Kellen hovered a few inches away from her. “I have a couple questions for you.”
* * *
Why was he still standing so close to her? It had been accidental at first, but he sure hadn’t made a move to distance himself. His daughters were right; Maggie smelled like cinnamon. With her creamy skin hosting a highlight of freckles brought on by the spring sunshine, she looked ready to be featured in a lotion commercial. He shook his head. He really needed to stop thinking in Hollywood terms.
Kellen pushed away from the wall and took a step back. He crossed his arms.
Maggie straightened to her full height and lifted her chin. “Questions?”
Right. Questions. He’d wanted to ask her if she knew whether the house was lined with rock-wool insulation or fiberglass and see if the wooden paneling was attached to the studs or if it was the glued-on variety. But the words stuck in his mouth.
It was odd, seeing her without flour in her hair and in something more than ripped jeans and a T-shirt. Seeing her look so...put together. It made him feel unsteady. At the moment, he didn’t know how to address her. People should stay the same all the time. It would make them so much easier for him to categorize.
He ran his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Why are you dressed like that?”
“Like what?” She smoothed her hands over the end of her shirt.
A thought hit him. “Do you have a date?”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“Do you?” Why did it matter to him? She was a grown woman and there were no guests scheduled for the inn that evening. She was allowed to do whatever she wanted.
“Not today.” She offered a tight-lipped smile.
“But you have a boyfriend?” Not that it was his business...
Her brow furrowed. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”
“No.” He took a step back and bumped against the other wall. The old hallways were so narrow. “I’m only asking because...I’m going to be around here a lot and will be paying attention to who is coming in and out of the inn now and don’t want to mistake him for an intruder or something like that.” Good save.
Maggie sighed. “Well, no worry there. I’ve reached confirmed-old-maid status in Goose Harbor. Believe me, I couldn’t get a boyfriend if I paid someone.” She winced as she spoke.
Old maid. No one used that term anymore, at least not seriously. Kellen searched her face before answering. Not that he knew her very well, but she didn’t strike him as someone who said things for shock value. Or someone who belittled herself all the time for attention.
Maggie might be a gold digger. She might have used and manipulated his aunt, but she definitely wasn’t mining for attention. He knew that type all too well. The attention-seeking women he’d known dressed flashy—provocatively. Wore pounds of makeup and turned heads as they teetered in high heels down the street and yet fished for compliments and ways to boost their self-esteem every chance they got. Thankfully Maggie was none of those things.
He lifted his back off the wall. “I may not know Goose Harbor well yet, but I know that can’t be true. Let me guess—you’ve left a string of broken hearts all over town?”
“No.” She shook her head as her cheeks flamed. “There’s no one. There’s been no one for...well, a very long time.”
“How long?” Why was he pressing the issue? He needed to know. Right? In order to protect his inheritance, he had to get to the bottom of who Maggie West really was and why his aunt had protected her in the will. At least, that sounded like a good enough reason.
“I’ll just catch you later, okay?” She swung past him, making a beeline for the staircase.
He caught her by the crook of the arm and turned her to face him. What he saw frayed his thoughts like a snapped guitar string in the middle of a concert. Twin paths of tears trailed down Maggie’s face. And with her pale skin, the area around her eyes had already turned red.
She swiped at her cheeks with her palm.
“You wanted to talk to me about something else, didn’t you? I got you off track.” Kellen dropped his voice to an intimate level. It was the same way he spoke to Ruthy and Skylar when one of them was upset.
“It’s fine.” She sniffled and rubbed the back of her hand against her nose. “I’ll touch base with you in an hour or so. Does that work?”
It did, but Kellen yearned for real emotion. Wanted to have a connection with someone, knowing everything being said was sincere, so much so that he couldn’t let the poor, crying woman go. Had he actually ever had a real, honest and open conversation with anyone? Truthfully? Probably not.
No one wanted to know the real him—or be real with him—when his band was touring. They liked their image of him too much. But even before then, when he was a pastor’s kid, his childhood and teenage years consisted of plastering on smiles and looking good for the church. No wonder he’d rejected his parents’ faith for so long.
What had the counselor he’d met with back in California said to him? Something about his need to process “real moments” with a woman without feeling as though she only wanted something from him? It was a comment along those lines.
He guided Maggie to the window seat. “We’re both here. Let’s just talk now.”
She stayed standing. “I thought you said it was rotted.”
Was she trying to be sassy? Kellen bit back a smile.
“There’s wood rot, but the seat will hold like it has been for the last hundred years.” He patted the space beside him.
“I’m sure it’s been replaced a couple times in a hundred years.”
It wasn’t a large area, but they both fit on the seat together. Maggie instantly tugged her legs up to sit cross-legged—like a kid on the floor during reading-circle time—on the seat, which made it so her knee rested against his thigh. She pressed her face into her hands.
