“You want details?”
“Yes. Not because I’m saying yes,” I add quickly. “But because I need to see every path before I choose. That includes yours.”
He studies me. “If you sold to me, I’d keep it in good hands. I know what the inn means here. I’d invest in her properly. Hire local. Keep staff. Reopen rooms. It’d still feel like your grandmother’s house, but steadier.”
“Keep staff,” I echo.
He huffs. “Rourke could stay, if he wanted.”
“You’d run it as an inn? Not turn it into some boutique event space?”
“I wouldn’t change its purpose. And if you want it,” he adds, “I can have my lawyer draft an outline. Nonbinding. Just terms as I see them. You can look it over and show it to whoever you trust.”
That last line lands differently. No persuasion or charm for charm’s sake. With Wells, I trust instinctively; with Beau, I trust process and paperwork. That counts for something.
“All right,” I say. “Email it. But only for informational purposes. And understand I’m still just—” I gesture vaguely, trying to encompass the mess of feelings and obligations. “—evaluating all options.”
“I’ll have it to you by early next week,” he promises. Then, “Elsie ... whatever you decide, I hope it’s what feels right to you. Not to anyone else.”
I don’t answer. Before he can say anything else to sway me, I slip back inside Juneberry, shaking snow from my hair. At the table, Isla and Winnie are mid-sip, both pretending very hard not to have been watching through the window.
“So, what was that all about?” Winnie asks, entirely too casual.
“Business,” I say, sliding back into my chair.
“Business with Beau Langford?” Isla teases. “You sure it’s not . . . pleasure?”
My laugh comes out fast and sharp. “Absolutely not.”
They exchange a look that makes my cheeks burn.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “There is nothing going on there.”
Isla props her chin on her hand. “What? He’s handsome. You could do worse.”
“Wells doesn’t seem to like him,” I say, frowning. “And you two seem rather ... dubious.”
Isla sighs. “It’s not personal. It’s just—Beau’s family history is messy. The Ashbys and the Langfords had an old split, which left the former edged out. Smaller shares that got tangled in pride and bitterness. Greer, our friend, lost out in the end. She blames Beau for making a deal with her uncle.”
Winnie nods. “She lives in New York now, and she hates it. Still pissed at him for how it all went down—for the way he took control when she was ready to step in. So, there’s history there. Not that Beau’s necessarily the villain, but he’s tied to that side of town’s money. Folks are sensitive, you know.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not interested in Beau that way,” I say firmly. And then, before I can stop myself, I add, “I’m already ... too invested in someone else.”
Winnie leans forward, eyes glittering. “Excuse me?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Wells.”
Isla’s grin is immediate. “I knew it.”
“You did not.”
“Oh, I absolutely did. The way he looks at you? Please.”
“We’ve only ... slept together once, during the storm. And kissed again out there in the snow.” I point to the exact patch of street for dramatic reenactment; both girls whip their headstoward the window like I’d announced an elopement. “We’re waiting on the rest until I ... well, until I make a decision one way or another about the inn.”
Winnie snorts into her coffee. “So, what, you’ve been sneaking around like teenagers? God, that’s too cute.”
I groan and cover my face with both hands. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
