Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Chandler
“ Very few people want to buy a haunted property, Mr. Collins. But you’re welcome to do your own market research.”
“Chandler?”
I tensed, brought back to reality by Mom’s voice. I shouldn’t be thinking about Frankie or the goddamn inn— or that kiss . But Christ, that woman infected me. Frankie Kinkade was pure fire. Bright. Bold. Hot. Tempting. She made it so damn easy to draw close, so damn warm and inviting and sweet, and then holy hell, did she deliver a burn.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I sighed and smiled apologetically, my gaze flicking to the candle that had sparked my distraction.
After the other night, I didn’t want to believe that the ocean scent could work miracles, but sure enough, Mom’s fog when I first arrived evaporated as the flame stretched its tethers through the air and anchored her mind to the present.
“I asked what you thought of my newest friend.” She pointed to the far wall, a preserved monarch butterfly hanging on display in the small square case.
“Very nice.” My smile was quick, my own mind too unmoored to focus for very long. “Where did you get it?”
She blinked like it was a silly thing for me to ask. “Tom brought it, sweetheart.” She motioned to the other butterfly frames and artwork on the wall. “He brought me all of them. You know that.”
“Oh,” I rumbled. Did I know that? Had she told me that? I knew Tom visited her often, but I didn’t realize he brought her gifts.
“What’s going on?” Mom patted my knee. “Your mind seems…away.”
I let out a quick breath. I knew I should brush it off. Say it was just work and talk about something else. But who the hell else was I going to share this with—this thing that twisted and knotted in my chest? This woman.
“Ghosts.”
“Oh.” She sat back and then chuckled. “Well, that would be very distracting. Real ghosts?”
I grunted. “Apparently.”
I’d spent all week making my rounds through town. Visiting the local shops and businesses, and meeting the generations of locals who’d lived in Friendship their entire lives. At every turn, I was met with one singular agreement: Absolutely, the old inn was haunted.
No doubt. No uncertainty. It was only the twinkle in their eyes that betrayed them. Truth never came with a twinkle.
Some said it was Revolutionary War ghosts. Some claimed it was Paul Revere himself. Others, ghosts from the Prohibition era. Everyone built a good story around the foundation Frankie had planted, but I was convinced that what they were creating was nothing more than a house of cards .
“Friendly ones, I hope?”
“Fake ones are more like it,” I said low.
My sister’s offer will still be on the table when you’re done.
It wasn’t a promise. It was a…foreshadowing. Like she knew she had the upper hand. I saw it in the glint of her eyes the same way she’d looked in the restaurant when she thought I believed she was Lou. Identical or not, I’d never not know her. No, let me rephrase. Identical or not, parts of me would never not know her.
Lou Kinkade was like a cool ocean breeze, calm and reassuring, but Frankie was a damn sun flare. They could both be standing in front of me, covered head to toe in potato sacks, and I’d still always know—only be drawn to the warmth of one.
“Fake?” Mom laughed. “You’re going to have to explain more than that, Chandler.”
“The people of Friendship believe—want everyone to believe that old inn is haunted.”
“No, it can’t be. Can it?”
I didn’t want to get into this, but I couldn’t help myself. The smile on Mom’s face. The twinkle in her eyes. She was interested. Engaged. Present. And it was only a matter of time before I ran out of these moments with her.
“I don’t think so. Ghosts aren’t real, but they are a convenient ally for someone who doesn’t want me to sell the inn,” I grumbled and let out a long breath.
Maybe I should just let the Kinkades have it. What the hell did it matter to me? I never wanted it in the first place, and it wasn’t like my business or career needed this sale. The inn was a blip in the billions. I’d come up here out of curiosity, and I sure as hell had more important business to handle back in Boston, but after meeting her…after realizing what was going on…
I told myself I was staying on principle—acting on sound business practices. But goddammit, the truth was I couldn’t stop thinking about her and that kiss and wondering when the last time was when I felt something so strongly that I couldn’t resist it. Because that was exactly what happened.
The feel of her pressed to me. The part of her pink lips. The hungry haze in her eyes. And that kiss—I’d gone from businessman to beast in the span of a heartbeat. God, I wanted to devour her right then and there on the sidewalk. And I would’ve if she hadn’t stopped me.
“They don’t want you to sell it?” Mom reeled me back to the moment. “Why not? It would be so wonderful to have it up and running again.”