Most men felt uncomfortable around tears—sure, he did, too. But Maggie had no reason to put up a front with him right now. As his counselor had instructed, he’d take the human connection for what it was, even if it was an uncomfortable one. If only to know he was still capable of connecting with other adults after everything he’d been through.
Kellen rested his hand between her shoulder blades and started to rub small circles against her back.
Maggie took a long breath. “Sorry. I’m being so stupid.”
“You’re not at all. Something I said bothered you, and you’re allowed to be upset or frustrated.”
“Seriously? I’ve never known a man to say something like that.”
Kellen shrugged. “I have two daughters.” She didn’t say something right away, so he tried to fill the silence. “Anyway, there are four of us boys in my family, but even still, my mom used to always say that crying can be a good thing—even when it’s brought on by a hard situation. She used to call it ‘washing the soul.’ I always liked that. Washing the soul doesn’t seem like something to be embarrassed about. You know?”
She sat up finally, leaning her head against the window as she looked up at the ceiling. “It’s just... What time is it?”
“A little after ten.”
Quickly Maggie rose to her feet and rubbed her cheeks. She paced back and forth in the five feet of space in front of the window seat. She was Tasmanian Devil Maggie again—all fidgety motion.
What had her so worked up? They’d been seated together for only two or three minutes, but he already missed the connection. Kellen fought the urge to grab her hand, tug her back down beside him and wrap his arm around her.
She finally stopped and faced him. “I need money.”
Kellen reeled back a bit as if someone had struck him. Because that was how it felt. Maggie had played him for a fool, and so easily. Was she so good at manipulating that he hadn’t caught on?
Of c
ourse she wanted his money. With women, that was what it always came to. Cynthia and the other groupies hadn’t really cared about him or his bandmates. They’d seen dollar signs and tagged along. That was all. Who he was hadn’t mattered and it never would. That much was made plain when Cynthia had ditched their girls and jumped right over to the drummer of Snaggletooth Lions the second Kellen breathed a word about leaving the band.
Not to mention every woman since. That was why he’d given up dating altogether. Back in LA everyone still viewed him as the ex–lead singer of a successful, touring band. The couple women he’d dated in the past two years had done their research. Not that it took much—a simple internet name search showed the fact that he’d written every single one of the hit songs that the Snaggletooth Lions played. And a songwriter meant royalties.
Or so they all thought.
The second they learned he’d signed over all royalty rights to Cynthia and the band in exchange for full custody of his daughters, the women always left. Quickly. No one actually wanted Kellen Ashby. Just the money they thought he had hidden somewhere.
Kellen ground his molars together. Hard.
Maggie was no different. Just as Kellen had thought when he heard about her from the lawyer, Mr. Rowe. A couple well-timed tears and he’d dropped his guard.
Not again.
Chapter Five
Kellen’s nostrils flared as he took three deep breaths.
“Money. That’s what this display was about?” His laugh held no humor.
Display? Did he think...? Maggie jerked her head back. “Excuse me, but you’re the one who was asking ridiculously personal questions and upsetting me. Not the other way around.”
She’d foolishly let him comfort her. Wow. She’d almost spilled everything about Alan to him, too. A smile and a warm presence for a moment had made her forget that Kellen had, only days ago, been ready to throw away Ida’s Bible. The man had no heart. She’d do well to remember that.
“You said you had some questions—were those all of them? Or did you also want to ask probing, hurtful questions about my mom’s long illness and my sister’s murder while you were at it? You know—nice, pleasant topics.” She heard her voice rising and didn’t care.
Kellen scrubbed his hand down his face. “Actually I didn’t get to ask you any of the questions I wanted to.”
“Well, ask away. ’Cause, buddy, you’re on a roll.”
“Another day.” He stood, brushing past her.
She trailed him down the stairs. Oh! She fisted her hands so hard her nails bit into her palms. If he didn’t hold the West Mansion—one of the last things she loved—in the palms of his hands, she would have said something unladylike and unkind to him.
He spun around when he reached the bottom, stopping her on the third-to-last step. “What do you want money for?”
She swallowed hard. “Food.”
The angry lines around his mouth and eyes eased. “You don’t have food?”
“We have three rooms booked as of tomorrow night. I need to replenish the inn’s kitchen before then.”
Kellen motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen in the private section of the inn. He rolled his shoulders and then flipped open his notepad. “Where do we order from?”
Maggie braced her hands on the butcher-block island. “Order what?”
“The food.”
“It’s Friday morning. I just head to the farmers’ market in town. They host one on both Friday and Saturday from spring through fall.”
“The inn gets its food from a farmers’ market?” Kellen dropped onto a stool on the other side of the island. “Yikes.”
Maggie shrugged. “There are laws keeping big-box and chain stores out of Goose Harbor, so we actually don’t have a grocery store in town. I’d have to drive to Shadowbend, the next town over, to buy them there. It’s easier to hop on my bike and get what we need from the market in town.”
Rubbing his temples, Kellen made eye contact with her. “That can’t be cost-effective.”
