He nods, disappears again, and returns a moment later with a steaming mug. I take it with a quiet thank-you, letting the warmth seep into my palms.
Then he sits—closer than I expect, so close our knees almost touch—and leans back with an air of easy confidence.
“The inn and the bog go hand in hand,” he begins. “Harvest festivals, winter markets, midsummer feasts—half the town would end their day knee-deep in cranberry muck, then march straight up the hill for Elspeth’s supper.”
“I do recall some rowdy nights back then.”
He chuckles. “A reciprocal blessing. Weddings, wakes, solstice dances. That house holds more memories than any single family ever could.”
I glance up. “And always my grandmother at the center of it.”
He smiles, softer now. “She made people feel at home, even when their boots were soaked and their hands stained red. And she never turned anyone away. Not once. I remember beingthirteen, soaking wet and too proud to go home after a fight with my father. She gave me a towel, a plate of stew, and told me I could sit by the fire until the storm passed.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“It was,” he says. “Elspeth made sure no one forgot the Hart name. And maybe that’s how it should be. But families change. Time moves. Someone has to take the reins when it does.”
There’s an awkward pause. “You mean ...?”
“I mean,” he says, leaning just close enough for the words to land heavily. “If you’re looking for a buyer, you know I’d take good care of the place. I’m a member of a founding family, Els. We’re cut from the same cloth.”
My stomach twists. “And you’d be fine with the historical designation? You wouldn’t be able to tear anything down or expand the property.”
He shrugs, smile tilted. “Langfords have been here as long as the Harts. I know a thing or two about balancing history with progress. And who knows what could happen if outsiders start sniffing around this town for a hot piece of land.”
I frown. “If that’s how you feel, then why don’t you and Wells—?”
“Get along?” Beau supplies, grin widening like I’ve said something funny. “Because Wells clings to the past like it’s scripture. He thinks tradition means freezing the world exactly as it was when Elspeth ran it.”
“And you don’t?”
“Tradition without adaptation is just rot. There are decisions I’ve made that Wells doesn’t agree with. Especially when it comes to the Ashbys’ so-called claim on this bog. Wells—” He shakes his head. “He’d rather vilify me than admit I’m right.”
I bite my lip, unsure what to say. He’s smooth, confident, so sure of himself.
Beau leans back. “Think about it, Elsie. That inn deserves someone who’ll keep it intact, respect what it’s been, but also move it forward. Someone who knows the bloodlines and the history. Someone like me.”
He’s not wrong that the thought already crossed my mind. I came here today for more than a statement. I came to feel him out.
But I need to think, and I can’t admit any of it aloud. Not when protocol says the inn’s future can’t be negotiated until the review is finished. Not when I owe it to the town, to my grandmother, to at least do this one thing right.
“We can discuss this more later,” I say. “I’m here on committee business today. Do you, um, do you have any other statements you’d like to make in support of the designation?”
Beau smiles. “You can tell Alma I said this: the inn’s the hearth of Blue Willow. Always has been. And a hearth’s no good if we don’t properly tend the fire. That place deserves its own chapter in the history of this town, plain and simple.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “That . . . that’s all I was looking for.”
His grin shifts. “If you’re looking for more than just a buyer, I can assist with that, too.”
I blink, certain I’ve misheard him. Me? Flighty, restless, unkempt. Not at all the kind of woman who ends up on the arm of someone like Beau Langford. A man clinging to legacy instead of hiding from it.
“Er, no,” I say awkwardly. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
He chuckles, low and easy. “No harm in putting it on the table.”
I don’t date. Not because I’ve sworn it off with any grand declarations, but because I’ve spent so long in motion that the thought of folding someone else into my orbit feels impossible. Temporary flings, sure. But anything that asks me to stay? I don’t have room for that.
Beau isn’t tempting fate or forever, anyway, though he is right about one thing. The inn has always deserved more than my silence and absence.
