But as I picked up the saw and lined up the next piece, I made myself a promise: I'd keep an eye on Sam Jarrow. Just in case.
The morning stretched long and productive. I fell into the rhythm of measuring, cutting, fitting. The new trim slid into place clean, the gaps filling, the structure tightening. There was something deeply satisfying about repair work—taking something broken and making it whole again. No explosions. No blood. Just wood and screws and patience.
Maude brought me a third muffin around eleven, along with a glass of sweet tea that sweated condensation in the humid air.
"We’ve got another guest," I said.
Her eyebrows rose. "Do we?"
"Room six. Guy named Sam. Checked himself in about an hour ago."
"Well." She looked pleased. "That's good news. Hazel will be happy."
"He seems—" I searched for the right word. "Tired."
"Aren't we all?" She patted my shoulder and headed back inside, humming something that sounded like a hymn.
I finished the tea, the muffin, and another section of trim before I heard Hazel's rental car coming up the drive. The engine cut, the door slammed, and then she was rounding the cornerwith a bag from Burl's in one hand and excitement lighting up her face.
"Gideon!" She set the bag down and came straight to me, and I caught her around the waist without thinking, pulling her in for a kiss.
"Hi," she said against my mouth.
"Hi, yourself."
She pulled back, grinning. "Burl says hello. You have to meet him. Also, he gave me a ten-percent discount because apparently word's gotten around that I'm 'fixing up the old Bradford place' and people are rooting for me."
"People are smart."
She laughed, then noticed the new trim. "Oh, my God, you did all this already?"
"Most of it. Still got the back corner to finish."
"You're amazing." She kissed me again, quick and grateful, then picked up the bag. "I got three kinds of sandpaper, wood filler, and paint samples for the guest rooms. I'm thinking a soft gray for most of them, but maybe a pale yellow for the one that faces east—catch the morning light."
I loved watching her like this. Animated. Planning. The control that usually kept her so tight loosening into something that looked almost like joy.
"Oh!" She turned back to me, eyes bright. "Maude texted and said we have a new guest?"
"Yeah. Guy named Sam. Checked in this morning. Quiet. Tired. Paid a cash deposit. Figured you’d work out the rest."
"That's great." She was already moving toward the house. "Things are looking up. Two guests in my first week. Maybe the inn's not as doomed as I thought."
I followed her inside, watching as she set the bag on the kitchen counter and immediately started organizing herpurchases by project priority. Lists within lists. It made me smile.
"I'll talk to him at dinner," she said. "Make sure he has everything he needs. Maybe he'll stay a while. Word of mouth, you know? If he likes it here, he might tell people."
"Maybe."
She turned, catching something in my voice. "What?"
"Nothing." I shook my head. "Just—he seemed a little off. Probably nothing."
"Off how?"
"Jumpy. Worn down. Could just be travel." I shrugged, trying to shake the unease that had no solid shape to it. "I'm probably being paranoid."
She came to me, rising on her toes to kiss my cheek. "You're being protective. It's sweet."
