Chapter 4
Chapter Four
A shley stretched her arms overhead. Every inch of her body pressed into soft bedding. From her calves tangled up in a crisp duvet to her lower back arching against a pillow-topped mattress, she was either in a dream or in heaven. At the moment, she didn’t care which.
With a sigh, she opened her eyelids and stared at the ceiling. In the dark room, she couldn’t determine the color. But she was certain it would be the particular shade of off-white radiating with a dull yellow undertone used everywhere. She’d hated the color her whole life. The ceiling and trim in every room of the Inn used the same shade. In the hallways with chair rail molding, she couldn’t breathe. The overuse of the paint suffocated her, pushing down on her chest and collapsing her ability to make sense of depth. She had tripped through the corridors for years, racing too fast in search of blue sky and fresh air.
Now I can change it.
She smiled, shaking off the weight of childhood frustrations. A lot sucked about being an adult. But not the ability to make decisions and execute change. Or her husband’s caring nature. He’d lent her a shirt to sleep in. One of his stretched-out undershirts, paper thin from years of service, the V-neck was almost scandalously low.
Had he really done her laundry? She hoped so. After three rounds of shampoo, she hadn’t quite washed the stink of the fire out of her hair. If she wanted to leave the room without embarrassing herself and flashing too much skin, she needed her clothes.
Turning onto her side, she glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table in surprise. Seven A.M.? She didn’t voluntarily rise before eleven if she didn’t have a morning shift at the coffee shop.
She hadn’t slept so well in years. She must have actually achieved REM and enjoyed a restorative night. Which, all things considered, she probably didn’t deserve. She swung her legs out of the bed, leaving her crisp sheet cocoon and tiptoeing across the room.
At the window, she pushed back heavy drapes and wispy sheers. In the soft morning light, the sun burned off the morning dew on the grass, and steam rose from the lake. On its small island, the lighthouse was a fantastical fairytale-type setting, surrounded by a hazy fog.
From inside the Inn, she could hardly see the windows. Her great idea hadn’t been so well thought out. How on earth had he seen the lanterns and flames? Probably a miracle or…
She shivered, remembering the cold, clammy feeling on her skin. She hadn’t been entirely alone in the building. Christopher would accuse her of an overactive imagination if she told him. She would admit that had terrified herself with stories entirely devised in her imagination before. Last night was different.
The air had changed, becoming thick and still like gelatin. Ashley slowly suffocated under the awareness that she wasn’t alone. She’d only escaped when the flames snapped her out of her daze. She would have suffered serious smoke inhalation if she remained too much longer and would have frozen in the elements if the ghost hadn’t fetched help. Or had her rescue only been a fluke?
What would she have done if Christopher hadn’t come down? Anonymous call to the front desk as she walked the three miles in the dark to her car parked in the town lot near the boardwalk? Then slept in her car and shown up on the Inn’s doorstep a bedraggled, smoke-scented mess?
That would have been even worse and unavoidable. She had nowhere else to go.
From the safety of the room, the lighthouse looked the same as always. Guests would never realize last night had been so dramatic. She was sure she’d get an invoice if she’d done irreparable harm.
She might want to roll her eyes, but she couldn’t be mad. If the roles were reversed, she’d charge him for any damages incurred through unlawful habitation. On the positive side, the lighthouse remained intact and primed for renovation. It would be a perfect selfie spot, a hashtag haven. As long as the old haunts abandoned the spot…
Shutting the curtains, she retreated to the bed, pulling the duvet to her chin. She wasn’t sure her visceral response was fear. She worried her body was reacting to something she’d never quite shake.
Was she wrong to have been so relieved when Christopher came to her rescue? He’d been like a dashing hero from the pages of a romance novel, gallantly turning up in her moment of great distress. She’d launched herself into his arms.
His hug? Her skin tingled. She nestled deeper into the bedding, wrapping herself up tight, almost like he held her again. His warm embrace had reactivated all the memories locked in her muscles. How he had always treated her like a treasure to be admired with tenderness. The way he had created a protective cocoon, demanding nothing of her in return, had made her knees buckle until she had gone limp in his arms.
Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. Had she really lost him to her hurt pride? Why had she let anything, specifically anyone, rile her enough for such rash nonsense? Because I’ve only been part of what he wanted, I’ve never been enough on my own.
