Page 2 of Hargrave Flame Out
As much as she loved the hospitality cycle of welcoming guests, ensuring they had a perfect stay, and bidding them farewell, the break had opened her eyes.
She hadn’t wandered aimlessly. Hadn’t been bored or even overwhelmed by lingering grief. She’d been happy.
And she’d returned to the work with a fresh mindset. Rejuvenated and enthused as she flowed into the old patterns with enthusiasm.
Right now, she had the house to herself again. She’d deliberately blocked out the last Tuesday through Sunday at the end of September to give them all a break after a busy end-of-season rush.
Instead of enjoying the glorious weather, she was hip-deep in reports, requesting additional data from Veronica so she could build a solid case to change their rental format.
There was no real reason to rush, and most likely, some fresh air and sunshine would help clarify her thoughts.
Pushing back from the desk in her suite off the kitchen, Celeste plucked her phone off the charger and headed outside.
She was tempted to call Reed, the owner of the nearby Pelican Pub. His bar had a laid-back atmosphere that madeit a favorite with the locals. On the weekends, he invited up and coming bands to perform. Despite the smaller venue, the Pelican was earning a good reputation as a mini-audition for the Brookwell Music Festival the island hosted each summer. Beyond his love of music, Reed’s girl-dad energy was set to ten and since their father had walked away, Celeste and her sisters often turned to Reed for business advice and guidance.
He was even helping her brainstorm some ideas to get in on the Brookwell First Date initiative. A new event the community leaders were planning as a counterpoint to restaurant week in Charleston.
The big concept was encouraging folks to have their first date at one of the many Brookwell Island restaurants. Special perks included photos, drink discounts, party-of-two menu selections, and more.
The first date week wasn’t something the B&B could directly participate in, but thanks to Reed’s reminder to lean hard on the Hargrave Hideaway strengths, she’d pulled together a Brookwell-themed prize package that included a weekend stay.
One of the best things about the Hideaway was their private cove. Theirs was the only privately-owned beach on Brookwell Island. Other properties had beach access, but the boundaries of the property her father had purchased decades ago gave them exclusive access to their cove. An asset they’d reveled in as little girls and now emphasized as business owners.
She remembered her first visits as a little girl. When the original house was a tiny cottage with one bedroom for her parents and another the sisters shared. Back then, none of them cared where they slept. All that mattered was time outside and playtime at the edge of the endless ocean.
She stepped out of her flip flops and made a beeline for the incoming tide, letting the foam roll over her feet. The cool breezeoff the ocean and the consistent drumming of the waves restored her peace of mind, taking her back on a wash of fond memories.
Salt air, sunburns, and aloe. Icy popsicles and sticky fingers they rinsed clean in the ocean. Roasting marshmallows over campfires their dad built in the sand.
Those images returned in a fast and happy flurry. Carefree days of wading and dreaming up adventures with her sisters. Afternoon bike rides into town for ice cream. Sleepy hours cozied up near the fire watching sparks float up into the night sky.
Maybe she could convince her sisters to dust off the bikes this weekend and take a ride around the island. For the joy and nostalgia. And, if she was lucky, she could tack on a business brainstorming session at the end. They’d been running the B&B according to the original plan for a year, but lately she was thinking that a strategic shift could open up room for more.
More fun, more income, more balance.
She could imagine it so clearly, and those weeks that the entire house had been rented were proof of concept. Fewer hands-on hours and more time to wade through the water or meet friends at the Pelican. As the summer faded, they’d have more time to chat around the firepit at Veronica’s house.
She could practically smell the security and comfort of it all. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision how best to pitch her ideas to her sisters.
Taking a deep breath, Celeste realized she was smelling smoke—right here in the present, not just in her memories.
She darted back from the water, her head on a swivel as she searched for the source of that smoke. The odor was sharp, not as clean or sweet as marshmallows melting over a campfire. This was all wrong.
But where was it coming from?
Rushing away from the water and back up the beach, she scanned the sky for signs of smoke. Spotting a thin, dark plume, she called 9-1-1, reporting the general area of the fire as she broke into a run.
When she saw the flames were devouring the new outdoor kitchen, reaching for the pergola, the shock stole her breath. “Oh, no!” She wheezed. “No!”
“Ma’am?” the dispatcher asked.
“My house. It’s my house.” She gave the address. “The outdoor kitchen!” Her stomach heaved. This couldn’t be happening. She hurried across the courtyard, skidding to a stop as the heat of the flames slammed into her.
“Do not approach the house,” the dispatcher said, her voice stern. “The fire department is on the way.”
“I need?—”
“Stay with me, ma’am. Stay on the line.”
