Chapter 1 Homecoming #2
Her father had hand-painted that sign the summer they opened, staying up past midnight to get the lettering right. She’d sat on an overturned bucket, eight years old and solemn, handing him brushes and feeling like she was being allowed to help write the future.
“This will outlast me,” he’d said, wiping a smear of white paint from his wrist. “If we’re lucky, it’ll outlast you too.”
He’d laughed when he said it. She hadn’t understood the lump in his throat until years later.
The inn loomed larger as she pulled into the lot and parked beside a familiar navy SUV she recognized as Julia’s. Another car—a compact rental—sat beside it. The lawyer, she guessed. Or maybe a guest who didn’t yet realize they were staying at a place dangling by a financial thread.
She cut the engine. Silence rushed in, broken only by the soft slap of water against rocks and the creak of the dock in the slight swell.
She just sat there, both hands still on the wheel, watching her breath fog the inside of the windshield.
She felt sixteen again, on the cusp of the summer she’d thought would last forever.
She felt twenty-two, suitcase in hand, stepping onto the bus that would take her to architecture school and the life she’d told herself she had to build somewhere else.
She felt thirty-two, sitting in a car that cost more than the inn had made in profit the last two seasons, knowing that everything she had used to measure success suddenly felt flimsy next to the cedar-shingled building in front of her.
“You can do this,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “It’s just home.”
Except it wasn’t just home. Not anymore.
It was years of memories packed into cedar and glass.It was the last place she’d seen her father alive.It was the last place she’d said something sharp to her mamma over the phone, and then waited too long to call back.
And somewhere inside, it was the place where Walker Hale had once stood in the lobby with a duffel bag at his feet and asked if she was staying or going.
Claire opened the car door before the weight of it all could pin her to the seat. Cool, salt-damp air washed over her, carrying the tang of seaweed and the faint, comforting smell of clam chowder. The porch light above the inn’s front door cast a warm circle on the worn wooden steps.
She stepped into it, the boards creaking in that familiar, welcoming way.
Up the hill behind the inn, framed between the dark silhouettes of the firs, a single star pierced the clouds.
Claire lifted her gaze to it.
She told herself it was only a habit.But in Starfall Bay, habit and hope often looked very much the same.
The lobby smelled the same way it always had—like brewed coffee, lemon oil, and the faintest undertone of sea air that slipped in no matter how many times Mamma insisted the doors be kept shut during storm season. The memories that surged up at the scent nearly buckled Claire’s knees.
Her boots paused on the entry rug.
The place looked… lived in.
Not polished for show the way she had feared.
A few guests lingered in the seating area—an older couple poring over a map of whale-watching spots, a young mother rocking a baby who blinked up at the chandelier as if memorizing the pattern of its lights.
No one paid Claire much attention. No one guessed she was the daughter who had stayed away too long.
Behind the front desk, Julia looked up from her laptop.
Her dark hair was swept into a sharp ponytail, her suit blazer immaculate despite the too-small wooden chair she sat in.
The contrast between her crisp professionalism and the rustic inn behind her made Claire’s chest tighten.
Julia had always seemed like she belonged in a courtroom, not in a place with quilts on the walls and star-shaped lanterns in the windows.
“Finally.” Julia stood, rounding the desk in three quick strides. “You made it.”
Claire nodded, her throat too tight for more.
Julia studied her face, and something softer flickered behind her precise lawyer expression. “You look tired.”
“You look bossy.”
A surprised laugh pushed through Julia’s lips. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Claire, holding her with a fierceness that caught Claire off guard. Julia had never been the outwardly affectionate one. That had been Emma. And Mamma.
Claire sank into the hug. Julia smelled like vanilla lotion, lemon sanitizer, and the cedar-scented air of the inn. When Julia finally pulled away, she wiped beneath her eyes with the tip of a thumb in a motion so quick Claire might’ve imagined it.
“You should’ve called me sooner,” Julia said.
“I know.”
“You should’ve been here sooner.”
“I know.”
“You… shouldn’t have had to come home alone.”
The last sentence was almost a whisper.
Claire exhaled shakily. “I had a lot to sort out.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Julia said gently. “Sorting.”
They stood quietly, the kind of silence that existed only between sisters who loved each other and also carried their own private ache.
Claire forced her shoulders straighter. “Where’s the lawyer?”
