Pop continued to look at the photos. “He was a good man, and Elizabeth loved him so. Such a heartbreak when he died.”
Kate wished she knew more about her grandfather. Except for a few photos, there was little about the man anyone had shared with her and her siblings.
Kate thought about Lillian's suggested renovations, the sleek modern lobby that would impress but not comfort.
“Pop, what would Mom think about the changes we're making?”
He looked at her with surprisingly clear eyes. “She'd want the inn to survive. But she'd want it to stay ours.” He patted her hand. “Don't let them change us into something we're not, Katie-girl.”
But Kate wondered if it was already too late. The money was in the bank. The nurse was in residence. The repairs were underway. The chairs were at the dump. Change was happening whether she wanted it or not.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Ben:Salvaged something from the renovation. Come to the barn tomorrow morning if you want to see.
Despite everything, Kate smiled. Tomorrow she'd face Lillian, deal with Dani's decorating ideas, figure out how tobalance preservation with progress. But tonight, she allowed herself one small warmth, the thought of Ben saving something just for her.
Outside, she could hear the town settling into evening, with shops closing and the streets clearing of tourists. And, somewhere, people were probably still gossiping about the Whitfield money, about poor Elizabeth's family taking handouts from the woman who'd disowned her.
Let them talk, Kate thought. They didn't know what it was like to choose between pride and survival, between the past and the future, between holding on and letting go.
But as she helped Pop get ready for bed, she wondered if she understood these things any better.
CHAPTER 9
Kate arrived at Ben's barn at six-thirty in the morning, telling herself she was up early anyway, that this wasn't anything special. The barn sat behind his house on the outskirts of town, a classic New England structure he'd converted into a workshop. Light spilled from the open doors, along with the sound of sandpaper on wood.
She found him working on one of her mother's chairs, the ones supposedly taken to the dump.
“You saved them,” she breathed.
“Intercepted them, more like.” He straightened, dusting his hands on his jeans. “Told the crew I'd take them for restoration. They didn't care as long as they got paid.”
Both chairs sat in his workshop, worn but solid. He'd already started sanding one, revealing the good bones beneath decades of wear.
“Why?” Kate asked.
“Because you looked like someone had ripped out a piece of your heart when you saw them gone.” He ran his hand along the chair's arm. “And because they're worth saving. Good craftsmanship. Made to last.”
Kate touched the other chair, remembering her mother sitting here, Pop telling stories, guests gathering around on snowy evenings. “Lillian will be furious.”
“Lillian doesn't have to know. We'll restore them, put them back when they're done. Call it a compromise.”
“We?”
“If you want to help. Fair warning, I'm a taskmaster with sandpaper.”
Kate laughed. “I’d love to help. Hand over the sandpaper.”
They worked side by side as the morning light grew stronger. Ben showed her how to work with the grain, when to be gentle and when to apply pressure. His hands covered hers, guiding the sandpaper, and Kate felt herself stiffen.
“You're tense,” he said quietly, his breath warm against her ear.
“I'm fine.” She pulled her hands away, maybe more abruptly than necessary.
“You're holding the sandpaper like it might escape.” He reached for her hands again. “Here, relax…”
“I said I'm fine.” Kate stepped back, creating distance. Who did he think he was, telling her how she felt? They'd known each other what, two weeks? Three? Did he think because they’d been in the same grade at school, they were somehow soulmates?
Ben raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. Sorry.”
