The Inn at Summer Island

by Rachel Magee

  “I put myself through culinary school by cleaning rooms at Seascape Inn,” the owner told her. “Delivering this food will be my pleasure.”

  By the time the food arrived at one, all of the guest rooms, bathrooms, and living areas were nothing but empty shells while the dumpster at the end of the driveway was full to the brim.

  Her houseful of friends and neighbors gathered in the freshly swept and mopped dining room to make plates and claim a spot around the newly scrubbed long wooden table. Laughter once again filled the room, the same way she remembered as a kid, and the view warmed her heart.

  This was what she wanted. This was what she was fighting for. The HOA might be worried about preserving their precious community, but this was worth preserving, too.

  Millie floated around the table, carrying a pitcher of water in one hand and a pitcher of sweet tea in the other, refilling plastic cups and listening to different stories about the inn. One by one people left until only Tessa and Sophia remained.

  Tessa tossed a handful of plastic cups she’d gathered into the trash bag Millie was holding. “I wish I could stay and help you clean up in here, but I have to dash. I have a scuba-diving tour going out at three.”

  “Sadly, me too.” Sophia flashed an apologetic smile. “I have to get back to the shop.”

  “Please, you both have done enough today.” Millie left the rest of the trash where it was and walked her new friends to the front door. “Really, thanks for everything. I can’t imagine where I’d be without your help.”

  “My pleasure. Ripping out antique toilets is always a great way to spend the morning.” Tessa gave Millie a quick hug. “And now you have to come to our book club on Friday. Talk her into coming, Sophia,” she said as she jogged down the steps to her car.

  “You’ll love the group. This month it’s at Joyce’s house, who lives just down the street.” Sophia motioned in the direction of all the beautiful new houses that lined East Shore Drive.

  On the one hand, Millie loved the idea of getting to meet more of her neighbors and having a night off from the never-ending reno projects sounded like a welcome break. But there was one detail holding her back. “I’d love to but I haven’t read the book.”

  Sophia waved away the concern. “At least one person shows up every month without reading it.”

  Millie laughed. “In that case, I’m there.”

  “Great! I’ll send you the info.”

  They hugged before Sophia headed down the stairs and climbed into her car. She pulled around the fountain, then down and out the gate.

  Millie was about to go back into the house when another car pulled through the gate. A very recognizable silver sports car.

  Braxton Channing.

  He was pretty much the last person she wanted to see bumping down her driveway, but after the amazing day she’d had she was in such a good mood that even Mr. Neighborhood Hall Monitor couldn’t bring her down.

  She stood on the top step and watched him get out of his car. “Well, look who it is. What brings you to this side of the fence?”

  “Besides the fact that you had a party and didn’t invite me?”

  “Your invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.” She shrugged and pulled a face to show her mock sympathy.

  Braxton chuckled. It was a legit laugh that caused little wrinkles to appear around his eyes, as if laughing was something that used to happen often with him. The sight of it made her feel… Well, it made her feel a lot of things, but the one she was going with was friendly. Besides, didn’t her aunt always say the best way to make the world a better place was to be friendly to anyone and everyone?

  “What’s with the flowers?” She pointed at the giant flower arrangement secured in his passenger seat with the seat belt, looking for any distraction from the friendly debate bouncing around in her head.

  Braxton glanced over his shoulder. “I, er, am on my way to deliver those.”

  The arrangement of cream and pink roses mixed among white lilies in a vivid green vase was breathtaking. And huge. In fact, the only other time she’d seen one this large in person was when her ex-boyfriend took her to brunch to celebrate her birthday at the Waldorf-Astoria in Chicago.

  “Lucky girl.”

  “Lucky girls,” he corrected, adding extra emphasis to the plural. “They’re for the Summer Island Memory Care Home.”

  Millie remembered what Sophia had told her about his friend Henry, and a hint of warmth that had nothing to do with the sunny South Carolina day spread through her. “How thoughtful. I’m sure they’ll love them.” Maybe there was more to Mr. By The Book than she’d originally given him credit for.

  Braxton paused, as if trying to decide if he should say more.

  “I deliver them weekly in honor of my wife.” He threw a glance at the flowers in question. “Umm, late wife. Her name was Jade, hence the jade vase. And lilies were her favorite flower.”

  The incredibly sweet sentiment combined with the fact that Braxton would share such a personal detail with her momentarily knocked her off balance. For the first time she could see the pain lurking deep in his eyes and something ached in her chest.

  “They’re beautiful.” She tried to pour all her sympathy into the two simple words.

  “Thanks.” He stared at his shoes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then the sadness flickered away and the cool, collected HOA president returned. “I’m actually here on official HOA business. I’m gathering the documentation we need for the official inquiry. One item missing is the operating license for Seascape Inn.”

  “The operating license?” And just like that, all the confidence she’d gained from the day crumbled away as she was reminded of how wildly inadequate she was for this new life she was determined to make for herself. An operating license sounded like something official and important she should have, or should be applying for, but it was yet another thing she would have to google when she got inside.

