Sharon Devereux was the quintessential ‘almond mom,’ something she hadn’t given up with age. At fifty-six, she looked like she was in her mid-forties. Reese truly didn’t know who’d win in a footrace between the two of them, and hopefully she’d never have to find out.
Reese took a sip of her wine, wondering if this was the right time to tell them she’d purchased the inn. She hadn’t done it in opposition to her family, not even close. Until today, she’d had no idea they’d even been interested in the property.
For her first venture, she’d wanted a place she was comfortable in, where she understood the people and the town. The mechanics of ownership were all foreign to her, but sheknewStoneport.
“Yes. I’m going to be here through the summer.” Understatement of the year, but they didn’t need to know that.
“Shacking up with her new girlfriend,” Grant added, the whites of his teeth gleaming against his already summer-tanned skin.
Her mother’s eyes lifted. “Oh?”
She’d felt Grant circling as soon as she’d walked in the door. It became clear he hadn’t yet told their parents about their earlier run-in. He was waiting. For what, she didn’t know. Maybe just to see the conversation play out in real time.
“Did Grant not mention that he stopped by The Stone’s Throw today?” Reese asked, gently veering away from the subject of her fake girlfriend.
“You’re staying there?” her father asked, suddenly taking interest in the conversation. “Your mother didn’t mention it.”
Reese nodded. “It’s got great bones. Needs a little updating, but what doesn’t.”
Her father put his evening newspaper down, shifting his focus to Grant. “I’d have to agree with your sister on this one.”
Something passed between them, and Reese desperately wished she knew what it was.
She also wished that, even after thirty-one years, her father’s approval didn’t matter to her so much.
He’d built The Devereux Group from the ground up, starting with a single property in the early nineties. Since then, the group had grown to a portfolio of fifteen mostly coastal hotels that dotted the New England seaboard.
She was proud of what her father had accomplished, for both himself and his family, even if it was hard to reconcile that with the fact that he refused to see her as part of the company’s future.
Reese turned her attention back to her mom. “How did you know I was staying there?”
Sharon continued to look at her cranberry with suspicion. “Steve and Joyce Dyson were driving by and swore they saw you in the parking lot.”
Of course. Of all the wonderful things about Stoneport, living under a microscope wasn’t one of them.
Honestly, it was shocking that her family didn’t yet know she’d purchased the inn. Her parents had never been close with the Thatchers, but still, it must have been common knowledge that the inn had been sold.
“So, Reese,” Grant cut in, dangling his fork from his manicured fingers and letting it fall in lazy circles above his salad plate like it was a scrying stick. “Seems like you’ve been busy.”
She squinted at her brother. Did he know?
No, she decided; he was still mad about what had happened earlier.
Of all the things she’d learned today, Grant’s infidelity had been the least surprising. He wasn’t overly chauvinistic in public, but his access and means had always given him a sense that he could do whatever he wanted.
Clearly, he’d taken that to heart.
Reese batted the loaded question away. “What millennial isn’t?”
He put his fork down before edging his elbows onto the table. Hands clasped in front of him, he made sure that his obscenely expensive watch glinted off the light. “I’m surprised you didn’t call to share the good news that you’d sold your software.”
Maybe because she hadn’t qualified it asgood newsto her.
Reese flashed a smile. “I figured this was a nice dinner for us to celebrate your upcoming wedding. I didn’t want to steal the spotlight.”
Grant scowled.
Now, that was the most interesting thing that had happened yet tonight.