She couldn’t argue with herself over that topic. Luckily, last night, he hadn’t noticed how she melted in his embrace. If their situation was lopsided, she’d rather he didn’t realize it played in his favor.
He had been too absorbed in the disaster unfolding on his property. Or rather hers. He’d doused the flames, and she had recollected herself and her purpose. She didn’t need him. Not anymore. He’d made his choice, and she was no longer hurt. She knew where she stood with him. She was the bonus but not the prize. And now she would reclaim her hotel and push him out. He’d lose it all. Maybe then he’d regret not choosing her.
With a good night's sleep, she was clear-headed but remained unsure how to remove him from the property. She needed him gone for one night to restart the clock. Finding a reason for him to leave couldn’t be too difficult. She shuddered, hating the underhandedness after he saved her.
He wasn’t hers anymore. She had to claim her inheritance, or she had nothing. Now that she was back, he’d undoubtedly hand her divorce papers before she took off again, and then she’d really not belong.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She crossed the room and grabbed it.
The hubs : let me know when you’re awake. I have an idea.
Seeing his official title flash on her screen sent a shiver down her spine and pierced her heart. She forgot she hadn’t changed his identification on her phone. She should have deleted the number. Not that she could have erased it from her memory.
She stared at the phone. Her curiosity overrode any thoughts of stalling. She was the schemer and would offer help in improving whatever plan he formed. He was a novice at creative thinking. Or, he had been when she left.
She texted back. I’m up now.
A knock pounded the entry door, loud enough to carry through the foyer and into the studio suite.
“Coming.” She stared down at herself and her bare legs. The bright light of day bouncing off them encouraged her to cover herself and add a little dignity to this meeting.
She grabbed a robe from the closet, slipping her arms into the plush sleeves. She purred at the touch of soft velour, rubbing her cheeks into the collar. She tied the belt at her waist and ran her palms over the front.
Had this been one of Dad’s choices or Christopher’s? The luxurious in-room extra seemed like Dad, but Christopher also cared about details. She glanced at the messy bed and half-heartedly tugged the duvet over the top. She hated making a bed, but it was one of those chores he insisted on.
The knock came again.
She strode out of the room and into the foyer, pulling open the door and glaring at him.
With his fist raised, he was poised to knock again. Was he intent on waking all of his guests? She scanned him, hair neatly combed and dressed in a two-piece suit with a tie. Well, at least she’d grabbed the robe.
She stepped to the side, shielding herself behind the door. She wasn’t sure why she made the effort. Staff wouldn’t be upstairs yet. If a maid or bellhop saw her, so what? Showing up in her family’s hotel was hardly remarkable. And many of the employees would have no idea who she was. Her stomach dropped. No one would recognize her. A stranger in my family's home.
“Good morning.” He tipped his head and shut the door.
He sounded a little wooden and moved stiff and jerky. She remained in place. Without the door, she was fully in view. She didn’t shy away from him.
Any conversation between them would have to be short, if not terribly sweet. She didn’t need to offer him hospitality or make him comfortable. Which was wrong, considering he had given her exactly that. But now that she was out of the lighthouse, she’d lost the upper hand and the element of surprise. And he seemed determined to capitalize on the security of his home turf.
He cleared his throat. “Mind if we sit down?”
She arched an eyebrow. Direct and no-nonsense, he wasn’t the people-pleaser she’d left. The man who asked but never demanded. Otherwise, he’d barely aged in the past decade. There were no obvious fine lines or wrinkles or gray streaks near his temples. Her fingers itched to cover the roots she needed to touch up. Her skincare regime helped her maintain a rosy glow.
“Please?” he asked. “No more games.”
“What do you mean?” She kept her tone light.
He stared at her hard. “You arrived at ten-twenty on Monday morning but waited until dusk to move into the lighthouse. You thought you wouldn’t be seen? I have eyes all over the property and town.”
She blew out a heavy sigh. Either he had extensive surveillance on the property or a gut feeling about her return. She liked the second option but also feared his ability to predict her next step. He liked to say he knew her better than she knew herself. For a while, the statement was true. Until she left.
“I have a plan that’ll help both of us. You can trust me.”
She lifted her gaze to his. She could. She’d always put her faith in him.
Another knock sounded on the outside door.
“Go inside and sit down. I’ll get this,” he said.
She nodded and stepped inside her suite, shutting the door, pressing her cheek against the panel, and straining for any sound outside.
