Chapter 2
Gavin
Six Months Ago
I stared at the blinking cursor on my screen.
Every time I tried to start my next book, my brain shut down. The ache in my chest reminded me why sentences fizzled and disappeared before I could type them.
Nearly four months earlier, a car accident took the lives of my parents—the only family I had. Since then, I hadn’t managed to write a single page.
The royalties from my previous books had been modest, and the money I’d inherited from my parents meant I was able to live comfortably for the time being, but rent in New York City was expensive, and I knew my funds wouldn’t last forever.
At some point, I needed to release a new book, yet I worried I didn’t have it in me to write anymore.
Dragging my hands down my face, I leaned back in my chair and tried to imagine a specific scene.
This book was supposed to be about two strangers who fell in love after a chance meeting at a grocery store, but every time I closed my eyes, I couldn’t see anything.
It was as though the characters were purposely hiding from me, not wanting their story told.
Out of desperation, I’d even tried to write something completely different with shifters and vampires, only to hit the same mental blocks.
As I pondered what I should do, the apartment door swung open, and I got a whiff of coffee. My roommate, Allie, stumbled in juggling two paper cups, a binder of what appeared to be fabric samples, and her purse.
She dropped her stuff by the door and crossed the small living room. “Here’s your triple shot espresso with sugar.” She handed me one of the cups marked with the logo of the coffeehouse she worked at. “I know I make coffee for a living, but that much caffeine and sugar can’t be healthy for you.”
“But it tastes damn good.” I smiled and took a satisfying sip.
She sat on the couch and kicked off her shoes. “So, how many words did you write today?”
I turned my laptop so she could see the blank page. “Same as every other day.”
Allie and I had met in a creative writing class at NYU at the beginning of our junior year and became instant BFFs.
After we graduated three years ago, we tried to write a book together, but that experiment lasted all of a month before we realized our writing styles didn’t complement each other.
It wasn’t a total loss, though. She continued to support me by acting as an alpha reader while I worked on my manuscript.
She was also my biggest hype person when I got cold feet right before self-publishing my first novel.
As for what she wanted to do post-graduation, that had changed as often as the weather in New York.
She’d dabbled in photography, then tried her hand at event planning.
Her latest obsession was interior design, which explained the binder of fabric swatches she had left on the table in the entryway.
Through it all, she continued to work at the coffeehouse to help pay for her living expenses and whatever startup costs her new ventures required.
“Maybe you need a change of scenery.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, but if the city that never slept couldn’t awaken my creativity, I doubted anywhere else could.
* * *
A few days later, I was looking online at some writing prompts, trying to find any bit of inspiration I could, when my phone rang. An unfamiliar number flashed across the screen, and I hit ignore. If it was important, they could leave a message.
A minute later, a voicemail notification popped up. Curiosity got the better of me, and I pressed play.
“Mr. Price, my name is Norman Glynn. I’m an attorney calling regarding an important legal matter. Please return my call at your earliest convenience.”
My brows drew together. It was quite possible the call was a scam. However, something had me tapping the call button.
“Norman Glynn’s law office,” a cheerful receptionist answered.
“Hi, this is Gavin Price. Mr. Glynn just left me a voicemail.”
“One moment please.”
After a brief moment of hold music, the same voice from the message came across the line. “Mr. Price, thank you for returning my call. I was reaching out regarding your grandfather’s estate.”
I blinked. “Grandfather? You must have the wrong number. My grandparents have been gone for years.”
“Are you not Harold Price’s grandson?”
At the mention of my father’s dad, it dawned on me. He meant the man my dad had cut off all contact with for abandoning his wife and kid decades ago.
“Oh,” I replied finally. “Him.”
“I understand there was an estrangement within the family,” Mr. Glynn continued, “but that didn’t keep him from naming your father as his heir, and in the case of his death any children he had would inherit the estate.
From what I’ve gathered, your father passed away a few months ago, and you’re an only child, correct? ”
“Uh, yeah.” I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around what was happening.
He rattled off some details about Harold’s death I wasn’t all that interested in, then began listing what I was inheriting. “The estate isn’t huge, but it does include a bed and breakfast in Brookhaven, New Hampshire, and a life insurance policy.”
