I suppress a smile. She definitely won’t last.
We spend the next twenty minutes going through my list. Grams isn’t the sentimental type, so she wants to donate or get rid of most of the stuff. We have to wrap up quickly so she’s not late for bridge. I can’t keep track of all these card games.
I love watching her hobble off with her fellow residents, though. She may be mad about the alcohol, but at least she’s not the new kid with no friends.
On my way out, I catch sight of Beau’s older brother, Tristan. He must be the one running things now while his parents enjoy the fruits of their shifty labors. With a quick glance in the reflection of my phone screen to make sure I’m somewhat put together, I make my way to him behind the front desk, where he’s talking on the phone.
He glances at me when I walk up, then smiles and puts down the phone. Like Beau, he’s handsome, but his hair is a sun-kissed blond, and he’s got plenty of scruff. “Gemma Sawyer, right?”
“Correct,” I say, resting my hands on the counter.
“Welcome back to Sunset Harbor. It’s been a long time.”
“It sure has.”And yet not long enough.
“How can I help you?” he asks. “Is your grandma settling in okay?”
“Yes and no. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. She’s feeling a bit…frustrated that she’s not allowed to have any alcohol.”
“Ah,” he says, chuckling softly. “She mentioned that earlier today. A few times, actually. To be fair, it’s not just her who’s not allowed. We don’t keep any alcohol on the grounds—except what’s used for cooking.”
I log that information away as something never to divulge toGrams, as a vision of her sneaking into the kitchens for some cooking wine presents itself to my mind.
“But youusedto offer it.” I don’t know why I’m arguing this. Grams doesn’t need booze. She’s being difficult to be difficult. It’s her specialty. And yes, maybe I inherited a little bit of it.
“We did,” he acknowledges. “But after a few unfortunate incidents, we changed the policy. We feel confident it’s in the best interests of our staffandour residents.”
I want so badly to disagree with him.
“Well, just to warn you,” I say, “she’s ready to fight for the policy to be changed back.”
He grimaces, almost like this is expected. “That’s good to know. Thank you for telling me.”
It takes me a second to figure out a response. I wasn’t coming to tell on Grams, but that’s what it feels like I’ve done. What exactly does he intend to do with the information? This seems like a good time to make it clear that I’ll be watching how they treat her. “One more thing, Mr. Palmer.”
“You can call me Tristan,” he says, jabbing a pin in the balloon of my formality. He raises his brows expectantly.
“I hope no one on the staff here will let the history between our families determine how Virginia Sawyer is treated.” Did I just call my grandma by her full name, like I’m her lawyer and she’s my client?
Tristan’s brows pull together like the mere suggestion is offensive. “Of course not.”
I have a very hard time believing that, and impulse tells me to pull out a handful of instances from the past where my family was, in fact, treated differently because of our last name. But I let it go. There will be plenty of opportunities to make it clear that I’m watching over the next six days.
I head back to the house, watching for any sign of Officer Palmer or his dog. I honestly wouldn’t mind the dog. And I’d rather Beau see me now than the way he did lastnight—frizzy-haired after a long day of flying, and still trying to figure out this ridiculous piece of machinery. It’s like driving a trigger-happy jackhammer. Do jackhammers have triggers?
The point is, while I’m not trying to get pulled over again, I wouldn’t mind the chance at a second first impression with Beau. Does he even realize how amazing and successful I am? Does his family know how popular the rec center my dad built in LA is? They tried their best to keep us down, but they couldn’t. Of course they couldn’t! We’re the freaking Sawyers. We bow to no one.
Then why’d you leave? Beau pops into my brain, smirking his stupid-sexy smirk.
I scoff.Dream on, 5-0. Leaving Sunset Harbor wasn’t surrender; it was taking the high road.
I pull into the driveway and head inside, shedding my business attire before I get back to work. With a better sense for what Grams wants to keep and chuck, things go a bit more quickly, but this room is still chock-full of old and unorganized stuff. I’ll have to go through the main parts of the house too, and that’s where the things she’s more likely to want to keep are.
Around five thirty, when I’ve got a quarter of the room boxed up, I get a video call. I quickly type a couple of items into the spreadsheet, then tap to answer.
“Hell in a handbasket,” I say in a receptionist voice. “This is Gemma. How can I direct your call?” I prop my phone against a box so my sister Mia can see me.
“Ugh. That bad? I was hoping things had improved and it’d be a pleasant surprise.”
