Chapter 2 #2
“You’re renting it?” she clarifies, worry lining her face.
“From Mrs. Griffith, yeah. That was the plan.”
“I mean… in this state?” She coughs.
“Obviously.” My voice is dry. “I didn’t know you were coming or I’d have tidied up. Mrs. Griffith said the place was all good on the inside.”
She looks around again and winces at the dated wallpaper and a few long scuff marks on the wooden floor.
Possibly left by Leonidas himself. Or someone moving furniture around after his death, maybe.
Who knows.
Either way, this place isn’t rental-ready. Mrs. Griffith’s impression was a brutal understatement.
But we booked it. I have the emails to prove it.
“Oh. Well, I haven’t spoken to Mrs. Griffith since right after the funeral.
Gramps’ lawyer was handling the rest,” Margot says slowly, like she’s piecing everything back together in her head.
“I didn’t realize—I just assumed you knew the lake house was only being rented as a temporary thing.
Had I known the house was this rough, we would’ve vetoed it. ”
Yeah, shit.
“That makes two of us,” I grumble.
Mrs. Griffith didn’t say anything about temporary when I spoke with her last month. Or any of the times since.
Hell, I just picked up the keys when we rolled into town and no one said a damn word.
Fuck this day.
“Regardless, I paid good money for this place. I’m not looking to walk away just yet.”
“You did?” She frowns as she looks around again.
There’s no denying the ‘rough’ condition here after my daughter could’ve snapped her neck. I wouldn’t have paid so much for it if it hadn’t been the only thing available in the area.
Sully Bay stays busy deep into September with the spillover from the Bar Harbor crowd and Acadia leaf-peepers not far away. That’s what I found out when I went looking for the perfect fall getaway in driving distance.
Not Vermont with its bad memories in the wake of the divorce.
I thought Maine would be safer for the kids, and for me.
I pinch my nose, trying to keep my cool even though we drove up from New York this morning and I’m exhausted.
The kids are already unpacked in their rooms. This was supposed to be the break we needed, the kind I promised them for months.
But if Margot Blackthorn really is the new owner like she seems to be, that means she’s in charge.
Which should also mean she’s obliged to hold up her end of the contract I signed.
My brain works.
I’m no expert on rental agreements in the state of Maine.
Still, if she makes us vacate now, after the shit day I’ve had, it’s going to be a long haul back home in the car.
What other choice is there? Sleep in the vehicle?
Frustration curdles my breath.
“Mrs. Griffith assured me it was available.” I try to be gentle, though honestly, I don’t want Margot taking it up with her.
Mrs. Griffith is a nice old lady, and she’s also the wrong side of seventy. Exactly the type you’d expect to deal with in a small town like this for a last-minute rental off the beaten path.
If she’s behind this mistake, it was an honest one.
“I didn’t tell her I was coming up. I forgot.” Margot frowns. “Guess I didn’t realize she was still actively renting the place out.”
“And I didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to be.”
We stare at each other in shared confusion.
“Look,” I say, shaking my head. “Obviously, there’s been a mix-up.”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“But this was the only place available, Miss Blackthorn. That’s why I snapped it up in the first place, rather than staying down in Bar Harbor.”
All she does is blink at me. The silence, weighty and damn near suffocating.
She’s waiting for me to say something else incriminating or to justify our presence here. Or hell, maybe to say I’m going to pack up the kids and my bags this instant.
No chance.
If she’s going to evict us, she can ask properly.
Her name means nothing to me.
Margot Blackthorn can’t just sail in, snap her fingers, and throw us out when we had a legitimate agreement. And even if she can as New England royalty, I’m ready to put up a fight.
Her nostrils flare.
Her heart-shaped lips press together—dangerously seductive for a woman raking me over the coals.
She’s a tall woman, even without heels, and I’m sure she’s used to looking down on her problems.
Not today.
I’m not some cockroach she can step on, and neither are my kids.
I tower over her, and my eyes never flinch, locked on hers in a silent challenge.
Go ahead, rich girl. Make my day.
Make my whole damn year.
Then the front door whips open, startling everyone.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Dan calls, his arms full of more bags he’s pulled from the SUV I parked in the garage.
Odd that Miss Blackthorn must not have parked there or she would’ve realized she wasn’t alone.
My boy gawks at Margot, and her eyes flick from him back to Sophie again.
Familiar scene.
Most folks do a double take when they see them, like twins are a rare species. They’ve grown and developed into their genders as they’ve gotten older, yeah, but when they were little, they were almost identical.
Now, Sophie’s glasses and Daniel’s broad shoulders hide their similarities, along with the hair styles, but the resemblance is unmistakable.
