by Grace Palmer
Yes. She had.
But there was something rotten in it now.
Something that needed to be cut out.
And she was the only one who could do it.
Mae
The Sweet Island Inn
The inn was completely and totally empty.
Mae Benson had never felt stranger.
The day outside her door was normal enough, though. A break in the clouds sent summer sun slanting through the pane glass windows, breaking up the fearsome cold that had gripped the island since dawn.
Sunshine filled the Sweet Island Inn with golden light and set the leaves of the trees outside aglow.
That was a welcome sight, Mae figured. A good omen for the party she’d be hosting in the backyard later that night. A birthday present of sorts from Mama Nantucket.
Still—even warm summer sun couldn’t dispel the odd chill that had set into her bones. An empty inn just wasn’t right.
The production company turning Dominic’s book into a movie had booked out the Inn for two solid weeks. As such, no one was staying in any of the rooms. Or rather, only the actors would be staying in the rooms, and only then when cameras were rolling.
It should have meant less work for Mae. A well-earned respite. But she felt busier than ever. She’d been cleaning like a madwoman for days, wanting every surface shined and spotless for the cameras.
Now, no mote of dust dared set foot in the house, and Mae was out of tasks that needed doing.
So, with nothing else demanding her attention, Mae found herself making muffins. Lemon poppyseed—a Mae Benson specialty.
It came to her easy as breathing as she moved around the kitchen. She knew the precise weight of the batter in her bowl, exactly how long to whisk to make them fluffy and light. No need for a recipe—she knew it in her bones. A splash of lemon juice here, a fistful of poppy seeds there.
On a normal day, she’d have pans full of the stuff rising in the oven in no time. An army of muffins for her army of guests.
But today, half a pan would do. It would be just her and Dominic eating breakfast, after all.
By the time Dominic came downstairs, the muffins were nearly done.
“Impeccable timing,” she drawled with a wink. The man had a knack for showing up right when food was ready to be eaten.
“You lured me out of bed,” he accused playfully. “I couldn’t possibly resist.”
He yawned, lifting his arms over his head in a stretch.
“And,” he added, “if I may be so bold as to press my luck… has any coffee materialized?”
Mae grinned despite herself. She was already on her second cup of coffee and buzzing with energy, though she’d keep that secret to herself. Dominic liked when they drank coffee together. It had become a tradition of sorts.
“It really is your lucky day,” she remarked. Mae poured him a cup of coffee, black, and slid it across the island to him.
His hands wrapped around the mug like it was a flickering candle he was worried would extinguish. “Every day is my lucky day since I met you.”
His face looked somber—much as it always did—but Mae knew where to look to see the flash of mirth in his eyes.
“Laying it on rather thick this morning, are we?”
He took a sip of his coffee and winced at the heat. “I got some good writing done and then slept the best I have in a month. The world is my oyster.”
“Does that make me a pearl?” she fired back.
He chuckled quietly. “I suppose it would. No one better for the role.”
Dominic didn’t like to rise quite as early as Mae. Some of his best novel writing happened late at night, so he operated on a late-to-bed, late-to-rise schedule. But he never missed their morning coffee date.
“I don’t even remember you coming to bed,” she said.
“I was quiet,” he replied with pride. “It took some time, but I’ve finally mapped out all of the squeaky floorboards.”
Mae laughed, imagining him navigating their bedroom like it was a bank vault in the heist movies Brent liked to watch, red laser lines crisscrossing through the air.
Mae’s hand-wound timer went off just then. Muffins were ready.
She plated one for Dominic, who murmured his thanks, and then moved directly into cleaning, humming under her breath all the while.
The muffin tin went into the sink to soak. Flour and crumbs were swept from the counter. Measuring cups and her treasured ring of dented metal spoons were rinsed efficiently and set out to dry.
The years had gone by faster than she ever knew they could. But “Hurricane Mae,” as her late husband Henry used to call her, had never slowed down.
She finished and stood stock-still in the middle of the kitchen, eyeing a closet door and wondering if she ought to go fetch the stepladder so she could dust the top of it.
Dominic sipped his coffee and patted the bar stool next to him. “Sit down. I’m getting tired just watching you.”
“Too much to do,” Mae demurred.
“I’m sure there’s time to sit and enjoy your coffee, though.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mae said, unconvinced. “You haven’t seen my plans for this party. It’s going to be a rather raucous affair.”
She was teasing. Mostly.
Mae loved sharing a birthday with her grandson Grady. His birth had been the best present Mae could have imagined. And every single one of the ten years since then had felt the same.
Celebrating herself had never come naturally to Mae, though, so Grady provided a conduit for her festiveness. She could shower him in desserts and decorations and gifts without a lick of self-consciousness. Aging was fun when you got to do it without all the fuss and bother aimed at you.
Lately, though, the party-planning had become more of an undertaking. All of her kids had significant others and most of them had kids of their own. Slowly but surely, their family had grown from six to eight to fourteen.
It didn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon.
