An Unexpected Love Story (Love Story Book Two) (28 page)

Chapter Thirty

It was a warm day for so early in May. As I walked down toward the harbor park in town, I noticed flowers peaking their heads above ground. The buds on the trees were fast turning to leaves. It looked like spring had arrived, at last. My last spring at the inn.

I sat down on a bench overlooking the water, half hidden behind a willow tree. It was a favorite spot of mine, somewhat secluded with good views of everything in the park and on the water. As teenagers, Emily, Chris, and I used to sneak over here with bottles of beer, lying on the nearby picnic table as we plotted our escape from Alpena.

It was funny to think that, of the three of us, I was the only one that remained. Neither of them had been half so eager as I was to get out of here. It was my constant goal, my obsession, all through my high school years. When I found out my parents wouldn’t be able to afford to send me to school, I wasn’t deterred. I enrolled in community college, saving all of my money and keeping my grades up until I could get a scholarship and transfer to a four-year university.

Coming home had seemed the worst thing imaginable. When my dad got hurt my bitterness had been overwhelming. The last thing I had wanted to do, fresh out of college and ready to go earn my MBA, was to come back home and help at the inn. Yet I had thrown myself into it, living and dying with its success. And now, all these years later, the idea of losing it had nearly destroyed me.

I thought about what Paul had said at the cabin that day: that he knew I would be back, that I loved it here more than I realized. I thought of the woods and the lakes, of the way it felt to sit outside under stars you could actually see. I thought of Thanksgiving and the way the inn had bustled when full of friends and guests. I looked out over the waters of Thunder Bay, Lake Huron beyond, stretching away farther than the eye could see. How many hours had I spent on this lake, skiing and sailing, swimming and lying on the beach?

This was my home, and I knew it always would be, no matter where I went or with whom. Did I actually want to leave it? Had I ever? To my very great surprise, I had a feeling that the answer was no.

And what about John? There was a time when I had believed I would follow him anywhere. Now I didn’t even know if I wanted to be with him even if he never left. He had, in so many ways, been my ideal man, the only guy who could break me from a life-long habit of one-night stands and meaningless flings. He was gorgeous, confident, sophisticated. He wasn’t intimidated by me, like so many guys seemed to be. I felt ashamed to admit it, even to myself, but he was the first guy I had believed was at my own level. There was no denying we had chemistry, that we were good together. But was that enough to make a relationship, a real one, one that existed outside of the bedroom, too?

I had loved him, I was sure of it, but loving someone didn’t necessarily mean you stayed with them in the end. John wasn’t a bad guy, though he had done some things that had seemed awfully bad at the time. I knew he wasn’t totally to blame. I had gone along with his requests for space, thinking I wanted it, too. I was a big girl, and I could have stood up for myself or left anytime I wanted. I had said I was ready to give up on one-night stands, but in many ways, my relationship with John had been just that, an extended one-night stand, a relationship almost entirely based on sex.

With a lurch of my stomach, I realized how very little John and I had actually had in common, how little we had shared of our lives outside the bedroom. In all of our months of dating, John and I hadn’t once gone fishing together, hadn’t once gone for a hike in the woods or gone skiing or snowmobiling, or any of the dozens of things I loved to do in nature, the things that made this place home to me. I had never even taken him to Hardy’s. I tried to picture him there, maybe dancing with me to a Styx song on the jukebox or watching a Wings game with a group of local kids. I just couldn’t see it. We had never connected over our work either. I thought about the way I would feel when John told me about his firm; how bored I would get and how pointless it would all seem. I compared that feeling to the way Paul and I had been these past weeks as we planned for the new inn, the sense of partnership we had shared as we embarked on this new phase of our professional lives.

Looking back, I wondered if my loving John had even been for the right reasons. He had represented what I thought I wanted: a big city life, excitement, and escape. Was that
still
what I wanted?

Losing the inn had made me realize, finally, just how much I loved it. And how much I loved this place, my home. I couldn’t imagine living in a city now, living far from the water and the woods. Paul had been completely right about me. I was always going to end up back home. What else had he been right about? If I was going to stay here, what kind of life did I want to have? And who did I want to share it with?

“Brooke!”

I spun around on the bench to see Paul jogging across the lawn toward me. “Murray, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said once he had reached me, panting and bending over to rest his hands on his knees. “No one knew where you went.”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. It wasn’t like me to take off from work without letting people know. And I had intentionally left my cell phone behind so no one would bother me. “I just had to get out of there for a little while. Why were you looking for me?”

“Did you get my email?” he asked. “About the properties?”

“Yeah,” I said, remembering what I had been looking at before John showed up and sent my head and heart into a tailspin. I hadn’t been able to focus on it at all after he had left. “I didn’t really get the chance to look them over though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, straightening. “I want to show you one.”

“Did you make an appointment?”

“I already saw it, actually. I have the access code for the key box.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You went without me?”

He ducked his head. “It was this morning, I knew you had to work. Carrie called me and told me it had just gone on the market, and she wanted one of us to see it right away. I jumped at it.”

“Is it good?” I tried not to feel the flicker of excitement. Paul and I had been disappointed so many times.

But he grinned at me. “You have to see it. Like, now. Can you come with me?”

“What the hell,” I said, jumping up. “I already skipped out for the last hour, no one seemed to miss me.”

* * *

We pulled up in front of the house an hour later. The property was a bit farther away than where we had been looking, down on Hubbard Lake. But as Paul had said that first day, maybe distance would be good for us. Besides, we were a bit closer to the population center of the southern part of the state, making it a more enticing prospect for vacationers. I knew that Hubbard Lake was a pretty popular spot, though I hadn’t spent much time there myself.

