The Single Dad Next Door

by Jessica Keller

  He couldn’t put off seeing the ledgers and making choices concerning the inn any longer. He had to plan the best moves to provide for his family. If the inn was working in an efficient manner as he hoped, he could leave it be.

  If her reaction to him gutting Ida’s home was any indication, change and Maggie didn’t go well together. He hoped the bed-and-breakfast worked like a well-oiled machine. If not, he’d have to make some changes whether or not Maggie West approved.

  Back when his friend had offered him the restaurant-manager position at Casa Bonita as a favor, Kellen didn’t know how he would handle the pressure of such a different job. Lead guitar and singer of a rock band versus managing a five-star restaurant—talk about different worlds. But then, it hadn’t been such a stretch in retrospect. Long hours. Late nights. Lots of time on his feet.

  During the Snaggletooth Lions’ early days, Kellen had been the one to schedule their tours, meet with marketing professionals and interview agents. Managing was already like second nature to him by the time he left the band. Good thing his friend had believed in him enough to hand over Casa Bonita. How would he have provided for his daughters if that job hadn’t fallen into his lap?

  Kellen ran his hand through his hair.

  God had provided. All along, even when Kellen wasn’t being faithful—God was there. Just as He was now. God had worked through Ida to provide a new life for his girls and him. A way out of the busy existence that had become the norm in LA. In Goose Harbor he’d have more time with the girls. He didn’t want them to be in day care eleven hours a day ever again.

  As he neared, music filtered out the open kitchen windows with his girls’ laughter sprinkled in for good measure.

  He tapped on the back door and waited for an answer. They couldn’t hear him. Kellen cracked open the door and couldn’t help the grin on his face.

  Maggie, Skylar and Ruthy danced around the kitchen singing into spatulas. The kitchen looked as though a cookie factory had exploded inside it—mid mixing. Flour painted every surface, and chocolate chips littered the large island counter.

  He loved seeing his daughters having a good time, but who paid for the flour and sugar and eggs that had been spilled everywhere? Perhaps he was mean-hearted to think about the bottom line, as Maggie had alluded to the other day. But was the waste Maggie’s goods or was she used to Ida footing the bill on everything and didn’t care what got spilled?

  “Daddy!” Skylar spotted him first.

  Maggie blushed profusely and set down her spatula. “I said just to call when you were ready for them.”

  “I don’t have your number.” He hollered over the music. Kellen eyed the radio.

  Maggie read his mind and turned the music down. “The number to the inn is on the internet. You could have looked it up.”

  “I came to see the office.”

  Skylar flashed a toothy grin. “We’re making brownies, Daddy. From scratch.”

  “I can see that.” He cupped her head and dropped a kiss on her hair as he walked past.

  Maggie twisted a dishrag in her hands. “The office for the inn?”

  “That’s the only one I think is here.”

  “It’s a mess.” She wiped the countertop with the rag but only succeeded in spreading the flour.

  Kellen raised his eyebrows. “That sort of thing seems to be going around.”

  She moved to block the hallway. “Why don’t you let me clean the office first? Come back next week.”

  “The inn is my responsibility now.” Clearly the office was down the hallway. Kellen eased closer. “I’d rather have a look-see and get started on coming up with the best plan of action for moving forward.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Plan of action?”

  “Just point me in the right direction.”

  “Okay.” She pointed to the right. “It’s through the hall. Second door on the left. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Kellen stopped to hug both of his girls before heading to the office. The wooden floor creaked with every step. Was the whole house like that? Guests wouldn’t enjoy or return to a place with floors that creaked like mad. He’d have to walk the whole place with a pad of paper and a pen and document everything that needed to be updated.

  He opened the door to the office, and his mouth dropped open.

  Paper stacked a foot tall covered the floor except for a small walkway that led to the desk. And what was the point of a desk if he couldn’t even see the surface of it? Kellen entered the room and turned in a slow circle. If this signaled how Maggie kept—or didn’t keep—records, the inn was in worse shape than he’d thought.

  He laced his fingers together around the back of his neck.

  He’d manage. Didn’t he always? Casa Bonita had been a wreck, too, when his buddy hired Kellen to manage the restaurant. He knew nothing about the restaurant business when he started that job, and now Casa Bonita had one of the best revenue streams in the greater LA area.

  Kellen would figure out the bed-and-breakfast industry, too.

  Maggie peeked into the room. “I got the girls settled down in my living room with fresh brownies and a Disney movie. I hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s fine. Thanks for taking care of them this morning. It sounded like they were having a lot of fun.”

  “Anytime. Seriously. They’re a blast to have around.”

  “On that note.” Kellen took two steps toward her, which in the small room brought them within a stride of each other. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life last night.”

  Maggie toed the floor. “You wouldn’t have been stung if I had gone and talked to you like you asked.”

  “Who knows? The past isn’t worth worrying about or reliving. I say, keep moving forward without thinking about the could haves or should haves. You know?”

  “Some of the past is worth reliving.”

