Chapter 2
Nora
The last time I’d visited was two years ago while I was in college.
I’d told my parents I was staying at a friend’s house during spring break, but I was visiting Grandma Ellen instead.
I’d spent an entire week there and realized it was possibly the happiest I’d been in a while.
I’d fallen in love with the place and promised that I’d be back again.
I hated myself for only coming back now.
I cleared my throat as soon as it began to burn. I narrowed my gaze on the road and drove ahead, my chest swelling with regret the farther into town I went.
Misty Pines was small enough that everyone knew each other, and gossip never had far to travel. There were only a few local businesses, most of them owned by the same person, and everyone was somehow always welcoming.
There was no traffic, no horns, and nothing crowding the road ahead of me. The air was fresh. A few minutes in, I realized I wasn’t gripping the steering wheel nearly as hard.
Once I pulled into Grandma Ellen’s driveway, my throat started to burn again and tears pricked my eyes.
I clenched my teeth, turned off the engine, and stepped outside, welcoming the fresh air on my face.
I stared at the weathered two-story farmhouse, painted a soft butter yellow, with the front porch wrapping around the left side and two rocking chairs beside blooming flowers nestled in pots.
The paint was weathered and the porch creaked, but nothing about it felt cold or staged. I liked that more than I expected.
My brows rose in awe as I stood there wondering how the flowers were still alive with no one to care for them.
Curious, I stepped onto the creaking porch and stooped in front of one of the pots to get the spare key from underneath.
Grandma Ellen always left a spare there, and this time was no different.
I remembered joking about it once, telling her it was the most cliché thing ever. She’d laughed and said, ‘Cliches you remember.’ My smile faded. She’d been right. I remembered the cliché. I just wished she were still here to tease me about it.
Once I opened the door and stepped inside, I was consumed by familiarity. Grandma Ellen’s house always smelled like lavender and cornbread. It was like her kindness had soaked through the walls.
I stood there, my gaze traveling around the room while memories played out in front of me. Everything was still the same. I almost expected her to come around the corner smiling with a tray full of freshly baked cookies.
The realization that she wouldn’t made me sad all over again, but then my phone chimed and I gasped lightly, caught off guard by the sound cutting through the silence.
I fished my phone from my pocket and took a breath when I saw it was my mom calling. I bit my lip as I contemplated whether or not I should answer. I decided not to. I needed some time to settle in before I thought about anything else.
* * *
By evening, I’d unpacked my things and settled in just enough to feel comfortable.
The house was harder once it got quiet. Every room seemed to hold one of Grandma’s routines without Grandma in it.
All I could think about was Grandma dying here alone with no one by her side.
The family she’d devoted herself to had abandoned her and left her alone.
I hated that I was one of those people. Mom and Dad had shrugged it off, and I hadn’t thought it was my place to intervene.
Whatever my dad said went. I was just starting my interior design job at the time, and it was such a big deal for me that I couldn’t take the time off.
I’d mourned Grandma regardless, but now the regret was stronger than it had ever been. I didn’t know when I’d forgive myself.
I sniffed, wiping the tears that flowed down my face as I got up from the couch and went in search of the keys to the inn. Grandma was a creature of habit; if you knew her, you knew every move she made around the house each day.
She always left the keys on a key rack in the kitchen. I smiled when I found them hanging there along with a few other keys. The key was even labeled ‘Inn,’ as if it was just waiting for me to find it.
I took it and headed outside. It was almost sunset, but I knew I could make it to the inn before it got dark.
I jumped in my car, noticed a few neighbors looking over, and smiled awkwardly as I waved at them. They didn’t wave back, which I understood.
* * *
My breath caught when I got to the inn. It was way worse than I remembered.
What had once been a source of pride and joy was now completely vacant.
The bushes were overgrown, the front garden was barely hanging on, the paint was peeling, and one window was cracked.
Most of that was ugly but cosmetic. The hole in the roof was beyond anything I could pretend was cosmetic.
“Christ,” I muttered to myself, my footsteps heavy as I made my way to the front door.
I glanced up at the hole in the roof. “Okay,” I breathed. “So much for a few repairs.”
When I pushed the front door open, I coughed from the dry, dusty air and frowned at the smell of old wood. Inside was dusty furniture and wallpaper that made me want to start peeling it on sight. Even with everything neglected, I was already rearranging furniture and lighting in my head.
I toured the entire building, taking mental notes of how I wanted things to look once I was done fixing it up the way Grandma would have liked.
Planning was easier than standing there wishing I’d come sooner.
At least rooms could be changed and the business reopened.
I could still do this for her. Dad lied.
She was always ambitious and proud and welcomed good change.
I knew she would have liked me to do this.
She’d always hinted at it, saying that whenever I needed a break from my father or the city, I was always welcome to live here with her so we could run the business together.
A part of me wished I’d taken her up on her offer sooner.
