CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Emily groaned when she woke before the alarm, her eyes flickering open to see that she had a full hour and a half left before she had to officially get up.
For a minute, she lay still, listening to Daniel’s breath in the bed beside her, the predictable in-and-out that comforted her. She had heartburn.
Ugh.
No way could she just lie here. She counted to ten, then rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb him.
She dressed quickly, businesslike: leggings, old high school tee, cardigan.
By the time she reached the bathroom, Daniel was up too, despite her efforts to be quiet.
They navigated around each other in the familiar choreography—he took the sink, she took the mirror, neither needing to speak until the toothpaste foamed and the last traces of sleep had retreated.
“You’re up early,” Daniel said. It wasn’t a question about why, just a marker.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Emily replied, dabbing moisturizer across her cheeks. “Too much to do.”
He grunted in agreement, then disappeared into the closet. When he returned, he’d pulled on sweats and a battered blue hoodie, and he carried the top sheet in a loose twist in his arms.
He gestured to the bed with his chin. “You want help?”
Emily nodded and moved to the other side.
The bed was a king, far too large for the room, but it had been their splurge after Charlotte was born—the idea being they’d need the extra space for kids crawling in at all hours, or for themselves to stake a big, wide claim to territory in a house that always felt just on the verge of too public.
She’d never regretted it, but the morning ritual of re-making the bed was a task that required two, or at least was easier that way.
Daniel flicked the sheet out, catching the far corner with a practiced wrist. Emily met him at the edge, smoothing her side, tugging the fabric taut.
“I had an idea last night,” she said, eyes on the hem of the sheet.
Though they hadn’t officially made up from the fight, she knew he’d let his frustration about it go.
But that didn’t mean that he had come around to her view on buying the lighthouse.
“What if we did the lighthouse project, but differently? Not a huge all-at-once thing.” She tucked the top sheet in, then lifted her gaze to his.
“We buy it with Mom’s help. She offered.
But we start small and use it as an event space for the inn, sure, but also—” she paused, searching for the right phrase, “as a community arts place. For everyone. Not just us.”
Daniel’s brow furrowed. “A community arts place?”
She nodded. "A place where local kids, or even adults, could take classes. Or just use it. We could invite artists to teach workshops or do short residencies. Music, painting, writing. We host concerts or recitals in the lantern room. We could even partner with the schools.”
He considered, hands pausing mid-smoothing. “You’re talking about, like, a year-round program?”
"No," Emily said, quickly. "Not at first. Just a series. Maybe a few weeks every season, or one-off events. Whatever we can manage. We keep running the inn, but the lighthouse becomes its own draw. It's not a full-time job, it's… It's something over the top of it."
He finished tucking the sheet, then sat heavily on the end of the bed. “And you’re thinking that’d work for Chantelle?”
Emily’s fingers tightened on the comforter.
“It was she who gave me the idea. She's been posting her songs online, getting good feedback. If we buy the lighthouse, she wants to stay in Sunset Harbor and host her own even. We could bring the teachers here. Roman would probably help. He also knows others. I bet Sarah would, too. And the kids that Chantelle knows from the online musician’s community. I don’t care if we have to pay them, or bribe them with lobster.
She gets the exposure, the mentorship, but she keeps her support system. Us.”
Daniel looked at her, the old skepticism in his gaze, but also less resistance than she’d expected.
“And the money?” he asked. She was grateful that he didn’t remind her that taking on the lighthouse wasn’t restful—against doctor’s orders.
Emily bit her lip, then nodded. “I already ran the numbers. If we do it in phases, we can float the downpayment with what we have, plus what Mom’s offering.
For the rest, we apply for grants—arts council, historical preservation funds.
If we can prove community impact, they’ll listen.
I can write the proposals. I want to do this, Daniel.
But I want to do it in a way that doesn’t affect us. ”
He studied her for a moment. “You really think this is what’s best? For the family?”
She sat down beside him, folding her hands in her lap.