My tongue felt like it sat in a pool of acid. I wasn’t sure what made me the bigger asshole: wanting to sell it to someone who planned to tear it down or lying to her about it. I let a long exhale pass my lips. It was business, and I didn’t want to argue with her or upset her. I didn’t know…I was afraid I’d lose her if I did.
“I think they want to dictate who I sell it to.”
“So, they all decided to believe it was haunted?”
“One of them,” I croaked, my gaze locking on the damn candle. “One of them decided it should be haunted and enlisted all the rest.”
“Oh my…” She trailed off, and I looked at her, watching a smile appear. “In all my years…what a drastic, clever idea.”
Dammit. Hot air blew from my lips. Even Mom was admiring my adversary now.
“Not clever. Frustrating.”
“And you don’t like their buyer’s offer?”
My jaw clicked tight. I liked Lou Kinkade. I liked her ideas. Her plans. I liked how she knew her town and her market, and I admired that she’d delved so deep into this project that even her twin sister could rattle off her dreams as though they were her own.
But like had nothing to do with business.
“It’s not the best one.” The best one was from a man I was meeting with this afternoon at the property to light a fire under this deal. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d personally met with a buyer for any property of mine; I’d never needed to. Until Frankie Kinkade had become a thorn in my business—one only I could pluck out.
“But is it the right one?”
I stilled. “They’re the same thing.”
I hated the way her shoulder slumped a little and the light in her eyes dimmed. I hated feeling like I’d somehow let her down. But she understood—I knew she did; she’d worked by my side in this business for too many years to not know.
“Did you know monarchs migrate almost three thousand miles every fall?”
I stared at the preserved butterfly in the frame, forcing myself to accept I’d lost her focus. Every time, it was like being dunked in a bucket of ice water. Sudden. Frigid. Painful. And it took me several seconds to adapt.
“No, I didn’t.”
“New little butterflies emerge from their chrysalis in the northern states, ready to take this long, strenuous journey all the way down to Mexico. And they know the way. Without question, without anything to lead or guide them, they know the right path to take.” She traced the edge of the frame with her fingers and then surprised me by reaching for my hand. “I know you’ll take the right path, Chandler. You were born knowing the right thing to do.”
I inhaled sharply. She was still with me. My throat tightened, but I managed to say, “I don’t know about that, but I’ll figure out how to handle this. I always do,” I assured her.
The right thing to do would be to forget about that damn kiss—a kiss that was far more haunting to me than this cocked-up story about ghosts at the inn. The right thing to do would be what I came here to do: sell the inn to the person who presented the best offer and then leave. Anything else was a waste of time…or worse.
“Then you can add ghostbuster to your resume.”
I breathed out a laugh, watching Mom lean toward the candle.“This candle is really just wonderful, Chandler. Where did you say you got it again?”
From the woman I can’t get off my mind.
“The Candle Cabin. It’s a store in Friendship.” One more dilemma I faced: I needed more of these damn candles.
If the beach scent was what kept Mom in the present, I needed to buy a storehouse of them. And that meant returning to enemy territory.
Not that I cared about enemies or confrontation; I’d dealt with my fair share over the years. But her…to face her again was different. Especially since I’d faced her every night since our dinner in the depths of my dreams. I faced her gold-flecked eyes, hooded, as they looked up at me. Her soft-spun hair and the way it curled like a vine around my fingers. And that mouth—the fire it breathed, the sweetness it housed.
Air hissed through my lips. It had been months, maybe, since I’d been with a woman. Clearly a mistake because I was dreaming about that damn kiss and everything else I’d wanted to do to her and waking up every damn morning hard as stone.
“It’s so wonderful.” She moved closer and took another breath. “We should get one for your room. You always love being at the shore.”
The cold wave crashed over me once more. My room? How old did she imagine I was now?
“That would be nice,” I murmured .
“Oh, good.” She patted my knee. “Now, help me hang this frame, Geoff, before you run off again.”
Another crack echoed from inside my chest. Her words were easy—ignorant of how painfully true they’d come to be.
I picked up the candle and blew out the flame. It gave me a couple of clear moments, but it wasn’t a miracle. It couldn’t fix what was happening inside her brain; it could only let me forget for a little that I was slowly losing her.
“Come on,” I muttered, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel and staring at the flower delivery truck in front of me blocking the street.
