Page 4 of Tinsel & Tools
“Not to sound like an asshole, but what exactly did he leave you?”
I shrugged. “A bed and breakfast in Brookhaven, apparently. My dad grew up in New Hampshire, but the name of that town doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You’re the owner of a B&B?”
“Technically, it has to go through probate first, which the lawyer said will take about six months, but I guess I am.”
“That’s exciting.” Allie lifted her phone and tapped the screen. “Let’s see what you’re dealing with.”
I glanced at my notes to give her the name of the place, and a second later, she handed over her cell so I could see the internet browser she’d opened.
“A two-and-a-half-star rating?” I scrolled through the reviews for Cedar Falls Inn, my gut tightening with each one.
“Nice staff, but the place is falling apart.”
“The bed was the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever slept on.”
“Breakfast was great. Unfortunately, the paint on the walls was peeling, and the room had a musty smell.”
“The place could be charming if someone took the time to fix it up.”
“Great view of the lake but that’s about all the place has going for it.”
I passed the phone back. “Yikes.”
Allie continued to skim through the page. “They’re not that bad. Everyone says the staff is nice, and the food’s good. The other stuff is just cosmetic, and lucky for you, your roommate is a future interior designer who is eager to work on a project.”
I shook my head. “Don’t start. It’s more than just cosmetic. That musty smell probably means water damage, and repairs cost money.”
“Well, you don’t have to make any decisions just yet. You said it would take six months before the place transfers to you, which gives you until November to figure out what you want to do.” Her eyes grew wide, and a smile spread across her face. “Wait, this is perfect. This whole situation has holiday romance written all over it. A city boy inherits a small-town bed and breakfast right before Christmas. Maybe you’ll fall in love with a local.”
I rolled my eyes. “You sure you don’t want to write books anymore? Because your imagination is wild.”
She just laughed. “Nah, I’ve moved on from that, but who knows? This could be the story you’ve been waiting for.”
3
Cole
Present Day
Thanksgiving was two days away. A dull gray sky hung over Brookhaven, the kind that made snow feel close. The town square already had wreaths on the streetlights, each with a red bow in the middle, and the public works crew had wrapped garland around the gazebo railing where the elementary school kids would sing Christmas carols at the annual tree lighting. On that night, the entire community would pack the square for hot cocoa, music, crafts, and festivities, making our small New England town look like it belonged in a holiday movie.
I had moved back to my hometown a few weeks after I’d found out about Whitney and Oliver. I’d spent that first weekend at my parents’ place, then finished the job in Boston while staying at a cheap motel near the site. By the time the divorce was finalized six months later, I knew big-city life wasn’t for me anymore. Instead, I started working full-time with my dad at his handyman business. It wasn’t the same as running electrical jobs in Boston. The hours weren’t brutal and the deadlines weren’t unmanageable. Jobs were smaller and shifted from one task to the next, but they were more fulfilling. I was helping the people I’d grown up knowing instead of wiring another high-rise for some company that would never remember my name.
Parking my truck in front of the hardware store in the town’s square, I went inside to grab a new latch for Mrs. Perkins’s pantry door before meeting my father at her home. He’d gone ahead while I had finished pulling old trim in my living room and cutting fresh pieces to install later. I wasn’t a carpenter by any means, but being in the trades as an electrician meant I was comfortable with tools. The work came easier than I expected, and I’d been helping my father with jobs for as long as I could remember.
As I slid out of the cab, sawdust fell from my jacket, so I brushed it off before heading toward the door. The bell gave its familiar jingle as I stepped inside, and I instantly saw Murphy behind the counter, where he was ringing up a pack of extension cords for Mrs. Katz. She and her sister leased the side-by-side storefronts on the square, Cinnamon & Crumb, the bakery, and Maple & Mug, the coffee shop. With the landlord’s approval, they reopened an interior wall between the suites so customers could move between the two businesses without going outside. “Afternoon, Cole,” Murphy greeted. “Your dad already headed over to Mrs. Perkins’s? He told me you’d be by for the latch.”
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “I’m here to pick it up.”
Mrs. Katz peered over. “Would you do me a favor and tell her I’ll be by in the morning with her pumpkin pie? She won’t stop calling to make sure I saved one for her Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am, of course,” I responded.
“Thank you, sweetie. And make sure you stop by tomorrow morning. I’ll have a pumpkin spice scone waiting for you.”
“I’ll be there.” I paid for the latch, gave Murphy a quick nod, and stepped back out into the cold. Mrs. Perkins’s house was just a few blocks’ drive from the square. It had the same tidy porch I remembered, and the maple trees in her yard were already bare for the season.