It was slowly starting to get dark, and I figured it was time for me to leave. Tomorrow I’d go looking for a contractor so I could get things done as soon as possible.
I was heading downstairs when I heard a small creak in the floorboards. My heart raced a little because I’d watched enough scary movies to know that wasn’t a good sign.
I paused on the stairs, listening, wondering if I was imagining things. But then the sound came again, and I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat as fear took hold of me.
“Hello!” a feminine voice called, and I sighed. I still didn’t know who it was, but at least I knew someone was there.
I hurried downstairs to see who it was, gasping when I almost bumped into the woman.
“Shit! I’m so sorry,” she said, taking a step back and sweeping her dark hair from her face. She swallowed visibly as she stared at me, her cheeks flushed.
“I saw the car and thought I finally had a neighbor nearby, so I ah—I came to check. The door was open, so…”
I rubbed my forehead. “Yeah, sure. I’m—I’m Nora,” I said, extending a hand.
She smiled, her teeth even and impressively white, her eyes bright blue.
“Harper,” she said, shaking my hand.
I gave her a wary look. “Please tell me breaking into abandoned buildings isn’t how people make friends here.”
Harper winced. “In my defense, the door was open.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Fair.”
I cleared my throat. “This place was my grandmother’s. I’m thinking of fixing it up.”
“Oh, really? Are you from around here? I’ve been here a few months now, and I’ve never seen you before,” she said.
I shook my head. “Um, no… I just got here today.”
“You got here today and already made it over here? You really don’t waste time.”
She smirked. “From the city?”
I laughed. “What gave it away?”
“The outfit.” She grinned. “Blazer, clean white shoes, Telfar bag.” She raised a brow.
I laughed aloud. “You recognized the Telfar. You’re not from here either.”
“L.A.” She smiled.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Harper.”
“You too.”
We walked toward the front door and stepped outside. I looked over at the house next door. The inn and Harper’s house were the two closest buildings in these parts. Everything else was about half a mile away.
“That’s your house?”
She took a breath. “Yeah, bought it a few months ago.”
“So, how’s it been?”
She shrugged. “It’s gonna take some adjusting. I’m slowly getting there, but the culture shock from the city is insane.”
I smiled. “Tell me about it.”
Harper laughed. “I still expect traffic every time I leave the house.”
“I’m not missing the horns.”
“Give it time.”
“You’re sticking around, right?” she asked, eyes wide as she stared at me. “God knows I need another city girl around here.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I’m planning on making Misty Pines my home.”
Harper sighed in relief. “Wow, thank God.”
Harper pointed at me. “Don’t bail in a week.”
“We just met.”
“I know. I’m desperate.”
I giggled. “Um, by the way… do you know any contractors around here? I’d really like to get the ball rolling on this inn.”
“Uh… there was this guy who helped me out with my porch when I got here. He was, ah—I can’t remember his first name, but I think his last name was Sullivan. I don’t know. You could ask around, though.”
She tipped her head toward her house. “He did a good job on my porch, though. I wouldn’t have brought him up otherwise.”
“Okay, thank you. I’m revising my opinion on the break-in.”
“I better get going before it gets dark. I’ll see you around…?”
She nodded immediately, smiling. “For sure.”
I closed the door behind me and watched as Harper went on her way. She was petite and slender—a stark contrast to my bold curves. The only thing we had in common was blue eyes.
I smiled to myself as I went to my car. After one day back in town, finding another woman my age who knew what a Telfar was felt ridiculously reassuring. I hoped we’d become friends.
* * *
I showered, put fresh sheets on the bed, and settled into bed sometime later.
I lay there restless, the sheets drawn to my neck as I stared at the ceiling in thought.
I didn’t feel sleepy. I was too busy thinking about everything I’d done that led up to this day and what I’d do next.
Staring at the ceiling wasn’t going to solve anything. I could at least find a contractor.
Sighing, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and went straight to Google, searching with the information Harper had given me. Maybe if I narrowed the search to ‘Sullivan contractor Misty Pines,’ I’d find something.
I was surprised when something actually popped up.
Sullivan Construction.
I clicked the result, browsed the site, then paused.
“Cole Sullivan,” I muttered as I scrolled farther.
“Cole Sullivan,” I repeated, trying to remember why the name sounded so familiar.
Then I saw the gray-eyed silver fox’s face and stopped scrolling. I noticed the attractive part first, which was unhelpful. Then it clicked.
His business page said he was forty. Fifteen years older than me.
“No way,” I said to myself, staring at the intense gray eyes of the man my father claimed had almost ruined our family years ago.
“Shit!” This was the same man.
I’d been about to graduate from high school back then, and for weeks I’d heard his name so often that I’d started getting annoyed at the man just for pissing off my father.
I’d seen his picture in the papers Mom bought, but he didn’t have the graying hair then.
I couldn’t forget the eyes, though. Like steel—cold, unyielding, impossible to ignore.
Cole Sullivan… in Misty Pines?