Maine Stems. Catchy.
I’d been stuck behind it— parked behind it for ten minutes—and ten minutes was a long time when nothing had been loaded onto or unloaded from it. What the hell were they doing? Growing the damn flowers from seed?
Back in Boston, I would’ve been honking by now. Or my driver would’ve been. But here, to honk at someone was the equivalent of a hit-and-run. Now that Frankie had outed me, I wasn’t a fan-favorite of the community who consistently lied to my face about my own property. I didn’t want to deal with…whatever they’d do next if I started blasting my horn at local business delivery trucks that were holding up traffic.
I should’ve just walked. Everyone walked around here. Home. Shops. Shore. Especially this time of year and this close to the center of town. But I didn’t want to be from around here. I wanted to keep my distance from this town and this inn and her.
My phone buzzed. A reminder for my meeting with Mr. Fairfax that was starting… now. I glanced at the clock, frustration staining my attitude. Dammit. I opened up a message to him and let him know I was trying to find parking and that I’d be there in a few minutes.
Almost as soon as the message was sent, the tall delivery driver appeared and rounded the back of the truck. He looked about my age, and as he reached for the door, he looked at me, tipped his head, and smiled as if to thank me for my patience.
“Yeah, yeah.” I gave a halfhearted wave. Just before he climbed into the truck, I swore his smile looked more like a grin.
Jesus. I was starting to imagine everyone in this damn town was in one pocket or another of Frankie Kinkade’s.
The truck rumbled back to life, and we finally started to move.
I scanned the side of the road for street parking, but everything was blocked up as I approached the inn. The truck made it a little hard to see too far in front of me, so I slowed, opening up some distance so I could see if Mr. Fairfax was there yet. A purple Maserati appeared like a shiny, sore thumb on the side of the road. Yeah, he was here.
Sure enough, Fairfax stuck out just as much as his damn car did. No one—not even a visitor to town—would be caught wearing a beige suit with a deep purple hat. But that was Cornelius Fairfax. Eccentric, obnoxiously skeptical, and painfully superstitious.
The man once refused to buy a piece of waterfront property simply because there were red tulips growing in one of the window planters. There was still debate whether it was the color red, the tulips, or both that caused it.
I didn’t like doing business with him because the man had no trust in anyone. And while there might be many finer points to my reputation, untrustworthy wasn’t one of them. But when it came to this inn, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Fairfax wanted a central location with good views for a condo complex, and the property of the inn delivered.
I was about to stop and put my four-ways on—since that seemed to be the norm around here—and let Fairfax know I’d be right there, but as I got closer, I saw he was already talking to someone. Great. Hopefully, his assistant?—
I squinted. Not great.
Fairfax was talking to Frankie. What the hell?
My jaw started to pound with how hard I clenched it; they looked in deep conversation, and if there was one thing I’d learned about Frankie Kinkade, it was that deep was dangerous. And that became more apparent as my car crawled closer. Fairfax had his back to me, so I couldn’t see his face, but Frankie…she was animated. Cheeks flushed, arms moving. She motioned to the inn and then down at the sidewalk. Why the hell were her candles all over the sidewalk?
And why was she talking to Fairfax about it?
After that, I couldn’t find a parking spot fast enough. Anger thumped like a war drum in my head as I stalked down the street toward them. From this angle, I could tell Frankie was doing all the talking because I could see Fairfax now, his face shaded by his hat but his mouth firm and unmoving.
He wouldn’t give a shit about ghosts. At the end of the day, he was here for the land, not the building. Frankie was going to realize real quick that this wasn’t the small-town business she was meddling in. I appreciated her tenacity and the authenticity of her sister’s offer, but feelings were never a good barometer for business. Hell, feelings were never a good barometer for anything.
The beat in my head grew louder the closer I got, and I didn’t wait for a break in their conversation before I stepped in .
“Fairfax. Good to finally meet you.” I extended my hand, half-blocking Frankie from his view. “Chandler Collins, CEO of Collins Realty. So sorry to keep you waiting.” Cornelius was flustered for a second before he quickly switched gears and returned my handshake. The whole time, Frankie’s glare bored a hole in my back. Good. Maybe that would clue her in to the hollowness inside my chest.
“Pleasure,” Fairfax replied gruffly, and then cleared his throat. “This young lady here has been sharing some…details about the property with me.”
