One
Molly Anderson stood in the driveway admiring the riot of fat blue flowers spilling over the top of the white picket fence. The waterfront residence was named after the ample shrubbery, and a simple sign hanging from a wooden post in the front yard read: HYDRANGEA HOUSE .
Savannah will probably change the name to Frost House after she shuts down the inn, Molly speculated. Or else she’ll just rename it Savannah’s .
She heaved a sigh, trying hard not to feel resentful.
For the past forty-seven years, Molly’s grandmother, Beverly, had faithfully served as the innkeeper for Hydrangea House.
Because she’d lived there for so long and she’d been so dedicated to caring for the property and accommodating the guests, people often assumed the residence belonged to her.
However, even though she’d been close to the Frost family who owned the place, Beverly was technically their live-in employee, not a family member.
And after she passed away in April, complete control of the estate was awarded to thirty-five-year-old Savannah Frost.
So Molly recognized that Savannah had every right to rename the house whatever she wanted, just like she had every right to do whatever else she wished to do with it.
Yet she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that Savannah had decided to permanently close the inn so she could use it as her personal summer home.
Her decision was especially frustrating because Savannah rarely took a full week off from work to visit Dune Island each year.
Not to mention, her family already had two vacation homes—a chalet in Telluride, Colorado, and a villa in France—that she virtually never visited, either.
It reminds me of when we were kids and she had so many toys she couldn’t possibly play with them all—sometimes, she didn’t even take them out of their packaging—but she wouldn’t let anyone else play with them, either .
Molly jiggled her head, as if trying to shake the memory from her mind.
She didn’t want to begin the summer at Hydrangea House on a sour note, so she reminded herself to look on the bright side of Savannah’s decision.
At least she isn’t selling the estate to a land developer , even though she could have made a fortune from it .
With only seven guest rooms and one suite, Hydrangea House was small compared to most of the other inns and B and Bs in the five towns comprising Hope Haven.
However, it was uniquely situated on the eastern point of the crescent-shaped road running alongside Dune Island’s largest harbor.
The house was angled so the front and western-side windows faced the port the town was named after—Port Newcomb.
The windows in the back overlooked the private beach and the 900-foot jetty that seemed to cut a dividing line between the calmer waters of the harbor and the rollicking waves of Dune Island Sound, which could also be seen from the eastern side of the house.
Surrounded by a sprawling lawn, the inn provided a sense of solitude that was rarely found in Hope Haven’s biggest and busiest town.
Yet Hydrangea House’s proximity to the port allowed convenient access to the main ferry dock and recreational boating, as well as to Main Street’s shops, eateries and nightlife.
Considering its prime location, Molly was thankful that at least the estate was staying in the Frost family; otherwise, the pristine beachfront property might have been exploited for commercial purposes.
I’m also grateful that Savannah agreed to keep the inn open for one more summer, even if she initially resisted the idea , Molly thought, her mind drifting to the day Savannah called and announced she intended to shut down Hydrangea House…
It had barely been three weeks since her grandmother Beverly died and when Molly first heard Savannah’s news, she was utterly dismayed.
“But the inn has been such an important part of our families’ lives,” she protested.
“Running Hydrangea House together was how our great-grandmothers supported themselves after the war. Being the innkeeper was how my grandma earned a living as a single mother when she was raising my father, too. If it weren’t for?—”
Savannah cut her off mid-sentence. “Spare me the history lesson, Molly. I already know what happened in the past.” She softened her tone. “But the past is over. Our families aren’t dependent on the inn any more, so there’s no reason to keep it in business.”
She means now that Grandma is gone, Molly thought, whisking a tear from her cheek with her fingers.
Even though Beverly had been eighty years old and she’d begun to slow down a little, she’d always seemed to be the picture of good health.
She’d claimed she planned to continue innkeeping for the next five years, at least. So Molly had been stunned when she’d unexpectedly passed away of “natural causes,” while napping in her favorite chair.
