“You also told me we should paint over everything in coral,” William reminded her.
She waved him off. “Artistic vision evolves.”
Lucy’s voice floated in from the hallway. “What is happening in here?”
She stepped into the room, wiping her hands on a towel. Her cheeks were pink from the kitchen heat, a few strands of hair falling loose from her bun. She looked at the debris-strewn floor and the open wall with the wary patience of a woman used to living among disasters. “Please tell me you’re not pulling down load-bearing walls.”
“Only the ugly ones,” Helen blithely replied.
Lucy folded her arms. “So all of them, then.”
“Just the panels hiding craftsmanship,” I corrected. “Come see this.”
She approached, her brow furrowing as she examined the uncovered molding. Her tone softened. “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s a lucky find. If the rest is in similar condition, your inn may become a reality,” I said quietly.
Her eyes met mine, and something unspoken passed between us. The room smelled of dust and lemon polish, the sound of tools echoing faintly. For a moment, the chaos faded, replaced by the quiet satisfaction of discovery.
Braxton broke the silence. “I think we can save most of it. A little sanding, some wood filler, a coat of paint, and it will look new again.”
Kitty tilted her head. “See? This is exactly what Lucy needs. Proof that miracles exist.”
“Miracles?” Lucy wryly asked.
“Sure. You quit your job, bought a crumbling inn, and found a man with tools who doesn’t run away. That’s divine intervention,” Kitty smiled in satisfaction. There was an uncanny resemblance to her mother which was a little disturbing to think there were two meddling women in this family.
Lucy turned pink. “Kitty, please.”
Meri smirked. “You’re lucky she didn’t mention what you said about him.”
“Don't start,” Lucy warned her sister.
“Too late,” Kitty said sweetly. “She told us he was an emotionless robot with tragic cheekbones.”
Braxton laughed so loudly that even William snorted. Helen looked from Lucy to me, delighted. “Well, that's oddly specific.”
Lucy groaned into her hands. “I need new sisters.”
I pretended to think it over. “Tragic cheekbones. How can cheekbones be tragic?”
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
“Perhaps,” I said with an almost smile.
Her eyes met mine again, reluctant amusement flickering there. “You must have driven your mother insane growing up.”
“I did,” I admitted as my smile fell away. I shoved the old pain down, instead concentrating on the task at hand.
The next hour passed in easy rhythm. Boards came down, dust clouds rose, laughter filled the room. For a family so impractical at construction, they worked surprisingly well together. Helen directing, William measuring, the sisters handing off tools with more enthusiasm than precision. Kitty documented the process like a proud aunt, snapping photos on her phone. Even Meri, who complained about allergies, smiled once or twice as she helped haul the paneling to a dumpster outside.
By the time the last board hit the floor, the reception room looked transformed. The wainscoting ran the length of the walls, the wallpaper faint but lovely. Even the ceiling seemed higher.
Helen beamed. “See? It’s like the inn remembered who it was meant to be.”
Lucy wiped dust from her face and smiled. “Not bad, everyone.”
William nodded. “We’ll need to wash it all down tomorrow. Then sanding and patching. After that, fresh paint.”