A few muffled words accompanied the opening of the main entry. Then the outer door shut.
A thud shook the panel.
She bounced back. Had he realized she was eavesdropping?
“Can you open this please?” he asked.
She pulled open the door and stood back.
In his arms, he carried a massive tray with a coffee carafe, two mugs and saucers, and two large, covered dinner plates stacked one on top of the other. He set the spread on the coffee table.
Her mouth watered. Her stomach rumbled. But she didn’t move an inch.
He sat on the couch, poured two black coffees, and turned toward her. “Aren’t you hungry?”
She stood straight and still. Christopher always knew what she needed before she did. She wanted to hate that about him, but once again, she could only be grateful. Her plan fell apart, and she’d been foolish to imagine having the upper hand. He knew her too well. Still.
He lifted the cover off plates on the tray.
In an instant, the buttery, cinnamon-y, sugary smell of French toast filled the room.
She leaped across the room. Settling cross-legged on the ground, she dove into her food with a knife and fork, spearing a huge bite and raising it to her mouth. She moaned. The chef hadn’t changed the recipe, using Hawaiian-style bread cut into thick slices. Then, she reached for the coffee, gulping the rich flavor. She hadn’t had decent coffee in several days. Her attempt at instant hot beverages had been pathetic and stomach-churning. The best she managed was room temperature, and the instant granules mostly mixed in. She returned to her French toast, her second favorite dish.
As she savored her bites, she couldn’t stop her brain from whirring. All her favorites lived here. Another reason to never leave. She included him in the list, not that he’d ever believe her apology, and she wasn’t sure how she would start. She had never changed her phone or email. He could have reached out to her. She didn’t hide. He always waxed on and on about her stubbornness. He had some too. He wasn’t always Mr. Nice Guy. But this was pretty good of him.
“Okay. Let’s talk,” he said.
She gulped down her bite and slurped her coffee. She had nothing to lose. And perhaps she could gain everything. She nodded and topped up her coffee.
* * *
Christopher sipped his coffee, willing himself to slow. He’d lose his tenuous grip on the higher ledge if he moved too fast. Or she’d pull him down. Both had happened before.
From the corner of his eye, he studied her.
She inhaled the French toast, eating as ravenously as if she’d been starved. He’d asked for the powdered sugar to be lightly dusted on the edges and the syrup to be thoroughly warmed for a smoother pour. He’d overseen the sprinkling of cinnamon into the pot of her coffee.
She devoured her meal just like he’d known she would. He forced the smirk off his face, aiming for a neutral expression. Knowing his wife so well had tricked him into a false sense of security before. He’d imagined he understood her responses before she even formulated a reply. Doing so, he forgot her love of a shocking twist.
When she’d announced her departure, she left him speechless and unable to form an argument to convince her to stay until long after she’d gone.
However hard-won the battle, he couldn’t rest. And he knew better than to assume he was ready. His victory this morning wasn’t without a cost last night.
He was more tired than he’d been in years. After the adrenaline rush had diminished following the fire and confronting her, he’d returned to his office. He had known sleep would elude him, so he hadn’t bothered to go into his apartment and stare at the wall separating them. He’d only imagine her snoring if he had. A bone-deep weariness persisted; keeping his eyes open was an arduous task. And yet, he had never been more energized.
From following her social media accounts over the years, he knew that she had never really settled in any place for too long. Her reappearance solidified her intent to come home for good. He had hope. He wouldn’t need to be vulnerable if he kept her at arm’s length. She would do what she wanted when she wanted without thinking about him or anyone else. This time, he was smarter. He wouldn’t take the unintentional pain personally.
Besides, she couldn’t shatter his heart again. It was already irreparable. “Is it good? Do you need more syrup?”
She shook her head.
He leaned forward, setting the coffee mug on its saucer on the low table and resting his forearms on his thighs. “I’m sure we can resolve the estate peacefully. It might take the lawyers some time, but we will reach a satisfactory resolution.” Although, we’ll have to give up a lot of money to do so. He could make more money. With her, he’d have one chance not to become a sworn enemy. He had lived without her. He knew he could do that again. But he didn’t want to be dead to her. That fate was his worst-case scenario. “In the meantime, we need to talk.”
“We do.” She licked her bottom.