Um, I thought there was only one of you? I can practically hear Margot’s thoughts.
“Oh.” She blinks again, wiping her expression clear. The microsecond shock she allows herself fades.
“Who’s she?” Dan sticks out his finger.
“Don’t point, Son. Not polite.”
“Excuse me for a sec. I need to make a call,” Margot says awkwardly, digging in her purse for her phone.
Whatever.
If she sees trouble, she’ll handle it like most billionaire’s spoiled granddaughters.
She’ll call someone and demand to know what the fuck is going on. Then they’ll bring out the big guns and evict us.
I just hope she’s not bothering Mrs. Griffith. Especially if the look in her eyes promising hot death is anything to go by.
Dan watches her strut away, bewildered as she exits through the back door to the kitchen. Then he notices the dust and splinters on Sophie’s clothes from the broken railing, and his eyes widen.
“Hey, what happened to you?”
“N-nothing. I’m fine,” she says defensively, pushing her glasses up her nose.
Also familiar. My girl’s embarrassed at having fallen, and even more embarrassed at falling on Miss Blackthorn.
The shoes make her self-conscious as hell, and her condition saps her confidence. If she stumbles like any kid her age, she always assumes the worst.
I fucking hate it.
“How’s the foot, Soph?” I glance at her right leg.
Her orthopedic shoes are huge, black, clunky things, but I’d like to think they do their job.
“I said I’m fine, Dad. Really.” She avoids my eyes.
My lips twist sourly.
She’s not limping, no, but that doesn’t mean jack shit.
She’s a proud girl for her age, and she’ll go to great lengths to play tough, even when she’s still my fragile hummingbird. At nine years old, she’s becoming an expert at hiding her limp.
“Bruh!” Dan runs forward, eyeing the splintered wood on the floor before he looks up at the shattered railing. “Dude, what happened?”
Sophie flushes. “Nothing, derphead! This house is just old.”
“Yeah, right! You fell down the stairs, didn’t you? Come on, Soph, fess up!” He doesn’t look worried, just impressed. “And you didn’t even break anything? For real? Holy—”
“Daniel, enough,” I bite off.
He flashes me a sheepish smile.
The last thing I want right now is rehashing why Sophie isn’t hurt to my overly curious son, so I nod and ruffle Sophie’s hair until she laughs and pushes at my arm.
“Dad, staaahp.”
“If anything hurts, you tell me, shortstack,” I whisper. “We’ll go get it checked out.”
“Nope. All good,” she insists, frowning until her glasses slip down her nose again. She’s straining to see the back of her arm. “But I think my elbow might bruise.”
I take her arm gently and take a look while Dan paces around.
Nothing too serious, but she’s probably right.
This could’ve been far worse if Miss Hospitality wasn’t around to break her fall.
“So, who’s the lady, Dad?” Daniel wants to know. “She looked scary.”
“She owns the house,” Sophie tells him. “She was pretty mad that Dad’s here with us.”
“She wasn’t expecting us, that’s all,” I say flatly, but I doubt they believe me.
Soph isn’t kidding.
I can’t shake being looked at like a chunky, unwelcome spider she wanted to stomp. Why, who knows, considering the condition of this place.
Maybe she has big plans. A demo job to lay the groundwork for a new resort or a proper rebuild down to the studs.
If there’s one thing Blackthorns do, it’s empire, though I thought her brother inherited the real estate biz.
“What’s gonna happen next?” Sophie whispers excitedly.
“Yeah, that lady must be pissed! Soph broke her railing,” Daniel says matter-of-factly.
“I did not! It was already broken, or it never would’ve crumbled when I pushed on it.”
“I dunno,” Daniel mutters. “But Dad, are you gonna tell her to get lost?”
I smile wryly.
In my kids’ simple world, it’s an easy solution.
I’m always the big man in charge.
They’ve seen me say no to people so often, they assume it’s the default.
“We’re talking. I’m not going to tell her anything,” I say. “Just stay here with our stuff while we get this sorted. Don’t go marching around until I can check this place out. It’s an innocent mistake, guys, and we’ll get it sorted. Obviously,” I add.
“Obviously,” Sophie echoes, still frowning.
I drag a hand over my face.
So much for peace and fucking quiet.
I wonder what will happen if we do leave.
We brought tents as backups—the kids love camping, even if it’s a bigger risk for poor Sophie. Loving the great outdoors with a bum foot is a recipe for disaster when it comes to hiking on uneven terrain.
Still, if she had her way, she’d spend all night wandering around in flip-flops, staring at the skies with her telescope.
It’s not the end of the world if we have to rough it in a nearby park for a night before we head back to New York.
But fuck.