"Jack Callahan, ma'am." He extended his hand. "Pleasure."
Maeve took it, studying him the way she studied everyone—like she could read the last five years of his life in his handshake. "You're the capsized boat."
"That's me."
"Mm." She released his hand. "You look like you survived it. That's something."
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack agreed with a grin.
"Speaking of parents, they still in Florida?" Maeve asked, turning back to Clara.
"Yes, for another two weeks. Mom's dragging Dad to every available condo for sale in St. Petersburg."
"I'd never live in a place where alligators have free roaming privileges," Maeve said, shaking her head, "but I don't blame your mom for wanting something warmer during the winter."
"I've spent time in Florida, love the weather," Jack supplied, happy to be part of the conversation, but Clara wished he'd stayed quiet because it just returned Maeve's attention to him.
"So, Jack. What brings you to Beacon's End? Besides poor seamanship."
“Just a broken boat and an overinflated sense of skill," Jack admitted with a grin that was cocky and cute at the same time. Damn him.
"Takes accountability." Maeve's eyes flicked to Clara. Assessing. "I like that. Already better than Sam in that regard.”
Clara nearly swallowed her tongue. She glared at Maeve. There will be no talk of Sam allowed. Maeve caught the hint by Clara’s wintry stare and wisely shut up about that topic. “Jack needs a place to stay."
“Why can’t he?—”
"Maeve." Clara gave her a look that could strip paint. "I will walk out of this pub."
Maeve held up her hands, a rare gesture of retreat that fooled absolutely no one. "Fine, fine. But you're not getting any younger?—"
"And you're not getting any more tactful, yet here we both are."
Jack was clearly enjoying this. Clara filed that under Reasons to Not Like Him and moved on.
"His boat capsized. I fished him out. He needs a room at the inn. We're not dating. Not evenfriends. I just happened to see him before he drowned. That's the whole story."
"Where's your destination?" Maeve asked, ignoring Clara’s pointed glower.
"Wherever the next job is."
Maeve's eyebrows rose. "A wanderer. Always searching for a place to hang your hat.”
Jack entertained her assessment with a shrug, “Something like that,” but he didn’t elaborate.
Clara tried not grit her teeth but she couldn’t be more on edge. "Can you call Roger? Tell him we're coming?"
"I could." Maeve's expression shifted, sympathy creeping in. "But it won't help. Roger's dealing with a burst pipe. Flooded half the rooms. He's closed until repairs are done."
Clara's stomach pitched in alarm. "What?"
"Happened during that freak storm. Crew's working on it, but it'll be at least a week before he can take guests." Maeve glanced at Jack. "Sorry, love. Beacon's End isn't exactly chock full of inns to choose from."
"There has to be somewhere," Clara said, almost desperately.
"Well." Maeve's tone was carefully innocent. "There'sthe lighthouse. Seems like Mr. Callahan's already familiar with it."
"No."