As the finality of Beverly’s death began sinking in, Molly comforted herself with the knowledge that her grandmother’s legacy as Hydrangea House’s innkeeper would live on.
She imagined the new innkeeper would try to uphold the same high standards Beverly had set for hospitality and service.
And that the guests would continue to enjoy the beauty of the residence and the grounds that her grandmother had painstakingly maintained.
But how could that happen if Savannah shut down the inn?
“Our families might not be financially dependent on Hydrangea House, but the guests depend on it for their summer vacations,” she said, trying to build a case for family traditions and customer loyalty. “A lot of them have been returning to the inn for decades.”
Savannah snickered. “No kidding. That’s why I don’t have any qualms about shutting it down. The public has had plenty of time to enjoy the estate. Now it’s my turn.”
“But you hardly ever take a vacation,” Molly mumbled beneath her breath, but Savannah heard her anyway.
“Exactly. So when I do take one, I don’t want to spend my very limited time off with a group of strangers.”
“What if you reserved Hydrangea House for your exclusive use on whatever dates you wanted, and then rented the rooms out during the rest of the summer?” Molly proposed.
“That way, you wouldn’t have to sacrifice your privacy.
You’d rake in a ton of passive income, plus you’d have the satisfaction of knowing you were still giving lots of people the opportunity to stay at one of the most gorgeous locations on Dune Island.
I’m sure the guests would love you for it. ”
“That’s a sweet sentiment and I can’t deny that the extra revenue would be nice.
But I’m a Senior VP, remember?” Savannah asked, as if Molly could have possibly forgotten that she held a high-power position in New York City.
“I work from six in the morning until eight at night six days a week. When would I have time to oversee a side business?”
“Couldn’t you hire someone to manage the daily operations and?—”
“Nope, not interested.” Savannah interrupted Molly a second time.
“I’ve got too many employees to supervise and too much stress in my life as it is.
I’m not taking on more. It was different when Grandma B.
was the innkeeper because she could have run Hydrangea House blindfolded.
But since no one will ever come close to filling her shoes, this seems like a natural time for the inn to revert to a family home— my family home. ”
Molly got the hint: the estate belonged to the Frosts, not the Andersons, and her suggestions about what to do with it were unwelcome. Her voice heavy with resignation, she asked, “I suppose this means you’re closing the cottage to the public, too?”
Known as “Peace Place,” and set back on the grounds, the estate’s former carriage house had been converted into an upscale, three-bedroom cottage.
For half the season, it was available for guests to rent.
On alternating weeks, it was occupied by low-income families who applied for complimentary seven-day residencies.
Savannah’s grandmother Pearl and Beverly had established this practice decades ago, as a way of sharing Dune Island with people who were in desperate need of a vacation but who couldn’t afford to take one.
Savannah huffed with exasperation. “Of course I’m closing Peace Place. Keeping it open would defeat the purpose of reclaiming the inn as my private home, because there’d still be outsiders on the property.”
Reclaiming the inn? Molly rolled her eyes at her blatantly acquisitive attitude.
She obviously didn’t inherit the generosity gene from her grandmother or great-grandmother.
And my grandma would have been offended to hear her referring to the guests as “outsiders.” Especially since those “outsiders” essentially funded Savannah’s college tuition by patronizing Hydrangea House.
Keeping her thoughts to herself, Molly asked, “When do you plan to close the inn and cottage?”
“I’ve already reached out to someone to handle the legal aspects of dissolving the business as soon as he has an opening in his schedule. In the meantime, I need to draft an email to inform the guests I’m canceling their reservations.”
“You mean for this summer?” Molly was floored.
She’d expected Savannah to say she was going to transition the inn into a home over the course of a couple of years.
Or at the very minimum, that she’d wait until after Labor Day to shut down the business, since the inn was traditionally closed during the off-season anyway.
She never dreamed that Savannah would pull the welcome mat out from under the guests’ feet like that.
“Yes. I want to be able to remodel the inn at my leisure, but I can’t get started if the guests are staying on site.”