  “You know, the documentation your aunt needed to operate this place. I need to make a copy of it for the file.”

  “Oh right, the operating license.” Millie had no idea what he was talking about, but she wasn’t about to admit it, especially if whatever this document was would make a difference in the ruling of the board. “It’s in my aunt’s office with all her other important documents.”

  According to her aunt’s official will, all her important documents were in the file folders in her desk. And after one peek into her aunt’s office at Seascape, Millie was willing to take her word for it. It seemed every paper since 1953, important or otherwise, was stuffed in that room.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have a copy machine yet. But I can run down to the shipping store to make a copy tomorrow then drop it by your house.” Of course she’d have to wade through lakes of papers first, but she left that part off.

  “I have a scanning app on my phone and I only need a PDF file. It won’t take but a second to snap a picture of it.”

  Shoot, she hadn’t thought of that. Dumb modern conveniences were making her life anything but convenient at the moment.

  Millie kept her cheerful smile plastered on, although her cheerfulness was starting to wane. “Oh sure, right. Yeah, come on in,” she said, but found it hard to move from the door.

  Braxton narrowed his eyes. “You do have an operating license, don’t you?”

  “What kind of question is that?” She forced out a laugh that came out a tad too loud. Not suspicious. At all. “It’s just a little messy in there, that’s all. With all the demolition today, everything is out of place. It might take me a few minutes to find it.”

  Braxton looked unsure, but he trotted up the front steps anyway.

  Millie pushed open the door to the house and led him in. “It looks worse now but it’s about to look a whole lot better.” Her voice echoed in the now empty house.

 
“I lived through a reno before,” he said. “You have to go through a whole lot of it looking worse before it starts to look better.”

  “Thanks. I feel better now knowing I’m in the ‘worse’ phase of it,” Millie said as she led him past the giant empty living room.

  Braxton chuckled. “Glad to help.”

  Millie shook her head and continued toward the downstairs hallway that held her personal living quarters, made up of the master bedroom, bathroom, and office. They also happened to be the only three rooms that were not getting any renovations. The creaky bed and rusted clawfoot tub might not be glamorous, but they were functional. And at the moment, functional was good enough for Millie.

  “But don’t worry,” Braxton said. “The final product is worth it. At least ours was.”

  The unexpected dose of encouragement in his voice combined with the friendly feeling that was still lingering from before left her unsteady. What was happening here?

  “You don’t mind if I let my dog out, do you? He’s been shut in my room all day so he wouldn’t get in the way of the swinging sledgehammers.” Plus, she could use a little moral support from her furry best friend right about now.

  Bear came bounding out when she opened the bedroom door and ran right up to Braxton who petted his head rather enthusiastically. Traitor.

  Millie shook her head, fought back a smile, and led them to the office. The dusty smell of old papers tickled her nose. “Come on in. The document you’re looking for should be in my aunt’s desk, so make yourself comfortable while I find it.” Millie motioned to the only worn leather wingback chair not covered with stacks of file folders.

  Braxton glanced at the chair and walked around it to study the pictures on the wall. Not that Millie blamed him. She wasn’t sure she would sit in dusty furniture, either.

  Instead, she dropped into the creaky wooden desk chair and pulled open the first drawer that looked like it could contain important files. Bear followed their new friend around the room, his tail happily wagging.

  “These old pictures are amazing. I had no idea what this place looked like when it was new. And is that Joe Frazier, the famous boxer? In front of this house?” He pointed to one of the yellowed black-and-white photographs, a look of astonishment on his face.

  “Oh, yeah. I guess he liked to come to dinner out here when he needed to get out of Charleston and relax.” At least, she remembered stories from her aunt to that account.

  Millie shuffled through the contents in the drawer, which didn’t appear to be much more than an old metal lock box and a jar with pens. She closed it and pulled open the drawer below it.

  “When did this place open?”

  “They bought the land in 1940, but then America got into the war and it took a while for the house to be built. I think it was 1953 when they officially opened the doors. And even then, it was easier to get here by boat than by car.”

  “Interesting.”

  There wasn’t much inside the second drawer, either. An old evening handbag, a box of old lipsticks. She shuffled through the things, hoping the license papers would magically appear. Way in the back, buried under a small notebook and a couple monogrammed handkerchiefs, there was a stack of envelopes tied together with a red satin ribbon. Since they looked important, she pulled them out.

  The top one was addressed to her aunt in neat, cursive handwriting. She assumed they were business correspondence, but they didn’t look official enough to contain the document she was looking for. She set them on top of the desk to go through later. Where could the license be? And if she couldn’t find it, how fast would Braxton and the HOA cancel her plans?

  Starting to panic, she opened the larger drawer on the other side of the desk, but it was empty.

  “Harry Truman stayed here? For real? President Truman stayed at your aunt’s house?”