Paul jumped out of the truck, and I followed him out onto the overgrown lawn. Together, we stared up at the house.

“It looks just like how you described,” he said softly. “When we were teenagers, whenever you would talk about your dream inn, this is how I pictured it.”

“My dream inn?”

He looked at me in surprise. “Come on. You talked about it all the time. Even back in high school you told me you wanted to have your own inn, and make it, like, so much better than your parents.”

I shoved him. “I never talked like a valley girl, not even in high school.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “But this is how I pictured it. A Victorian, right? And surrounded in lilac trees, just like you said.” He gestured down at the bushes clustered around the porch. “They’re not blooming yet, sorry.”

I was shocked that he had remembered that detail, about the lilacs. I thought of telling John the same thing only months ago, and the way he had forgotten that day I had left him.

Paul was right about the house being a Victorian, though it was clearly run down. “This just went on the market?” I asked, looking up at its peeling, faded façade. “It looks like it’s been empty for years.”

“Something about an estate battle,” Paul said, bounding up to the front porch. “They went out of business years ago but the previous owner refused to sell, and then his kids fought over the property.

“Hmm,” I said, following him. “I hope that doesn’t make it cursed, or something.”

Paul rolled his eyes then gestured down at the porch. “This wraps around to the back,” he said, “and opens out onto a nice deck on the lake front.” He punched a few numbers into a small black box attached to the door handle. The front of the box promptly popped open, revealing a key inside. Unlocking the door, Paul swung it open to reveal a dark foyer. “After you,” he said, giving me a slight smile.

I walked past him into the entryway. Very little light filtered in, but there was enough for me to see a heavy layer of dust on all the surfaces. “Original hardwood floors,” Paul said, following me in. “They’re pretty scratched up, but I think they can be easily restored. The electricity’s been shut off, let me get some light in here.”

Paul moved into the adjoining room. I could hear him rustling around and suddenly the foyer was flooded with light. I peered into the room and saw Paul pulling back heavy dark drapes, dust floating around him in the newly revealed sunlight. He was standing in what appeared to be the living room. A few old couches had been left behind; one appeared to have become the home for a family of mice, judging by the stuffing that was sticking out all over it.

“Okay, so like I said, it needs work,” Paul said, watching my face. “But from what I can tell the bones are good. A lot of it will be cosmetic, probably stuff I can do myself. We could use this room as the lobby, set a counter up over there,” he pointed to the far wall. “The stairs there go up to the bedrooms.”

“How many?”

“There are ten guest rooms,” he said. “No en suite bathrooms though, they’re all communal.” I made a face. That was typical of some B&Bs, but most guests these days expected their own bathroom.

Paul caught my expression. “Yeah, I’m figuring that will be one of our biggest expenses. I figured you’d want each room to have its own.”

“Is there a kitchen?”

“Right through here,” Paul said, leading me through the living room. The kitchen was on the smaller side, but more than adequate for the number of rooms. A dining room was beyond the kitchen, and the view from the glass-paned French doors took my breath away.

“Wow,” I said softly.

“This is the room that sold it for me,” Paul said eagerly. “You were always saying how much you hated the restaurant back at the inn—that you wished it wasn’t so dark.”

“You sure couldn’t call this dark,” I agreed.

“Yeah, and you could open it up even more,” Paul said, gesturing to the walls. “All of this could be windows. And with the cathedral ceiling in here you could even extend them up all the way up.” He caught my eye. “You could really make it exactly how you wanted it.”

It took me a minute to realize that the feeling growing in the pit of my belly was excitement. Looking around, I knew making this place habitable would be a tremendous amount of work. But I also couldn’t help repeating Paul’s words over and over again in my mind. I
could
make it exactly how I wanted it. This could be
mine
, really and truly mine. Or, rather, ours.

“Want to see the bedrooms?” Paul asked. I nodded, unable to keep from smiling at him. He led me back out to the stairs and together we walked to the second floor.

“Hmm.” I peered into the first room off the landing, not at all impressed. Peeling wallpaper featuring a garish floral pattern emblazoned the walls. I detected a definite note of mildew in the air.

“They’re all kinda like this,” Paul said apologetically. “Like I said, most of our budget would probably go toward the guest rooms.”

“But they’re a good size,” I mused, already thinking of what I would do with total freedom to gut this level.

Back downstairs, Paul led me out onto the back deck. “This was the most recent addition,” he said. “Carrie’s notes said it was in really good condition, and I have to agree.”

“This view is incredible,” I said, gazing out at the sun setting on Hubbard Lake.

“And it’s big enough to put some tables out,” Paul added. “Maybe even do breakfast service out here.” He pointed down the lawn at a dock jutting out from the shoreline. “The property includes all this lake frontage and that dock. Guests can swim, we could provide light boats, like kayaks or something.”

I nodded. “Insurance would be expensive, but probably doable.” I turned back to look at the house.
Maybe classic white paint on that siding
, I thought to myself.
Or maybe a pale blue, with white trim.

“You like it, don’t you?” Paul asked, watching me. “I can tell you like it.”

“I do,” I admitted. “I’m actually a little nervous about how much.”

“We can get a contractor in here tomorrow,” he said eagerly. “And Carrie said she can recommend some people to help with the financing—”

I held up my hand. “It’s still a lot to think about, Paul.”

“You’re right. But it wouldn’t hurt to talk to some people.”

“True,” I walked to the end of the deck. I was surprised to see a smaller porch below. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing down at the half-hidden French door. “Did we see that part of the house?”