrequently it tipped up like this.

Lou’s blush deepened, and it was adorable. Beautiful, even. But for some reason, all I wondered was if her sister blushed the same. No, was my instinct. It would take much more to bring color to Frankie’s cheeks, and the idea of that challenge was one I couldn’t get tangled in.

“Of course,” Lou stammered and returned a hesitant smile.

“She’s off tomorrow,” Frankie said, a coy grin teasing her full lips around her straw.

“Is there anything else you need, Frankie?” Lou stared at her sister, and neither of us missed the edge in her tone.

“Nope.” The p popped out of those full lips. “I left candles for you and Kit, if you could bring them to the gallery for him when you go later.” She looked at me and explained, “I have a candle shop a few blocks down if you need any souvenir ideas. Lou can show you where it is tomorrow.”

“Bye, Frankie.” Lou’s eyes flicked to the door.

“Talk to you later.” She bit into her lip to control her smile, and damn, the sight was intoxicating. I barely managed to drag my eyes from her lips when she tipped her head toward me. “Pleasure meeting you.”

She didn’t even care that she didn’t know my name.

And I shouldn’t care that she didn’t care.

But for some damn reason, I did.