“In the dining room.” Julia made a vague gesture toward the back of the lobby. “Early, punctual, and very impressed with himself. You’ll see.”
Before Claire could respond, a loud thump sounded near the front door, followed by a familiar, too-bright voice.
“Claire Hastings, as I live and breathe!”
Only one person in the world had ever said her name as if it were a Broadway announcement.Emma.
Her youngest sister burst through the door, nearly dropping the oversized tote bag slung across her shoulder.
Paintbrushes stuck out of the top. A sketchbook peeked from the side pocket.
Her sweater was splattered with three different shades of blue, none of which could be found in any respectable store.
Claire barely had time to brace before Emma launched herself forward, wrapping her arms around her neck with a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
“You’re really here,” Emma whispered.
“For now.” Claire hugged her tightly, letting the warmth of her wrap around the cold places inside her.
Emma pulled back, wiping her face with the sleeve of her paint-streaked sweater. “I was on Whidbey Island working on a mural, but the minute I heard you were coming home, I took the next ferry. I even elbowed a tourist out of the way to get a better seat.”
Julia sighed. “She did. There were witnesses.”
Emma grinned, then looked at Claire with sudden seriousness. “Are you okay?”
The question hit harder than she expected.Claire swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“That’s okay,” Emma said softly. “You don’t have to be yet.”
A lump rose in Claire’s throat, threatening to spill into tears she had no time to deal with. She stared at the wooden floorboards until she regained control.
“Girls?”
The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone was not. It carried that smooth, professional cadence of someone who signed letters with full middle initials.
A tall man in a gray suit stepped out of the dining room, adjusting his cufflinks as he walked toward them. His salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, and his glasses perched halfway down his nose in a way that suggested he had perfected the stance for dramatic effect.
“Are we all assembled?” he asked.
Julia nodded. “Claire and Emma just got here. This is Mr. Dalton.”
“Attorney Samuel Dalton,” he corrected with a smooth smile. “Executor of your mamma’s estate.”
Claire bit back her irritation. Anyone else using the word mamma might have warmed her. But in his mouth, spoken so crisply, it landed wrong.Too clinical.
Too practiced.
Dalton opened a leather folder and tapped it with a polished finger. “Shall we begin? There are matters to review regarding the property, the outstanding debt, and the legal stipulations of your mamma’s—” he paused, glanced at Claire, softened his tone by about two degrees, “—her final wishes.”
Emma moved closer to Claire, their shoulders touching.Julia’s chin lifted slightly, the way it always did right before she prepared for battle.
“Lead the way,” Claire said.
Dalton ushered them into the dining room. The tables had been cleared of dinnerware and replaced with stacks of papers and a silver laptop. Claire took a seat beside Julia, Emma settling on her other side like a silent bookend.
Dalton slid a set of documents toward them. “Your mamma outlined several wishes regarding the inn’s future. The first pertains to ownership.”
Claire stiffened, breath snagging in her lungs.
He continued, “The Bayview Inn, including the land, buildings, and associated business, is to be split equally between her three daughters.”
A quiet gasp escaped Emma.
Julia’s pen stilled mid-twist.
Claire stared at the paper, the ink swimming slightly as her pulse thudded in her ears.
The inn.
All of it.
The legacy she had run from.
Now placed in her hands alongside guilt and grief and memories she had tried to pack away like old sweaters.
“And the second?” Julia asked, voice steady despite the crack Claire knew she was hiding.
Dalton cleared his throat. “Your mamma was very specific. The inn is not to be sold for twelve months following her passing.”
“Twelve months?” Emma echoed. “Why?”
Dalton adjusted his glasses. “She wrote—and I quote—‘Because time works differently in Starfall Bay. You must give the place one full cycle of seasons before deciding its future. A year changes more than people think.’”
Claire’s breath caught. She could hear Mamma’s voice in those words.
Gentle.Firm.Unshakeably hopeful.
Dalton continued, “Additionally, she left a letter addressed to the three of you, to be opened together during the first night of the Starfall Festival.”
Claire’s head snapped up. “During the festival?”
“Yes.” Dalton lifted a small sealed envelope from his folder. The paper was thick, the ink unmistakably Mamma’s careful looping handwriting. Across the front, her name appeared beside her sisters’:
For Claire, Julia, and EmmaWhen the stars fall
A tremor moved through Claire’s fingers before she could hide it.