“Well, I’m glad Miss Kinkade could entertain you with her local lore while I parked,” I drawled casually and extended my arm toward the main gate. “Why don’t I show you around and give you all the facts myself?—”
“Is this property haunted, Collins?”
Goddammit.
“No—”
“Yes—”
I whipped my head and glared at Frankie, anger and attraction sizzling through me like ungrounded electricity.
“No, it’s not,” I bit out, my eyes still locked on her, daring her to contradict me.
And she did.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Collins”—her sweet voice was as saccharine as raw honey—“I know you’ve just arrived in town and aren’t familiar with the area or much of its heritage”— touché— “but I promise you, the old Lamplight Inn is most assuredly haunted. Feel free to ask anyone who lives around here.” Her eyes never broke from mine, the golden flecks in them tap dancing over my irritation. She knew I’d asked around—knew I would ask around. And now she rubbed it in my face that I’d walked right into the net she’d planted for me.
If I wasn’t so damn annoyed and inconvenienced by her gall, it would be one more thing on a quickly growing list of the reasons I was attracted to her. A list I’d retitled Reasons to Avoid Frankie Kinkade.
“Miss Kinkade, even if ghosts do exist, I can assure you, it’s no concern of Mr. Fairfax. It’s the property we’re here to look at. Your ghosts will rest in peace once the building is rubble,” I bit out, losing another layer of restraint. So, what if she knew the buyer I wanted to sell to not only offered more but planned on destroying the historic inn?
Business was business.
Frankie’s jaw went slack, her full lips separating just enough to make me want to slide my tongue back inside them. My tongue…and other parts of me. Fuck.
I forced my lips into a cold smirk. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Fairfax?”
“Oh, no,” Frankie interjected before he could answer. “Ghosts don’t just disappear when the building goes; they haunt the land, and they’ll probably be even angrier that you’ve destroyed their home.” Her eyes flicked from me to Fairfax, and whatever she saw must’ve made her realize she was losing her foothold because she pressed her hand to her chest and then reached for my arm with her other. Heat blasted through my veins. Heat and hunger. “But what I’d be more worried about is the cemetery underneath the inn.”
“Cemetery?” Jesus Christ. My hand slowly curled at my side. This was the kind of shit that only happened in small towns. Rumors and secrets and… shenanigans.
I turned my head and met her stare, and she didn’t flinch. When my fist balled tight, it flexed my arm underneath her fingers, and I heard the small catch of her breath before she dropped her hold.
My nostrils flared. You’re playing with fire.
Playing with fire is my job. Her gaze seemed to respond a second before she actually did respond.“There’s a Native American burial ground that colonial settlers built over—according to legend.” Or according to Frankie’s imagination.
“Collins, if I tear this thing down and end up with zoning and historical society and preservation society hoopla because of a damn burial ground?—”
“There is no burial ground underneath the inn,” I snapped. Later, I’d regret losing my cool and wonder what the hell it was about her particular brand of impertinence that got so far underneath my skin.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Mr. Collins.” Frankie stepped to the side, holding her smile and batting her not-so-damn innocent lashes. “But as I told Mr. Fairfax, when I heard the inn was for sale, I wanted to help in any way I could. Of course, there was no way for you to know about the ghost problem.” She put her hand on my arm, heat branding my skin. “So, I’ve been performing séances here every week to help appease the spirits.”
Are you fucking kidding?
When her eyes widened, I realized the rumble around us wasn’t traffic on the street but the growl erupting from my chest. Gritting my teeth, I tugged my arm away.
“Look, Fairfax, I can assure you?—”
“I’m going to need more than assurances here, Collins,” he blustered, reaching and adjusting the seat of his hat. “No burial ground. No ghosts. Or no deal. I’m not going to pay a premium for this property only to have all my investment go six feet under.”
“Absolutely. I will provide you with documentation of the historical uses of this land, as well as radiographic scans to prove there are no bodies underneath the ground. ”
“And the ghosts, Mr. Collins?” Frankie probed sweetly, her almond eyes waiting for mine to land as my head whipped back to her.
I didn’t know what was more unbelievable right now—that I was having a legitimate conversation about ghosts or that I still wanted— with an insane amount of lust— the woman who was single-handedly derailing a dozen multi-million-dollar deals.