“I think if we pass on the lighthouse, someone else will buy it, and it’ll either become something touristy or be bulldozed to build condos for out-of-towners who don’t care.
This gives back to Sunset Harbor, preserves it, and it gives Chantelle what she needs, too. ”
Daniel asked the next question—the ER trip elephant in the room. “What about your health? The baby?”
Emily looked down. “I know I have to take it easy. I will. But if I can work from the office, delegate, or even just plan from here, I’ll be fine. And I promise, if things get at all dicey, I’ll stop.” She placed her hand over his. “I swear.”
He eyed her, looking dubious.
“You know what? You can side-eye me, but it’s awful waiting for the other shoe to drop. Every time I sit down, I start thinking about what could go wrong. About the baby, or Roy, or our businesses. It’s better to be busy. At least then I don’t spiral.”
“You have to try to take it easy,” he said. “For the baby. For you. I can’t watch you burn out.”
She felt a tightness behind her eyes, the kind that presaged tears, but she blinked them back. “Okay,” she said, after a long moment. “I’ll delegate. You have to promise you’ll tell me if things start to slide.”
Relief was plain on Daniel’s face. “Deal.”
Daniel nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it. Your way.”
Emily felt the tension break, her body sagging in relief. “Really?”
“If you’re going to build an empire, you may as well have a lighthouse. Seems on-brand for you.” He shrugged, lips quirking.
She laughed. “You’re such a dork.”
He leaned forward and tweaked her nose. “That’s why you married me.”
They finished making the bed together. The window glowed with the first real light of morning, the bay beyond flat and silver.
Emily glanced at the clock—still a full hour before the kids would start their day.
She sat on the edge of the bed, watching Daniel as he straightened the pillows, stacking them two by two.
He tossed the last pillow in place, then crossed to where she sat.
She reached for him, and he pulled her close, their bodies slotting together in the easy, familiar way.
They rested like that for a while, her head against his chest, his hand stroking slow patterns down her spine.
***
Emily was halfway through transcribing the newly booked future arrivals into the master calendar when Cassie knocked on the office door and let herself in.
Daniel’s mother wore a pt-shirt that said, “Because I’m the Grandma, that’s why,” and had a legal pad under one arm.
She arched an eyebrow at the state of Emily’s desk, then eased herself onto the second office chair, the one Emily tried to keep clear for moments just like this.
“You summoned me, boss?” Cassie asked.
Emily’s mouth was dry, even though she’d already drained half a carafe of coffee.
She gestured to the chair. “Marnie has to go out of town for a family emergency. Are you ok with running the front desk solo this week? And—” She slid a folder across the desk, careful not to break the color-coded piles.
“I want you to help Lois handle guest events too. All of them.”
Cassie flipped open the folder, thumbed through a few sheets, then peered at Emily over the rims of her readers. “Are you dying? Be honest.”
Emily let out a bark of a laugh. “No. I swear, the doctor just says no heavy lifting. I’m supposed to rest. Which I will try. But I can still keep an eye on things from here.”
Cassie grunted. “You’ll try.” She picked up a blue Post-it, scanned it, and stuck it back. “What’s really going on?”
Emily pressed the pad of her thumb into her planner, the spiral binding leaving dents on her skin.
She just came out with it, which she found easy to do with Cassie.
Cassie was always forthcoming, which Emily liked about her.
“We’re buying the lighthouse. But I can’t do anything with it if I’m running the inn every day.
I need to start stepping back. And I need you to take over anything I can’t do from this desk.
I will raise your pay to the level of responsibility, for sure.
Plus, I would just love having you around more. ”
Cassie’s face sof tened a notch. “When do I start?”
“Now,” Emily said, then hesitated. “But—”
“But you’ll still want updates. Hourly. Maybe by the minute.” Cassie’s mouth twitched in a lopsided smile. “You gotta trust people, Emily.”
“I trust you,” Emily protested, though she heard the whine in her own voice.
