Page 17 of Tinsel & Tools
“I’m fine on my own.”
Pete tossed another olive into his mouth. “You say that, but fine isn’t the same as good.”
Eliza giggled from her stool. “Uncle Cole has a girlfriend.”
“I do not.”
She squealed with laughter, and the room joined in, everyone happy to make me the target.
Aunt Nancy leaned her elbows on the counter, clearly enjoying the show. “Even if you don’t want Paige, someone’s bound to catch your eye eventually.”
I reached for the open bottle of white wine on the counter and poured myself a glass. If this was how the rest of the day was going to go, I would need the wine or something stronger.
8
Gavin
Usually on Thanksgiving morning, my parents and I would wake up early to attend the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, then return to our apartment for a catered meal. I had expected this year—my first Thanksgiving without them—would be miserable and lonely. Instead, Mrs. Ross had decorated the dining room and made another fabulous meal for the three of us to enjoy together.
We filled our plates with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, and the most delicious homemade rolls I’d ever tasted. Later, when the food coma had eased, we dug into the pumpkin and pecan pies she’d made and played a few card games while we shared stories about our lives.
It had been simple, cozy, and the complete opposite of my family’s holiday traditions. Yet, to my surprise, I’d loved every second of the small-town Thanksgiving. Perhaps it was because it felt as though Mrs. Ross and I were kindred spirits—two people who’d lost their families and were trying their best to move forward, even when life made it hard.
I wanted to make the right decision about the future of the inn, and after spending the entire day with Mrs. Ross, I’d started to believe there might be something worth saving. Not just for her, but for me too.
The thought lingered in my mind for the next few days. By Sunday, the leftovers were gone, and Mrs. Ross stated she needed to make a trip into town to visit the general store for groceries. Allie asked to go with her since she wanted to check out an antique store nearby and see if she could find anything there to spruce up the inn a bit.
While they were gone, I thought about what I envisioned for the bed and breakfast if I decided to keep it. I wanted it to be a place families could come for a summer getaway. Maybe we could convert the largest room into a suite with a separate sitting area, bigger bed, cozy robes, in-room coffee, or something. Skiers could stay in the winter months. Cedar Falls Inn could become the sort of destination people talked about long after they left.
I wandered around the large house, trying to imagine how it would look. I poked around the check-in desk and found a guest book that was almost full. This place had once enjoyed a steady stream of visitors, but judging by the dates on the entries, it had been at least five years since that was true.
Eventually, I made my way down the hall and found myself standing in front of my grandfather’s door. My hand hovered over the knob before I pulled it back. If I fixed up the place, I’d eventually need to empty out his room, but today wasn’t the day for that.
Unsure what to do next, I walked back down the hallway, through the kitchen, and slipped out the back door to follow the path through the trees toward the lake.
The air had a cold, almost painful bite, but I continued walking until I reached the water’s edge. For a moment, I just stood there with my hands shoved in my jacket pockets, breathing in the scent of cedar and pine. In the distance, I could see a little waterfall. Mrs. Ross had mentioned that the small stream of water turned into something magnificent in the spring after the snow melted. I could imagine guests sitting in this exact spot in the summer with fishing poles and picnic baskets while kids swam in the shallow water.
As if the universe was trying to tell me I was on the right track, my phone buzzed, and I opened my messages:
Unknown: Hi. This is Cole Maddox. I was wondering if you’ve made a decision and want to talk about the next steps?
I stared at the screen, my stomach doing a weird little flip. The image of Cole with the sleeves of his flannel rolled up and his jeans hugging his ass perfectly came roaring back.
I saved his contact information and typed out a response:
I think I have. Pretty sure I want to move forward with the full renovation
That’s great
Is it?
I wasn’t fully convinced that this was the right decision, but I liked the idea of owning something I could make mine. And maybe I’d eventually be able to live off the income from it. That way I wouldn’t feel so much pressure when it came to my writing.
I know it sounds like a lot, but you’ve got a solid foundation to build on. I think we could have this place up and running before spring. As long as the weather cooperates
It’ll take months?
Yeah. But I’ll be right there with you every step of the way