  And that was really the crux that divided Kellen and Maggie. She wanted to stay connected to the past. So much that, for what he’d seen of the inn so far, she filled every nook and cranny with half-broken antique junk. Whereas Kellen wanted to leave the past as it was. Reliving his past meant seeing every mistake he’d made over and over again. No, thanks. He’d rather focus on the future. On who he could become instead of the man he once was.

  Keep moving forward.

  “Yes.” He pressed his palms together and touched the tips of his fingers to his chin. “Take, for example, when you decided to start piling up all these documents—why don’t we relive that moment right now?”

  “Are you going to get rid of me?” Her voice dropped so low he had to lean forward to hear her.

  “No.” He answered honestly but decided to leave out the fact that even if he wanted to he couldn’t fire her. “But I am about to change every single aspect of this inn. I hope you’re ready for that.”

  The fire blazing in her eyes said she’d never be ready.

  Too bad.

  Chapter Four

  Maggie rooted through her dresser for a pair of jeans that weren’t completely worn out or stained from one too many cooking accidents. But finding something nice to wear had suddenly become the most difficult task in the world. How long had it been since she bought new clothes?

  She ran her fingers down the sleeve of a sweater hanging in her closet. The hole in the elbow had been there when the garment belonged to her mother. Bunching the fabric, she rubbed it on her cheek. Soft. Comforting. Sensible. What clothes should be. What her entire wardrobe consisted of. Her clothes suited her, or at least had always seemed to.

  Until now.

  Today everything screamed rumpled, overlooked and dull. Had she really been walking around looking like that for the past ten or more years? How depressing. What must the people in town think? Probably the truth. There goes Maggie, all alo
ne. So sad.

  Not that it mattered. Clothes and looks shouldn’t—didn’t—matter. Right?

  She let out a huff of hot air. Surely her friends Paige or Shelby could have told her. Someone who cared should have staged an intervention. But perhaps no one cared—not really. Not enough. Maggie always found herself in the position of rescuing, comforting and encouraging. Very rarely did her friendships go the other way around. She’d never thought about that until now.

  Maggie fisted her hands.

  The floorboard on the top stair of the grand staircase in the lobby creaked. Even from her bedroom in the private portion of the inn, she could hear it. It creaked again. And again. Kellen must be rocking back and forth on the step—trying to figure out how much replacing and refinishing the wood was going to cost him.

  Just like every day in the past week, he’d been holed up in the inn’s office already when she got up to make breakfast for the guests. Then today after the last elderly couple checked out and the inn was empty, he’d set off with a ruler, a pad of paper and his phone. Said he had to assess the place. Whatever that meant.

  After yanking a pair of dark-wash jeans from the bottom of the stack, she shook them out—they were so stiff from rarely being put on.

  Sarah, her younger sister, had purchased the dressier jeans as a present for Maggie’s birthday almost three years ago. At the time, Maggie had told her sister that she was going to return them, but she hadn’t been able to do so after losing Sarah soon after that.

  Maggie slipped them on and found a lightweight shirt without too many wrinkles to go on top—it was a shirt she normally saved for greeting new guests at check-in. But Maggie needed to look respectable—if only to give her the confidence boost she needed to ask Kellen for money. Anything to help her case.

  On her way out the door she peeked in her mirror, adjusting the clip in her hair after she smoothed down wayward strands. With a deep breath, she stepped into the hallway. As she walked, she traced her fingers along the wall. The feel of the slight embossing of the wallpaper breathed strength into her veins. This was her home. She’d been born here. Took her first steps as a child in the grand entrance. Used to race her sister down the stairs by sliding on the banister. The mansion that made the West Oaks Inn had been in her family’s possession since the founding of Goose Harbor, and while it had been changed when it was first converted into an inn, most of the original character had been saved.

  Well—not possession. Maggie had lost the title of owner five years ago. When she’d run out of funds. When her mother passed away, she’d left everything to both Maggie and Sarah, but after Sarah married Caleb she’d chosen to hand over everything to Maggie. Sarah said she and Caleb had enough to manage with starting a nonprofit; they couldn’t afford to help pay for the mansion’s expenses, as well. That left Maggie to pay all the bills, but her job as a cook at a local diner hadn’t brought in enough income. Expenses on the mansion ate into the savings like ants in a picnic basket. And the savings hadn’t amounted to the great West fortune that they were known for. Not after using it to pay for so many medical expenses for her grandmother and mother toward the end. Experimental treatments weren’t covered by insurance.

  Thankfully Ida had offered to purchase the house and let the rest of town believe that Maggie still owned it. Converting the old home into a bed-and-breakfast had been Ida’s idea, as well. Think, Magpie. Just think. A ready income right from the mansion. Ida and her husband had possessed the ability to see possibilities and hope when no one else did. Whether it be in relation to business, government or matters of the heart.

  Prior experience told Maggie that the ache in her chest would last for the rest of her life. Ida hadn’t been a blood relation, but she had been as close as family. And now she was gone. Just like everyone else important to her. At least now there was no one left to lose.

