“I think,” she said slowly, “that the people we loved would want us to be happy. Darren loved me. I know that absolutely. And Ithink if he were here, he would tell me to stop punishing myself. To stop just existing and start living again.”
“Abi would say the same,” Gabe said. “She would probably smack me upside the head and tell me to stop being an idiot. That she didn’t die, so I could spend the rest of my life feeling guilty.”
Jane smiled at that image. “She sounds like she was amazing.”
“She was,” Gabe said. “And so was Darren, from everything you’ve told me about him.”
“He was,” Jane agreed.
They looked at each other across the table, and something passed between them. An understanding. An acknowledgment of what they were both feeling, what was growing between them despite their grief and pain.
15
HOLLY
Holly stood on one side of the half-finished guest room, paintbrush in hand, while Jack measured the window frame on the opposite wall. Logan was somewhere in between, installing crown molding with the careful precision that came from years of woodworking experience.
The atmosphere was polite. Professional. And absolutely suffocating.
“What do you think about the trim color?” Jack asked, his voice carefully neutral. “The antique white or the cream?”
“Either would work,” Holly said, equally careful. “Though the cream might complement the wallpaper better.”
“Cream it is,” Jack said, making a note on his clipboard.
Logan glanced between them, his expression suggesting he was acutely aware of the tension crackling through the room likestatic electricity. But he said nothing, just returned his attention to the crown molding.
This was how it had been for two days now. Polite conversation. Careful suggestions about paint colors, furniture placement, and which fixtures would work best in each room. They were working together beautifully on the surface. Still, beneath the surface, Holly felt like she was walking on eggshells, constantly aware of Jack’s presence and the growing distance between them.
“We still have four more rooms to finish,” Logan said, stepping back to examine his work. “At the rate we’re going, we won’t get them done before Christmas week.”
“We can’t cut corners,” Jack said firmly. “These rooms need to be perfect. The inn’s reputation depends on it.”
“I agree,” Holly added quickly. “But maybe we need to come up with a better plan. A way to work more efficiently without sacrificing quality.”
They all stood there for a moment, looking around the room with critical eyes. It was beautiful—or it would be when it was finished. But it was also taking far too long. Every detail was being agonized over, every decision taking twice as long as it should because Holly and Jack could barely have a conversation that lasted more than three sentences.
Logan’s stomach rumbled loudly in the silence, and his phone buzzed a moment later. He pulled it out and smiled slightly.
“Charlie wants to know where I am for lunch,” Logan said, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “I have to go. I’ll be back in an hour.” He looked pointedly at both of them. “You two should get something to eat too. Maybe you’ll be more creative on full stomachs.”
Holly watched Logan gather his tools and head for the door. As it closed behind him, the silence in the room became even more oppressive. She and Jack were alone for the first time in two days, and Holly felt her heart racing with anxiety and guilt.
She had been trying to talk to Jack since yesterday morning. Trying to find the right moment to tell him about meeting Simon, to explain what had happened, to clear the air between them. But something kept getting in the way. Julie needing help with something. Trinity asking for her grandmother. The phone ringing. Guests are checking in. A dozen small interruptions had prevented them from having a single private conversation.
And now here they were, finally alone, and Holly did not know how to begin.
Jack set down his clipboard and headed toward the door. “I should grab some lunch. We can pick this up when Logan gets back.”
He was leaving. He was not even going to ask her to join him for lunch. The distance between them had grown so wide that they could not even share a meal anymore.
“Jack, wait,” Holly said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them.
Jack stopped at the doorway and turned back to face her. His expression was guarded, walls up in a way they had not been a week ago.
“I need to talk to you,” Holly said, setting down her own paintbrush with trembling hands.
“About what?” Jack asked, his tone carefully neutral.