Her pink tongue darted across her full lower lip, clearing the sheen of powdered sugar and missing the dollop of syrup in the corner. He rose from the couch and, catching himself before he made a move, dropped back against the cushion, making a big show of buttoning and tugging his jacket into place. If he touched her, he was doomed.
She covered her mouth with a hand, unconcerned by his behavior. “I want to setup some ground rules, though. You said the word plan. That implies we are working together.” She said through her last bite of food, setting a world record for eating most doctors would find reprehensible. She reached for her coffee and took a long sip. “I did not agree to be your teammate.”
According to the law, you did . He wouldn’t share the snarky tidbit. But in the light of day, pretending not to know she wanted him out was ridiculous and beneath them both. Forewarned was forearmed. He needed more information. “What do you want? What is your intention? Have you come to take over the Inn and kick me out?”
She sipped her coffee, arching both eyebrows.
A rock settled low in his gut. At least the confirmation fully quieted the raging, lusty beast inside that demanded he make a move. She really thought so little of him and what he’d accomplished. She was here to sweep in and take over without a care.
He couldn’t be surprised. He’d worked for years to conceal the actual state of the finances at the Inn, apprenticing her father before taking the reins for himself following her departure. He was complicit in her ignorance while he labored hard to turn the business around and reach record-setting heights.
The hospitality industry wasn’t for the weak of heart. He imagined his skin was thick and tough after so long in the business. Her opinion and underestimating his abilities shouldn’t hurt. But it did. “Seriously? You think you can run this business without me?”
She shrugged.
Her nonchalant gesture rankled him. He might have growled. The casual response, making light of his life’s work, showed a thoughtlessness he’d forgotten. She was fun and easy. Her inability to take anything seriously, however, sparked her cutting remarks. Nothing mattered because she never toiled to earn anything. In those scattered moments, he remembered she’d grown up with privilege, and he’d had to work for his place at her feet.
Not anymore. He was no one’s loyal dog. He was the boss. He swallowed. Better to silence himself than regret his response. He’d deal with her false self-confidence later.
“You’re the one who brought up an idea. Let’s hear it,” she said. “Split the property fifty-fifty?”
“We could. Or the legal system might take over and divide the estate for us. During divorce proceedings, the lawyers and the judge could throw out the post-nuptial agreement and claim we signed it under distress.”
“Your distress, at that time,” she muttered.
“We’d be tethered to each other. Or the contract would be upheld, and we’d be free and clear of one another.” What did she want? He scanned her face, searching for the answer.
She finished her coffee and pushed herself off the ground. Pacing the carpet in front of the bed, she couldn’t hide her twitching lips as she muttered to herself.
But she was just far enough away that he couldn’t hear. Probably for the best. “Listen, we have to set that aside for the time being. Last night, you claimed you didn’t set the fire.”
She whirled around, facing him with a wild look in her blue eyes. “I didn’t.”
“I believe you. But if you didn’t start the fire, someone did, and it was probably to get you out of the lighthouse to get the treasure.”
She snorted. “The treasure again? No one believes that. It was a made-up promotion during a slow summer.”
His beliefs as a skeptic weren’t important. He’d learned how many people wanted a little magic in their lives and would jump on any prospect of the supernatural, including a supposed cursed treasure that wasn’t discussed until the 1990s. “Fine. You tell me what happened. How do you explain the blaze?”
“A ghost.”
He could feel the long-suffering sigh building deep in his chest. It was a familiar friend. Often, he had to arrest a sense of logic and order to go along with her flights of fancy. This was too much. “You can’t pretend to be a spirit in a fake lighthouse and then claim there is a real ghost there. What’s the supposed origin story?”
She stiffened, drawing her shoulders up to her ears. “I don’t know. But people have reported odd occurrences since the eighties.”
“Yes, on and off, mostly by the Prims, and every encounter was explained rationally. If someone is trying to undermine the business, it is in our best interests that we figure it out before actual damage happens.”
“Why can’t you investigate?”
He slipped a finger under his collar. He’d tied his Windsor knot too tight. His pain was all physical and external, nothing to do with the chasm slowly eroding the trust between him and the townsfolk. “I’m not well-loved in town. I’ve had to make tough choices for the greater good.”
“I don’t need to wait you out?” She widened her gaze. “I can have the townsfolk run you off the premises?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she exuded triumph.
Her borrowed robe and comped suite didn’t detract from the victory. She took to both as if they were hers.
