Page 12 of Tinsel & Tools
After getting their drinks, they took a table near ours. I wasn’t listening, but in a small-town coffee shop, everyone’s business might as well be broadcast over the sound system.
The man leaned toward the woman and spoke low. “I still can’t believe I’m stuck with that dump of an inn.”
“Which is why we’re going to fix it up,” she replied.
I hid my laugh with my cup. Owning Cedar Falls Inn, the only hotel in our town, was a constant project. Dad and I had received several calls over the last year for dripping faucets, toilets that ran, doors that wouldn’t latch, breakers that tripped, and light fixtures that buzzed, but he never wanted to do anything more than fix what needed to be repaired. Word around town was that the bed and breakfast had been left to Mr. Price’s family, though I’d never known him to have any relatives.
Paige shot me a questioning look. “What?”
“Nothing,” I murmured, still grinning. “Just … poor guy has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.”
6
Gavin
We spent the morning with Mrs. Ross, enjoying the delicious breakfast she made before she gave us a tour of the property and went over her daily routine. When we finally wrapped up, Allie and I headed to the little coffee shop at the town square. The place smelled like espresso and fresh baked goods. It was warmer than the inn and filled with more people than I expected, but it was still a good place to talk without Mrs. Ross overhearing us discuss the fate of what was not only her place of employment but also her home.
Once the barista handed us our drinks, we found a small table next to the window and sat. Allie wasted no time pulling out a notebook I hadn’t even noticed she’d brought with us.
“Okay,” she said, opening it to the first page. “Let’s make a pros and cons list.”
I groaned into my coffee. The truth was, I’d spent the last six months while the estate was in probate weighing my various options. I could sell the property and pocket whatever profit I could make, do a huge renovation and hope my investment would pay off, or make minimal repairs and see if I could make enough to cover the operating costs while using it as a sort of vacation home. Despite having half a year to think about it, I still didn’t know what I wanted to do. I had assumed seeing it in person would make my decision easier, but it hadn’t.
“I’ll go first.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course you will.”
“Pro.” She began writing. “The location is excellent. Lakeside property surrounded by trees. People pay a lot of money for a relaxing vacation spot like that.”
“Con,” I countered. “The roof might collapse on the guests while they’re trying to relax.”
“Pro,” she shot back. “Mrs. Ross. People in the reviews loved her food. We could build an entire marketing campaign around her cooking.”
I thought about last night’s chicken pot pie and recognized that Allie definitely had a point. I’d give anything to have regular home-cooked meals like the one Mrs. Ross had made us.
“Con. Advertising requires money. Between that and the repairs, I’ll blow through Harold’s life insurance and deplete what’s left in my savings.”
“Pro. You have me to help.” She smirked.
“That could just as easily go into the con column,” I teased and she rolled her eyes playfully. “Even if I wanted to keep it, I’d need to find out what it would actually take to fix it up. If—and that’s a big if—it’s not impossible, and doesn’t have me filing bankruptcy, then maybe I’ll consider it.”
Her eyes sparkled. “So, you’re saying there’s a chance?”
I shook my head and laughed. “Sure. A small one.”
A few tables over, a chair scraping across the floor caught my attention, and I turned in time to see a tall, well-built man in a flannel shirt and worn jeans stand. With his dirty blond hair, short goatee, and perfect cheekbones, I suddenly understood the appeal of all those small-town, blue-collar guys in the made-for-TV-movies Allie and I watched every winter.
She followed my gaze and muttered under her breath, “Hello, lumberjack.”
“He’s with someone,” I stated, noticing the young woman next to him.
“Could be his sister,” she offered.
“Or his girlfriend. Either way, I doubt Brookhaven has a thriving gay scene.” I lifted my coffee and took a drink.
“You don’t need a whole scene to find the one,” she argued.
“If I couldn’t find a guy in New York City, what makes you think I’ll find one here?”