“Buying our ingredients from the local market is part of the charm of the bed-and-breakfast. People come here expecting that the eggs in their omelet came from chickens on nearby farms. That we know the people who grew and picked the strawberries topping their pancakes. That—”
“Our own flesh and blood churned the butter.” Kellen rolled his eyes. “People don’t care about that kind of stuff. They care that it tastes good. Period.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, set it on the counter and opened the internet. Probably checking to see if she was right about the grocery stores. “I’ll locate a nearby food distributor that can get us our orders at a discount. We can come up with a set menu so we always know exactly how much we’re spending.”
A set menu? But what about their regulars? What about people who wanted to try new things? “We can’t—”
“We can. It’s what I used to do for the restaurant I managed.”
He didn’t get it. “No. I mean—”
“Maggie—”
She put her hands up. “Stop! Stop cutting me off every time I try to say something.”
Kellen rubbed his jaw. “I was doing that. Wasn’t I?”
“Constantly.”
“I’m sorry.”
She scooped a handful of crumbs off the counter and dumped them into the trash can. “Even if we start ordering at some point—” Please. Please don’t let that ever happen “—that doesn’t solve our problem today. We’re out of food. We need more. And there’s no money left.”
“When you say no money left...?”
Maggie explained about the envelope and how Ida used to put more cash in it whenever it started getting low.
“Wait.” Kellen tugged on his hair. “You’re telling me there are no spreadsheets. No financial programs installed on the ancient computer in the office.” He jutted his thumb in the direction of the back hallway. “Nothing tracking the money being spent to keep this inn running?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“This is so much worse than I thought.” He tugged his wallet from his jeans, opened it and handed her a stack of twenties. With the way he’d acted a few minutes ago, it was best to count the money later.
Maggie reached for the cash, but Kellen didn’t release it.
His gaze locked with hers. “For right now.” He let go. “We’ll sit down together next week and figure out a better system. Deal?”
“Sure.” Maggie slipped the money into her back pocket and rushed out the back door. She grabbed her bicycle and hopped on before Kellen had a chance to run outside and change his mind.
What if he turned the West Oaks Inn into a place she was no longer proud of? Would she leave? She couldn’t let that happen.
A chill washed down her back as she turned off her residential street and pedaled toward the town square. One of the great things that made the old West Mansion a good bed-and-breakfast was it took only five minutes by bike or about fifteen minutes walking to make it to the downtown strip. The downtown area sat lower than the residential portion of town, which was built on the other side of the dunes.
Maggie tipped her head back a fraction, letting the cool spring air coming off the lake revitalize her. Today she wished the ride was longer. She would have liked more time to think. Process.
Outside of dropping his girls off at school and the Rowes’, Kellen hadn’t left his new property much. Maggie figured he hadn’t talked to many people yet, but what if he had? What if news that she didn’t own the inn already circulated in town? She’d have to be honest. She’d have to fess up to her friends that she’d lost her family home years ago and had kept it from them. If not now, the word would get out someday soon. She had to prepare herself for the questions. The disappointed looks.
As she got closer to to
wn the street turned from concrete to brick. The original city planners of Goose Harbor had built it in a unique way. Instead of the normal main drag with businesses lining either side, Goose Harbor had a huge parklike square in the center of town with a street running around it. Businesses lined the square and then fanned out down the joining streets, making the town look like an octopus on the map.
Maggie wouldn’t change a thing. She loved the huge square with its gazebo, park benches and rose garden. She loved that the heart of her city was planned with the intention that the residents would want to all join together for parties, civic functions and town traditions.
And Goose Harbor had many quirky traditions.
She left her bike lying in a parking spot next to a motorcycle she knew belonged to her friend Shelby’s boyfriend, the fireman Joel Palermo. Joel wouldn’t mind sharing the space. More likely than not, he’d find Maggie and pester her about not wearing a helmet.
Since Ida’s funeral, Maggie had battled a drowning feeling in her soul. That feeling had intensified since Kellen moved in next door. With so much uncertainty piling up around her, it was hard to focus on the things that mattered in life. People. They had to come first or she’d lose hold of the purpose behind every sacrifice she’d ever made.
With each step toward the farmers’ market, some weight fell from her shoulders. For the next twenty minutes, she could forget her problems and enjoy seeing her friends. There were fewer people gathered around the booths today because it was midday on a Friday. Most of them, Maggie’s best friend, Paige, included, were currently at work. Tourists milled around the booths, oohing and aahing over local honey and fresh-cut flowers.
Maggie rounded the first row of tables, choosing to skip that aisle because it was dedicated to handmade knickknacks. She eased the money Kellen had given her out of her pocket and counted it. Two hundred dollars. Far more than she’d need for the couple food items she planned on grabbing today. How long did he expect the money to last? And how would he pay her? Ida had handed her cash twice a month as payment.
The Single Dad Next Door Page 6