“Don’t look too pleased,” he said, hating the frown in his words.
“I’m not unhappy about this news.”
He rolled his eyes. “I have my defenders, too. And you might like to know I can count on the entire Inn staff as my allies. Don’t drum up support for a coup.”
“I guess we’ll just have to see how popular you really are. Now that I’m back, your staff has a choice in leadership. They didn’t before my return.”
Do they have a choice? Again, he fought to keep a curt response to himself. She might think she had the upper hand, but she stood on shifting sand. She didn’t understand the work involved. He could appreciate her side. She considered the property her birthright. But he’d poured everything he had into the business. He wasn’t mad that the resort wasn’t left to him outright. Xavier would want to maintain appearances. But Christopher’s labor made the business successful. Without him, the Inn would crumble. He didn’t want to come in later and rebuild. He intended to stay and continue on the upward trajectory.
“Fine,” she said. “Let’s get back to right now. What is your plan? You must need something from me, or you wouldn’t have reached out this morning. I figured you’d leave me to languish in here until I got desperate and gave in to letting you have the Inn.”
Tempting. “For the time being, we both need each other, and what I propose is two parts. A public display and a private investigation. You need to arrive in an over-the-top way. Let everyone know you are back and are determined to make your mark. Be openly hostile to me.”
“That part is easy.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“Then I’ll make a show of involving you in the business, and you can interrogate the townsfolk on my behalf. I have no doubt you’ll find the truth about who started the fire.” He wasn’t certain she’d learn the why. “I have an idea I’d like your help with for the Inn. Help me turn the lighthouse into a private suite.”
“I could be interested in part of that offer.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “But what do we do about the inheritance?”
“If we don’t solve this problem first, we will have nothing to fight over. You believe someone committed arson.”
“I already know who started the fire and why.”
He drew his brows together. Was Ashley in communication with someone from town? Was it Zach?
“It’s a ghost. Believe me.”
“No. We are not going down this path again. There has never been a ghost on the property. No one has ever died of mysterious causes.” Except for your father. Xavier’s death was untimely, but with his unhealthy diet and stress-filled life, his demise wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility. Ghosts needed to be the victims of a grisly murder or other tragedy. Why would a spirit hang around if not to avenge themselves?
He curled his fingers inward until his nails bit into his palms. Less than twelve hours into their reunion, he was following her flights of fancy again.
“I had an encounter that cannot be explained away,” she said, her voice firm.
He drew in a deep breath and counted to ten. Reasoning with her was futile. He knew from plenty of experience. She sidestepped logic at every turn with her quick wit and sassy comebacks.
“Okay,” he said slowly, placating, “while we attempt to contact the other side, can we also eliminate those alive right now? I don’t want to involve law enforcement if we don’t have to. I’m not anxious to have the sheriff interviewing guests on their vacations. That won’t be good for business.”
She nodded. “Fine, but I know what happened. My ribs were squeezed.” She placed her hands on either side of her waist and gripped, her knuckles turning white.
He studied her, fighting the desire building as she tightened the velour fabric over her figure. The v created by the robe’s collar deepened, flashing a little lower. Was she wearing anything underneath? Not helpful.
He slipped a hand into his too-tight shirt collar, pulling the fabric off his Adam’s apple. “What happened was a fire. A very destructive accident that could have been tragic.” He stood and strode toward her, extending a hand. “We have to find the culprit before they can destroy anything else. Can we take care of the Inn before declaring a winner?”
She frowned, looking at his hand.
He had the urge to stretch his limb even further into her personal space. But he didn’t. That was growth and maturity.
“Agreed.” She accepted his hand and shook it.
A tremor shot through him from her slender fingers rippling down to his toes. The zing was still there. His head would win the day this time. “Great. Let’s sneak your bags out, and you can make your grand, notable entrance. Meet me in my office when you’re ready. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
“Can you bring me my clothes?”
His mouth went dry, and his skin burned. He’d spent too much time handling her garments, imagining why she’d need such pretty dresses and dainty undergarments. “Fine. Sure. I’ll drop them off.”
“Thank you.” She offered him a placid smile.
He tipped his head to her and let himself out of her temporary quarters, heading the short distance down the hall to his kingdom. Back to the old patterns of her putting on the show while he dealt with the repercussions. At least he was well-rehearsed.