Cassie stood, set her legal pad down, and reached across the desk to squeeze Emily’s shoulder, quick, businesslike, but warm. “I’ll handle it. Go be brilliant somewhere else.” She paused at the door and wagged a finger. “But rest while doing it.”
When she left, Emily spent the next hour making a list of all the things she would have done herself: the flower orders, the dietary substitutions for next week’s conference, the welcome gift basket for the honeymooners in Room 3.
At least three times, she caught herself about to rise and fix some small problem.
Each time, she stopped, willed herself to stay put, and texted a staff member to handle it.
At ten-thirty sharp, her phone vibrated. “Incoming,” Cassie texted, followed by a string of crab emojis and laughy faces.
Emily barely had time to process it before Patricia breezed in, her perfume beating her by a full second. Her mother wore a blazer that looked expensive but had a loose thread at the cuff.
“I hear you’re in need of backup,” Patricia said, seating herself across from Emily and folding her hands with corporate precision.
Emily smirked. “You want a job too?”
“I want you to succeed,” Patricia countered. “If that means working for you, so be it. And if Cassie can do it, so can I.” She looked around the office, appraising. “You have a system?”
Emily spun the laptop to show her the master calendar. “Every task, every staff member, every guest need. Color-coded and cross-referenced. It’s all here.”
Patricia scanned the screen, brow lifting. “Impressive. Is this posted somewhere, not digital?”
Emily’s instinct was to bristle, to point out the redundancy, but she stopped herself. “That’s a good point, Mom,” she admitted. “I’ll make a printout.”
“Delegate the printing,” Patricia said.
“You want to make the copies?”
Her mother smiled, the lines around her eyes deepening with genuine pleasure. “I’d be honored.”
They got to work, Emily at her laptop, Patricia at the printer and the three-hole punch, making a master binder. An “Inn Bible” as they started to call it.
Midway through organizing the binder, Patricia said, “I’m glad you’re letting people help. I know it’s hard for you.”
Emily slid a page protector toward her. “It’s not hard. It’s excruciating.”
Patricia laughed, a rich, open sound. “You know, we all just want you alive and happy. How dare we.”
At noon, Daniel peeked in, Charlotte in arms. He took in the scene—paper in neat stacks, the two women elbow-deep in index tabs and highlighters—and smiled, hands on his hips. “This looks like the world’s nerdiest documentary.”
Emily laughed. “We’re almost done.”
He crossed the room and set flipped through their partial binder. “It’s good to see you not running around like a maniac.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”
When Patricia left to fetch a fresh ream of paper, Daniel bent down and kissed Emily’s cheek. She kissed him back, and nestled Charlotte until the baby giggled.
“How does it feel, delegating?” he asked, voice low.
Emily hesitated. “Terrible,” she said. “You know I’m detrimentally independent. But also… weirdly okay.”
He brushed a stray hair from her forehead. “I’m proud of you.”
She let the words in, warmth suffusing her. “I don’t want to let anyone down.”
“You won’t,” Daniel said. He glanced at her belly, then back up. “You’re doing the hard part.”
Emily smiled, and this time, the release of tension was total, full-body. She looked around the office at the color-coded stacks and relished all of the possibility, and the absence of dread.
“Maybe it’s not so bad, delegating,” she admitted. “On that note, can you check that Harry has finished the dinner prep with the kitchen staff?”
“Yes. Can you text Amy? Ever since she got home, you’ve been putting off having her come over. I know you blame it on being busy, but she’s worried, and she’s your best friend.”
Emily huffed. “Yes. You’re right.”
He grinned, saluted, and then went to check on the kitchen. Emily picked up her phone to text Amy, and then looked up to address her mother, who was punching holes enthusiastically.
“By the way, Mom,” Emily said, as though she were discussing the lunch menu. “We’re going to offer on the lighthouse.”
Patricia looked up and shrieked, bounding over to hug Emily so hard that she couldn’t finish her text.