  Maggie checked the pink envelope in the drawer by the oven one last time. Empty. Ida had always left cash in there—money for Maggie to buy food for the breakfasts and goodies she prepared for guests or cleaning supplies or new items for the inn. Of course, Kellen wouldn’t know about the system. But with all the prowling through stacks of paperwork in the office he’d engaged in yesterday, she figured he’d bring up money at some point. With a fridge going bare it was now up to her to broach the subject. How embarrassing.

  In the past few years, why hadn’t she planned and saved for the possibility that Ida wouldn’t leave the inn to her? She’d just assumed everything would work out. But hoping for the best had gotten her into most of her scrapes in life, hadn’t it? Sure, she’d tried to act as she’d been taught—to be a good Christian, do everything the right way and trust that God would take care of her. But what had that gotten her? Nothing.

  Most of the private section of the inn had stayed true to the original structure of the mansion. Ida had made a point of that for Maggie’s sake. She’d also insisted that the private part of the inn be large enough to house a family, although Maggie had told her that wasn’t needed. An old sitting room had been divided and converted into two bedrooms, and rooms that had belonged to servants long before Maggie was born now served as her bedroom and the office. The original mansion had a large footprint that led to the private portion remaining big. Wallpaper chosen by her grandmother covered the walls—bare in some spots—but each inch held memories. Her great-aunt leaning against the kitchen counter near the window. Grandpa telling stories as Maggie and her sister played on the large Oriental rug in the living room.

  As she pressed through the door that led to the public portion of the inn, a little bell attached to the hinge tinkled. The furniture in the entryway needed a good dusting. She should probably give the welcoming room a good floor scrub, too.

  Stop stalling.

  Kellen stood at the top of the stairs with the end of the pen between his teeth, his eyes glued to his pad of paper. Just like the other times she’d seen him, he was dressed nicer than people in Goose Harbor normally were. Sure, he had jeans on, but they looked as though they’d been made for him—and only him—to wear. Were tailor-made jeans even a thing? The untucked black button-down shirt he wore had a sheen to it, and he looked as if he’d spent a good twenty minutes styling his blond hair into perfectly disheveled spikes.

  “Kellen?” She rested her hand on the intricately carved knob on the banister.

  His head snapped up. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Can you spare a minute?”

  “Sure. Come on up here.” He motioned with his hand for her to join him.

  Nerves skittered around inside Maggie’s stomach as she climbed the stairs. Kellen kept his eyes on her, a slow smile spreading across his face as she made her way to the landing. He probably wouldn’t greet her cheerfully if he knew she was coming to ask—no, beg—for some money.

  When she reached the top he handed her his pad of paper. “I didn’t realize how many things need fixing. It’s overwhelming.”

  Why was she anxious? She was Maggie West. A member of one of the founding families. The person people turned to when they needed anything in town. She usually had a quip to throw back at someone and prided herself on speaking her mind. Maybe that would all start when she felt more comfortable with Kellen. But probably not. He was her boss, after all. He had the power to demolish her beloved family home if he really wanted to.

  She had no power. No control. And never would. Not where her home was concerned. Not in her life. She braced a hand on the wall as the realization rocked through her.

  If only she hadn’t trusted Alan. If she still had her money she could...what? Make an offer on the inn? It was unlikely that Kellen would have sold even if she hadn’t lost everything.

  Instead of glancing at the list, she looked him right in the eye. “The house is just fine.”

  “From the outside, sure, don’t get me wrong, it’s go
rgeous. But things aren’t always what they seem. Believe me. In the deep and hidden places, this house needs work.” He held out his hand.

  Maggie moved to give him back his list, but he latched on to her hand instead and led her down the hallway.

  “Like this.” He let go of her hand when they stopped in front of one of the large, rounded sitting windows that flagged each end of the upstairs hallway. Maggie had spent many happy hours of her youth tucked in the widow alcove, sitting on the cushion with her face pressed to the glass—dreaming of a future that never materialized.

  Kellen tugged the cushion away and moved the curtain to the side. He pressed down on the windowsills and the wood that made up the bench seat. “See that? It’s soft. Wood rot.”

  Did he think she hadn’t taken care of the place? She’d always done the best she could. “But—”

  “Here, let me show you some more stuff.”

  He replaced the cushion and stood. Taking a step behind Maggie, Kellen laid his hand on the small of her back to steer her to walk with him. Wow. The man smelled good. It wasn’t the normal woodsy smell that most men Maggie had known chose to wear. Kellen’s cologne—or shampoo, whatever it was he used—carried an almost citrusy freshness. It reminded Maggie of her many trips to the Crest Orchards that lay on the edge of town.

  Between getting over to the inn before seven in the morning, preparing Skylar for school and dropping Ruthy off with the Rowes, when had he found time to shower?

  “Kellen.” She knew he was close behind her but didn’t realize he was literally right on her heels, and when she stopped in her tracks he knocked into her. Her balance compromised, she ended up with her back against the wooden paneling and Kellen’s hands braced on either side of her.

  How had they ended up so close? She scanned his face quickly before meeting his eyes again. A light stubble marched across his jawline. She hadn’t noticed that the other times she’d seen him. He always looked freshly shaven. Had he been too rushed today? Or forgotten? Maybe, just maybe, Kellen Ashby didn’t have his world quite as put together as he appeared to.