5. Five
Five
Henry
I was finishing the last bite of my breakfast in the dining room when I saw Juliet meander into the gardens. The college art student ensemble was gone, replaced by dark denim that hugged every curve, a cream-colored sweater that fell off one shoulder as she shifted her position between the flower beds to look out toward the lake, and a wild tumble of red curls cascading down her back.
Shit. I had zero interest in exploring the battle of emotions waging in my chest.
Throwing back the rest of my coffee, I carried my dishes into the kitchen, stubbornly avoiding Sally’s eyes. I should have known better than to expect that to work.
“You should say good morning like a civilized human being,” she hissed at me when I passed behind her.
“Yes, yes. I’m perfectly civil.”
A cough that sounded a lot like “bullshit” echoed after me as I left the kitchen and entered the side hall instead of the dining room. I shook out my arms like a boxer preparing for a match and bounced on my toes a few times, hoping loosening my muscles would bring a cloak of calm over me, then listened quietly as Mrs. Gregson greeted Juliet at the door.
While their conversation drifted toward the dining room, I stayed hidden in the hallway dotted with the photos Nan had hung, each one carefully framed and positioned just so. I shifted to the left and paused in front of one of my favorites.
It was Nan and my Gram, dressed in florals and wearing big straw hats with ribbons streaming from them. Their arms were wrapped around one another and they were both smiling broadly for the camera, but there was a certain sadness lurking in Nan’s eyes. It was visible in every photo taken after her daughter left town.
“Why?” I whispered, touching one fingertip to the corner of the frame. “Why would you work so hard to build all of this, only to leave it to someone you never met?”
As though Nan would give me an answer, I stared hard at the photo until I no longer heard Juliet and Mrs. Gregson, then I closed my eyes and let my head fall forward.
“I hope she’s got half of your brain, Nan. We need someone like you at the helm, not some clueless stranger. Everyone says you knew what you were doing with this. I want to believe they’re right, that this is a good thing.”
I dropped my hand, taking one last look at the photo before making my way to my office.
Months had passed since Nan found news of her granddaughter after nearly three decades of searching, and I could still see the delight on her face, that radiant glow under the age-spotted, papery skin. Of course, that was only the beginning. One article led to another, and news of her own daughter’s recent death knocked Nan flat, literally and figuratively. The old lady had been tough as nails for as long as I could remember, but at that point her health, her very will to live, started to corrode.
After my grandmother died, Nan became family, taking care of me and my brother after school, loving us like we were her own grandkids. In the last few years, the inn became almost as much my own labor of love as it was Nan’s.
No, I wasn’t going to celebrate bringing in a newcomer with no experience in this business. I’d taken a chance in coming to work at the inn, made a career change that turned out to be fulfilling even if it had its moments of frustration.
“There you are.”
The voice jolted me from my thoughts and I turned to face my grandfather. “Hey, Gramps.”
“I hoped I might find you here. Juliet is having breakfast in the dining room. Alone,” he said pointedly.
“I already ate.”
His usually jovial expression darkened. “She’s a sweet girl, Henry. I might be an old man, but I’m not clueless. I saw the look on her face when she came out of your office yesterday. Whatever happened, you need to remedy it. You will be kind and courteous and welcoming, because that girl has no family left in this world. Nan would be beside herself if she knew anyone or anything was keeping this family from her.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, a mixture of shame and frustration simmering under my skin. “I’ll sort it out. You can all stop harping on me.”
“Nan loved you, you know.”
The statement was firm, irrefutable. It lodged in my chest like a bowling ball, crowding out everything else with a swift wave of grief.
“I know,” I whispered.
“She didn’t do this to hurt you, Henry. It wasn’t guilt or vengeance or some kind of lark. Juliet is her only living relative, and Nan wanted this for her.”
I looked up at him and a flood of other memories, good memories, washed over me. Running wild through the inn’s gardens with my brother, having tea and cookies with Nan and Gram after school, learning to wield a hammer at my grandfather’s side to make a birdhouse for Nan’s birthday.