My glare was so fixed on her that I jerked back in surprise when something broke through my line of sight. I blinked and turned and found the culprit— a butterfly. By the time I saw it, it was far enough away that I couldn’t tell if it was like the one in Mom’s frame, but at that point, it didn’t matter. A butterfly had appeared at this exact moment, and all I could think about was what she’d said.
“ You’ll know the right thing to do.”
“Do you have physical proof they exist?” I demanded low.
“Proof? Of ghosts?” Her laugh was like individual rays of sunshine. Something that made me want to close my eyes and bask in its warmth…if only she wasn’t my adversary. “Oh.” She stopped suddenly, pressing her hand to those damn lips. “Oh, I thought you were joking.” The corners of her mouth turned up, and so help me, all I wanted to do was kiss the damn coyness from her face. “I don’t know that I can provide proof, Mr. Collins. It’s just common knowledge when you live here, but if you’d like, I can continue my séances?—”
“You know what?” I interrupted her, a wide smile breaking over my face. The first clue that I’d lost my fucking mind. “I have a solution.” I faced my counterpart, almost completely cutting Frankie out of the conversation. “I will prove to you the property isn’t haunted, Fairfax. Personally.”
The other man folded his arms, his beady eyes narrowing. “How? ”
I straightened and made sure my expression didn’t falter. “I will stay here—sleep inside the inn for an entire week to assure you it’s not haunted.”
Frankie’s gasp was the first taste of my victory, but I didn’t stop to savor it; she wouldn’t give up that easily.
“But how can you be sure you don’t encounter them? That you’re…accurately recording your experience?” She blurted out. “Mr. Fairfax should be absolutely certain you’ve done your due diligence.”
“Which is why, Miss Kinkade, you’re going to stay here with me.” The words were out before I could stop them. A gauntlet of sorts tossed into this ring.
The look on her face couldn’t have made me smile any wider. The shock in her eyes. The flare of her nostrils. She thought she’d have the upper hand because there was nothing she wasn’t willing to do for her story. Well, there was nothing I wasn’t willing to do for this sale.
This was the right thing. Fairfax was the right choice. He had to be. Not this woman with her sparkling eyes, her smile made of sunshine, and her kiss made of sin.
“Clearly, as the resident expert on the paranormal state of the inn, who better to confirm my findings? I’m happy to take any other suggestions, but as you’ve already spoken to Mr. Fairfax at length about this, I’m sure he’d be more comfortable if you were there, too.”
Her mouth opened, then shut, and then slipped open again.
“Yes, Miss Kinkade. Since you seem to have the knowledge and the tools”—he motioned to the candles littered on the sidewalk—“for this kind of thing. I’d prefer you both ascertain the truth to these rumors.”
I lifted an eyebrow, daring her to find some excuse otherwise.
Frankie slid her tongue out over her full mouth, reminding me that its demands had matched my own. Damn, that kiss had been unexpected. Both because it happened and because of how it happened—like a match to a goddamn gallon of gasoline. I watched her pink lips close as she swallowed, and it hit me what I’d done.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
“Okay, Mr. Collins,” she agreed, her voice less smooth, her cheeks even pinker. “I’ll happily stay at the inn with you this coming week?—”
“Tonight.” Not a chance in hell I was going to give her a single day to boobytrap the damn place like she’d boobytrapped the collective memory of this whole town. “We start tonight.”
Her throat bobbed. “Tonight then,” she agreed, her smile nowhere near as confident as before. Then again, neither was mine.
“Good,” Fairfax grumbled. “I’ll look for your report at the end of the week before I can even consider moving forward with an official offer.”
He tipped his head and departed down the street, leaving Frankie and me rooted in front of the inn.
“Looks like we’ll get to the bottom of these ghosts after all, Miss Kinkade.” My gaze roamed her face. “I appreciate your assistance.”
In the span of seconds, her fiery perseverance had restored his provocation. “I’m happy to help, but as I told you the other night, Mr. Collins, in the end, my sister’s offer is going to be the only one left standing.”
I was willing to do anything for a sale—including sleeping in an abandoned inn. I wasn’t afraid of ghosts—especially not ones that didn’t exist. But there were worse things than ghosts that could haunt me, namely the woman I’d just signed up to spend the next six nights with.
Frankie Kinkade was like the apple—both trouble and temptation—and if I wasn’t careful, if I didn’t keep a strict distance, one more taste of her would destroy my whole world.