Eliza, Mae’s eldest, would be having her second baby any day now. Mae couldn’t wait to see if the child would arrive with golden hair like her mom and sister or dark hair like her daddy. The adorableness, though, was guaranteed.
Brent was living with his girlfriend, Rose, and her beautiful little girl, Susanna. Mae already claimed the two girls as her own, but whenever Brent finally got around to proposing, it would make their place in the Benson clan official.
She sank into a barstool next to Dominic at the counter, but she stayed perched on the edge.
“You’re making me anxious,” Dominic said wryly.
“I’m just sitting here.”
“And yet practically vibrating with the effort of it.” Dominic reached out and snagged Mae’s apron string, undoing it. “One of the reasons I love you is that you radiate life and energy. But even the sun has to set once a day.”
“I slept a full seven hours, Dom,” Mae argued, swatting at his hand and reclaiming her apron string.
He let loose a languished sigh. “Coffee or no, I haven’t the energy to keep up.”
Mae’s late husband used to call her his hummingbird. He always teased that she flitted around constantly from here to there, rarely relaxing or resting.
Henry would be happy to know she had someone here to remind her to take it easy.
Though she had no intention of listening to Dominic.
“You better have a second cup, then,” Mae teased. “You’re going to need it today.”
Before she could hurry off to find a broom and sweep the kitchen floors, Dominic stood up and wrapped his arms around her.
He wasn’t a big man, but he stood almost a head taller than Mae. His long limbs folded around her easily. Even with the extra weight she’d put on in her later years.
“Happy birthday,” he whispered, nuzzling his stubbly face against her temple.
Warmth zipped down Mae’s spine, and suddenly, she felt like she had enough time for a little break.
; She sighed. “Fine. I’ll sit.” She spun and wagged a finger at him. “But only while you drink your coffee. Then I’m putting you to work.”
Dominic smiled and held his hand in the air, palm out in a kind of oath. “Anything for the birthday queen.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “Silly man.”
He laughed before sitting back down on his stool. “I’ve been called many things in my life, but few more accurate than that.”
They sat together in an easy silence for ten minutes, speaking only to point out the ruby-throated hummingbirds gathering at the feeders just outside the dining room windows.
As soon as Dominic finished his coffee, he rinsed his mug, put it in the dishwasher, and hurried up the stairs to change.
Five minutes later, he came down with water-dampened hair, khaki shorts, and a plain white pocket t-shirt.
“Put me to work, Miss Mae.”
And Mae did.
First, they worked together to pull the six-foot-long folding tables out from the storage shed and set them up in the grass. The inn’s previous owner, Mae’s sister-in-law, Toni, had used them many times over the years for weddings, parties, fundraisers, and other events the inn hosted, but the tables were still in great shape.
They dragged them into a horseshoe shape on the grass. That way, everyone could sit along the outside and see everyone else. The party was, at its heart, a family dinner, after all. She wanted it to feel intimate.
As soon as the last table was in place, Dominic clapped and placed his hands on his hips. “Look at that. Fifteen minutes of work and done already. I told you we’d have plenty of time.”
Mae laughed. “Oh, if only. We’ve just begun, dear.”
Dominic followed Mae into the house and to her office. The room had been chaos before Mae had taken over the inn. Toni kept great records, but finding those records was another question entirely.
Upon finalizing ownership, Mae had opened this room up and been confronted with sheer horror. Toni had receipts from a week ago stuffed haphazardly into a stack amongst invoices older than Grady. Her tax returns had been shoved in an old shoe box along with an X-ray of a broken arm. Whose arm it was, Mae didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Things were different now. Mae had bought two filing cabinets to go along the side wall, a bookshelf on the back wall for guest records, business expenses, and other miscellany, and an important document box she kept locked in the closet for all of the sensitive information to do with bank accounts and security codes.
Still, even with her honed-in system of organization, nothing could keep the room from looking chaotic today.
That was largely thanks to the seventy-four silver and gold helium balloons bobbing close to the ceiling. Their shimmering ribbon tails scratched lightly over the wooden floor.
“Goodness. How many balloons does one party need?” Dominic asked from behind her.
“This party needs seventy-four.”
Dominic whistled. “That’s a lot.”
“Careful, buster,” Mae warned him, eyes narrowed. “It’s a balloon for every year Grady and I have been alive.”
“Oh! Then it’s hardly any balloons at all,” Dominic amended with a wink. “Spring chickens, the both of you.”
“That’s what I thought you said,” Mae laughed. “Anyhow, the tablecloths are there. And the balloons are… everywhere, as you can see. The tie-down weights are on the table by the window, the tablecloths need to be unfolded and Velcro’d to the undersides of the tables so they don’t blow away, and the chairs still need to be carried outside. Which do you want to tackle first?”
Dominic twisted his lips in thought. “Would you find it incredibly attractive if I carried all of those chairs outside by myself?”
“Only if you carried them all in one trip,” she joked.
He snapped his fingers and grabbed two or three chairs under each arm. “Then stand back and marvel.”
Mae laughed and moved to help him. She didn’t have anything to prove and today was not the day to throw her back out, so she carried only one chair under each arm.
