"Got it." She ticked them off on her fingers. "Boots, food, canoe. Anything else?"
"If you run laundry, empty the lint trap. The dryer's old, and I'd rather not burn the place down."
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "I think I can manage that."
He grabbed his keys from the hook by the door. "I'll grab my wallet. Meet you at the truck in five."
They took his truck into town. The cab smelled like cedar and motor oil, scents that had seeped into the upholstery over years of use. Tessa sat in the passenger seat with her hands folded in her lap, watching the lane unwind through the tunnel of trees.
The morning had that late-summer brightness that made everything look freshly washed. A farmer's stand at the bend had crates of tomatoes and sweet corn set out, the colors vivid against weathered wood. Hand-painted signs pointed to orchards and galleries down side roads he'd never taken.
The town came into view all at once, white buildings and bright doors, pennants strung across Main Street like a celebration. The craft fair had transformed Copper Moon into something out of a postcard. White tents lined the green. Vendors were already setting up, their tables covered with handmade goods. The smell of kettle corn drifted through his open window.
Brian found street parking at the far end, closer to the water, and killed the engine. People were already streaming toward the green with folding chairs and wagons full of kids. Music drifted from a speaker somewhere, low and cheerful. The harbor threw light up the street in broken, glittering pieces.
"It's beautiful," Tessa said quietly.
He saw her looking at the town, and something in his chest shifted. "Yeah. It is."
Copper Moon Rentals sat between a bookstore and a chocolate shop, its storefront painted the same cheerful blue as half the shutters in town. A bell chimed when they stepped inside, and cool air brushed his face. The office smelled like paper and lemon cleaner, old-fashioned and oddly comforting. A wall of keys behind the counter made a neat pattern, each one labeled with careful handwriting.
Jake Matthews stood up from a stool behind the counter, his smile quick and apologetic. He was younger than Brian had expected when they'd talked on the phone, maybe mid-thirties, with the kind of earnest face that made you want to trust him even when he'd just screwed up your evening.
"Ms. Callahan. Mr. Knight." Jake gestured toward a small seating area with two chairs and an oval table where a jar of wrapped caramels sat. "Thanks for coming in. Let's make this right."
They sat. Jake slid a stack of papers in front of him and clicked a pen.
"First things first," he said. "The Calloways called me again last night. They feel terrible about this. We should have been notified about the transfer of ownership sooner. I understand they sold you the cottage as a way to repay you for the work you did for them. We weren't made aware of that, hence the rental listing and subsequent rental to Ms. Callahan."
"Is Mr. Calloway okay?" Tessa asked.
Brian glanced at her, surprised by the question. She didn't know these people. Had never met them. But she asked about the old man's health like it mattered to her.
"As okay as he can be," Jake said. "Their niece is handling the paperwork now." He flipped to a page in his stack. "You paid for ninety days, Ms. Callahan. Because of the craft fair, there's nothing available until at least Monday. After that, we could move you to a studio above the gallery. It's small. No view. But it's clean."
She nodded, her expression carefully neutral. "I can make small work."
Jake looked to Brian. "What I propose is this. We refund Ms. Callahan everything today. Full amount. Then we pay you for the nights she stays through Sunday, at your standard nightly rate plus a headache fee." His smile creased. "I know you said you don't rent to people. For this, we'll make it worth your trouble."
Brian's jaw flexed. He didn't like being bought. But he also didn't like the idea of this woman sleeping in her car because some wires got crossed.
"How many nights?" he asked.
"Three. Friday, Saturday, Sunday. If the studio doesn't open Monday morning, I'll put her in my mother's guest room myself." Jake looked at Tessa. "You won't be sleeping in your car."
Relief washed over her face, and Brian felt something tug in his chest. She'd been bracing for the worst. Expecting it, even. Like disappointment was just the baseline of her life.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Jake wrote a number on a sticky note and slid it toward Brian. "Would that cover the intrusion?"
Brian glanced at it once, then set it back. The number was more than fair. More than he would have asked for. "Fine. But I'm not doing turn-down service."
Jake laughed, the tension in the room easing. "Understood."
They signed papers. Tessa's refund would hit her card in two to three business days, but Jake handed her a temporary check for a portion to hold her over the weekend. He also slid a map across the table with little circles and handwritten notes. Coffee. Bakery. Best fish tacos. Brian watched her tuck it into her bag as if it were something precious.
Back on the sidewalk, the day had warmed. The street was busier now, families moving between booths, kids with snow cones, the hum of a community doing what it did best.