  “Inn,” Millie corrected, slightly annoyed now, not just at the interruptions, but at him destroying her lovely afternoon with requests for elusive papers. “It’s a small boutique inn in a charming seaside town, ideal for people trying to get away from the spotlight, like Truman or Frank Sinatra.” She pointed to the picture of her aunt posing with Ol’ Blue Eyes on the wall next to her.

  Of course, no one of that caliber had stayed at Seascape since the sixties. And no one else would unless she could get the HOA to change their dumb new rule. To do that, she needed to find that license.

  She pulled the last drawer in the desk, but it didn’t budge. She pulled harder. Still nothing. Fueled by the building frustration, she tugged with both hands and glared at the lock just above the handle. “It’s locked.”

  She opened the long center drawer. Frantically tossing aside stubby pencils and pens that had long stopped working, she searched for the key.

  “What’s locked?” Braxton came over from where he’d been examining the photos on the wall.

  She motioned to the file cabinet–sized drawer in question.

  “And you’re sure it’s in that drawer?” He raised an eyebrow, which only annoyed her.

  She wasn’t sure about anything when it came to this house. Nothing had turned out the way she’d thought it would, but she wasn’t about to throw in the towel. She closed the drawer and gave Braxton the most determined look she could muster.

  “It’s here.” One thing she did have faith in was her aunt. If she needed some license to officially run her inn, Millie was confident she had it.

  All Millie had to do was find it.

  “I’m just not sure where she kept the key.” She opened another one of the drawers she’d already searched and dug through the random contents.

  Braxton joined her. “May I?” He gestured at the collection of small trinkets on the desk, some of which had lids.

  “Be my guest.”

  “Not without an operating license.” Braxton shot her a teasing look then gently opened the lid of one of the knickknacks he’d pointed to.

  “Ha ha.” Millie made a grand gesture of rolling her eyes at his lame joke. Although, she had to admit it caused the corners of her mouth to twitch upward and that friendly feeling to return. She shook off the feeling, opening one of the trinkets at the other end of the desk. Hers contained a couple bobby pins and a few rubber bands. The second one held a roll of stamps that were so old they had to be licked, and the third one had nothing but dust inside.

  Two more trinkets were all that stood between her and the last of the obvious places to store a key. After that she’d have to…

  One stolen glance at the overstuffed file cabinets and teetering towers of boxes caused that thought to ricochet in a hundred different directions. She’d have to what? Start digging through the endless piles of papers in here? Search Aunt Mildred’s bedroom? Consider the possibility that it had been carried out with the other renovation debris and was now buried somewhere in that giant dumpster?

  She stopped herself right there. Panicking wasn’t going to help anything. What was it that Aunt Mildred always said? Put first things first, and the rest will fall into place.

  “What are these?” Braxton asked, breaking the silence and her mental storm. He pointed to the ribbon-wrapped letters.

  “Found them in the desk. I thought I’d go through them later so I could properly file them. Why? Do they look familiar?”

  He stared at them for one more second then shook his head. “I thought I recognized the handwriting, but it’s probably just the era. Everyone wrote in cursive back then.”

  “It’s the equivalent of what our grandkids will think of emojis.”

  “True.” A slight look of amusement flashed in his eyes but disappeared before it could travel to the rest of his face. He glanced at his watch, which made Millie’s already heightened sense of urgency kick up a notch.

  She reached for the last jar and pulled the lid off. There, among a single clip-on earring and a tarnished nickel,
was a small, old key. Triumph soared through her as she pulled it out and held it up for him to see. “Ta da!”

  Swiveling in her chair, she pressed the key into the lock, only it wouldn’t go in. Her soaring spirits took a nosedive as she flipped the key over, hoping she was trying to insert it the wrong way. No luck. The key was about twice the size of the lock on the drawer.

  She slumped back in her chair and let out a frustrated sigh. “Never mind. False alarm.” Her gaze swept the room. The key could be anywhere, and even if she found it she wasn’t 100 percent sure the document she was looking for would be in that drawer. This search had the potential of being long, and she had no desire to add to her stress by letting Mr. Stone Cold And Serious stare over her shoulder.

  She tossed the bad key on her desk and stood. “I hate to make you wait while those beautiful flowers are wilting in your car. Why don’t you let me keep looking for the key and I promise the minute I find the document, I’ll let you know.”

  Braxton glanced around the office with a look that fell somewhere between overwhelmed and uncertain. “Great. But I’d like to have it by the end of the week.”

  Millie was aware she was nodding far more animatedly than necessary, but she couldn’t help it. “No problem. I’m on it.”

  And she would have to be, because not finding the document and having the HOA shut down her plans was not an option.

  Chapter Seven

  “No nap!” Alice stomped her tiny foot on the ground on Monday afternoon. She scrunched her face in the most determined look a two-year-old could muster, then yawned.

  Braxton chuckled and scooped his little girl up, kissing her on the forehead. “Yes, nap. Naps are a requirement if you want enough energy to play at the park later.”

  “Daddy come to park?” She rubbed her eyes. Despite her best attempt to avoid the nap, he was sure she’d be asleep before her head even hit the mattress in her crib.