This place was a family, and I was old enough to recognize that forcing Juliet out of it was an asshole move.
“I’ll fix it. Just . . . it might take some time. She’s got a temper on her.”
Gramps flashed a brilliant grin at me and nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least. She’s her mother’s daughter, after all, and Melissa got that straight from Nan.”
With a wink and a flick of his fingers, he left the office and I forced myself to my feet. I figured there was a good chance she’d tell me to get lost the minute I entered the dining room, but for the sake of harmony here at the inn—and to prevent future guilt trips—I'd play nice.
My steps faltered when I caught sight of Juliet sitting by the windows in the otherwise empty dining room. She had a tiny sketchbook next to her plate and I watched for a moment while her pencil danced across the page. Every so often, she paused to take a sip of coffee or a bite of French toast, but her gaze never left the paper.
Get on with it. I puffed out my cheeks on a long exhale and approached her table.
“Good morning.”
She didn’t even glance in my direction when she replied. “Morning.”
“Look, we didn’t get off on the right foot—” I broke off when her furious blue eyes lifted from the paper and locked on mine. Beneath the anger, something else hovered, something heartbreakingly sad, but it evaporated so quickly I thought I might have imagined it.
“You were perfectly clear yesterday in expressing how you see me. There’s no need to discuss it further,” she said, the words dripping with ice despite the burning sapphire of her gaze. “I don’t see any need for us to interact outside of what’s required for the sake of the inn.”
That coldness grated on my already sparking nerves. “How magnanimous of you to deign to speak with the manager of your business about such decisions.”
The pencil creaked as her grip tightened around it, drawing my gaze down to the sketchbook. There on the page was a perfectly recognizable drawing of the dining room, but the tables were reconfigured.
“You’ve been here less than a day and you’re making changes already?” I asked, my voice low and nearly vibrating with anger.
“No,” she snapped. “But this view is phenomenal and if we’re going to offer dinner service, we should take advantage of that.”
“This is a small town. It’s generally frowned upon to take advantage of our customers.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, that’s not what I meant,” she muttered under her breath, jaw clenched as she slammed the sketchbook shut and shoved the chair back so she could rise.
Hearing her curse was almost enough to make me smile, but I fought it back down. “Isn’t this a business decision affecting the inn, like you said we should discuss?”
“There’s nothing to discuss. You want the inn to stay exactly as it was until the end of time, be my guest. Message received, loud and clear. I’ll stay in my lane, you stay in yours.”
“What a productive discussion.”
I waited for whatever tirade she was about to unleash, but she simply nodded at me before gathering up her dishes and pushing past me, her shoulder jamming hard against my chest.
“Have a lovely day,” I called after her.
Had her hands not been full, I was sure she would've flipped me off on her way to the kitchen. As soon as she cleared the doorway, I bolted toward my office—between Sally and my grandfather, I didn’t need another lecture. I’d tried, hadn’t I?
The olive branch had been extended. Juliet Morrison caught that sucker in her bare hands, froze it into an ice spear, and threw it back in my face.
I sank down into my chair and groaned, trying very hard not to think about the redheaded firecracker who was probably plotting my demise with Sally right this minute. I didn’t want to see those red curls or that fierce blue gaze every time I closed my eyes, but the image persisted, a reminder that my grandfather was absolutely right.
She belonged here. She was Nan’s legacy. There was no denying it.
Still, Juliet might look like Nan, but what good would that do us? We needed someone who could think like Nan, someone clever and cunning and able to keep things moving around here.
Until she proved she had a brain in her head, had the intelligence to match Nan and not run this place into the ground with her lack of experience, I would attempt to withhold judgment.
From where I was standing, the greatest threat to the inn’s success wasn’t the death of its founder. It wasn’t even the archaic website or lack of any kind of online reservation system, as I’d lamented plenty of times since I came on board a few years ago.
It was a young, clueless artist from Minnesota.