“A bed and breakfast? That’s sort of a big deal. I don’t know anything about running a business like that.”
“It’s a small property. Only eight bedrooms. Plus, your grandfather had an employee, Jane Ross, helping him with the place. She’ll be able to show you the ropes once the inn is officially yours.”
“It still seems like a lot of responsibility,” I hedged, but maybe it’d be nice to own a place that could bring in some additional income.
The attorney chuckled lightly. “Harold seemed to enjoy it.”
That didn’t mean much to me. I didn’t know anything about Harold Price and whether we had similar likes and dislikes, but I was interested enough in the B&B to at least get some more information.
“Okay. So how does this all work? My parents had a living trust that made things pretty simple when they passed. Is it the same with a will?”
“Not quite,” he replied. “Because it’s a will, everything has to go through probate. The process usually takes about six months, but since you’re the only heir, we don’t anticipate any complications.”
“Six months?” I repeated. “Is there anything I need to do while we wait?”
As he started to go over the details, I grabbed a piece of paper from my desk and scribbled a few notes.
“Do you have any other questions?” he asked once he finished explaining things.
“Just one. What’s going to happen with the B&B in the meantime?”
“Mrs. Ross will continue taking care of the day-to-day operations until we get everything sorted with probate.”
A part of me felt as though I should ask more about my grandfather, but it was difficult to muster up any concern or curiosity for a man my dad deemed a ‘no good, cheating bastard’.
Instead, I wrote down Mr. Glynn’s number, then ended our call.
My head was spinning as I set my phone down, and I was still staring at my notes when Allie came out of her room.
“Everything good?” she asked as she passed me on her way to the kitchen.
“My grandfather died.”
She cocked her head to the side. “I thought you said your grandparents passed when you were a kid?”
I nodded. “My mom’s parents did. This is my dad’s father. My dad went no contact with him after he cheated on my grandma. She divorced him when my dad was sixteen, and she died of cancer a few years later. Dad never forgave his father for all the pain he caused.”
“Yikes,” Allie muttered. “That’s terrible.”
“Yeah. Never would have guessed my grandfather would put any of us in his will.”
“Not to sound like an asshole, but what exactly did he leave you?”
I shrugged. “A bed and breakfast in Brookhaven, apparently. My dad grew up in New Hampshire, but the name of that town doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You’re the owner of a B&B?”
“Technically, it has to go through probate first, which the lawyer said will take about six months, but I guess I am.”
“That’s exciting.” Allie lifted her phone and tapped the screen. “Let’s see what you’re dealing with.”
I glanced at my notes to give her the name of the place, and a second later, she handed over her cell so I could see the internet browser she’d opened.
“A two-and-a-half-star rating?” I scrolled through the reviews for Cedar Falls Inn, my gut tightening with each one.
“Nice staff, but the place is falling apart.”
“The bed was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever slept on.”
“Breakfast was great. Unfortunately, the paint on the walls was peeling, and the room had a musty smell.”
“The place could be charming if someone took the time to fix it up.”
“Great view of the lake but that’s about all the place has going for it.”
I passed the phone back. “Yikes.”
Allie continued to skim through the page. “They’re not that bad. Everyone says the staff is nice, and the food’s good. The other stuff is just cosmetic, and lucky for you, your roommate is a future interior designer who is eager to work on a project.”
I shook my head. “Don’t start. It’s more than just cosmetic. That musty smell probably means water damage, and repairs cost money.”
“Well, you don’t have to make any decisions just yet.
You said it would take six months before the place transfers to you, which gives you until November to figure out what you want to do.
” Her eyes grew wide, and a smile spread across her face.
“Wait, this is perfect. This whole situation has holiday romance written all over it. A city boy inherits a small-town bed and breakfast right before Christmas. Maybe you’ll fall in love with a local. ”
I rolled my eyes. “You sure you don’t want to write books anymore? Because your imagination is wild.”
She just laughed. “Nah, I’ve moved on from that, but who knows? This could be the story you’ve been waiting for.”