When they finished, Dominic was sweating, his brow glistening.
“Tired already?” Mae asked, breathing a little heavily herself.
“Me? Never. What’s next?”
Ninety minutes later, they stood in the thick grass, admiring their hard work.
The white linens let the metallic balloons shine while still adding a touch of class. Streamers and string lights hanging from the back door to the tree branches upped the ante even more.
Mae had secured everything with weights and ties to make sure the party wouldn’t take off in the wind off the water. But the balloons still bobbed in the breeze and the tablecloths flapped happily against the metal legs of the tables.
The garden Mae had shaped over the last few years wouldn’t be winning awards anytime soon—that was more her best friend Lola’s department—but she was proud of it nonetheless. Something about nurturing a fragile young flower to bloom made her dizzy with happiness every spring.
A wooden trellis rested against the side of the guest house Brent had remodeled a few years earlier. Sweet pea now climbed up the slats.
The black-and-white oak tree was ringed with a bed of perennials—echinacea, liatris, and buddleia. The proper names escaped her most of the time, but she liked the hardy little fellows. They didn’t require much in the way of TLC.
“I think I’m too old for this kind of work,” Dominic said, fanning his shirt out from his chest. “This is why I write books. Very little physical exertion involved.”
“I’m just glad Sara agreed to bring all the food. I can’t imagine going to cook now,” Mae admitted.
Dominic wrapped an arm around her waist and nudged her hip. “Well, since you find yourself with some free time, can I interest you in a walk down to the beach?”
The hummingbird inside of Mae wanted to rush inside and hurry into a shower and get dressed before anyone arrived. But the look of hope in Dom’s eyes made the decision for her.
“Of course.”
“Great. Stay put. I’ll only be a second.” Dominic walked into the house at a fast clip and returned holding a box.
Mae narrowed her eyes. “What’s that?”
He shrugged, his smile devious. “Nothing for you to worry about. Come on.”
Dominic led Mae down a well-worn dirt path through the trees. Over the winter, some of the branches had become unruly, dipping across the path. With summer approaching, Mae would need to get someone out to trim them back for her. But for now, Dominic held them out of the way so Mae could safely pass.
The beach behind the inn was a huge selling point with the guests. She could guarantee private beach access to every guest who stayed with her.
Mae didn’t mind it one bit, either.
Living in the inn had been an escape for her immediately after Henry’s passing. But in the years since, the house and the land surrounding had become her home. The thought of leaving this slice of solace—even for just a couple of weeks—made her stomach turn.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that night again. The night of the accident.
Opening the front door of 114 Howard Street.
Brent standing there, framed by the pouring rain.
The gray distance in his eyes.
Mae couldn’t imagine going back there. The memory was too sharp, prickling against her like a rock in her shoe.
But “there” wasn’t “there” anymore, now was it?
114 Howard Street was no longer the home of Mae and Henry Benson. It was Brent’s home now. Brent’s and Rose’s and Susanna’s. They’d taken it and reshaped it and made it their own and now it was a whole different thing, a new thing, a fresh thing, and surely that was good for everyone involved.
She liked that story. A story of clean beginnings. She’d told it to herself often since she’d finally agreed to vacate the inn for the movie cre
w.
Perhaps a shred of her was even starting to believe it.
“There’s nothing quite like this place,” Dominic said as the branches parted and they stepped onto the sand. “Even temporarily, I’ll miss it.”
“I’ll miss it, too.”
It was the closest she’d come to sharing her mixed-up feelings about the temporary transition with Dominic. She didn’t know how to share these fears with him, these anxieties. So she just kept them to herself. Buzzing in her stomach like a swarm of bees.
They walked past native grasses poking out of the ground and paused for a moment on a patch of soft sand. The ocean lapped at the shore a safe distance away, leaving white foam behind.
Throughout the day, the air had warmed and the clouds had dissipated, giving way to clear blue skies. Party weather.
“Shall we sit?” Dominic dropped the box in the sand and held out a hand, helping Mae to the ground. “The move will only be temporary, though, you know.”
“It’s just been a long time since I’ve been anywhere else,” Mae murmured.
“Well, we’ll still be on the island. We’ll still be together,” Dominic said. “It will be like a staycation.”
“What do you know about staycations?” Mae asked, one brow arched in surprise.
“Eliza told me about them,” he said with a chuckle. “She was working on marketing that would bring more locals to the inn. Apparently, ‘staycations are all the rage.’ Her words, not mine.”
“I’m sure she’s right, but I don’t think I’d care much for a staycation. I like my own bed.”
“Is that why you seem so worried about leaving?”
Mae sighed. “Am I that transparent?”
“Only to me, I think,” he said thoughtfully. “To everyone else, you look as cool and collected as ever.”
It was silly of her to think she could keep anything from Dominic. He’d been in her life for three years now, but it seemed as if they’d known each other much longer. He had a way of seeing right to the heart of her.
“I haven’t gone back to the house very often since Henry passed,” she admitted in a hushed voice. “It makes me miss him too much.”
