spot something else. Something resembling guilt and pain. She clearly misses Gram deeply. But why the guilt?
“The painting that’s hanging in the living room of the studio with the ocean in back is my favorite.”
“Come with me.” Kira reaches for the girl’s hand, and as everyone tends to the muffins and dishes, they step into the other room. I hover at the doorway and watch the exchange between the two. Kira’s own parents might not have been natural nurturers, but I’m guessing she got those traits from Gram. “You mean this one?” Kira asks.
“Yes. I’ve always loved it.”
“I bet Gram would want you to have it,” she says, taking it from the wall. The paint behind it is still a vibrant shade of yellow, displaying how much the walls have faded over time.
“No, I can’t take that,” she says and waves her hands.
“Gram would want you to. I’m sure of it.” I push off the doorframe. Yeah, Kira is definitely too sweet for a guy like me.
“Thank…thank you so much,” Amber says, her voice breaking up a bit.
“Let me cover it, so it doesn’t get damaged from the snow, and then I’ll drive you home.”
“It’s not far. I can walk.”
“Not with this you can’t.”
They come back to the kitchen, and Kira digs a big black garbage bag out from under the counter. Amber helps her slide the painting in, and Kira says, “I’ll be back shortly.” She pulls a set of keys from her pocket, shrugs into her coat, and disappears out the door with the young girl in tow.
“How’s the house coming?” Izzy asks.
“I’m about to head on over there to check it out,” I say, though I wasn’t until she asked. A breath of fresh air will do me good. I reach for the tea towel, and Izzy ushers me away. “Go. You cooked. We got this.”
I dress, and before I go, I spray-foam the spot where I’m certain the mice are getting in. An hour later, after a walk through my century-old home, my phone rings, and when I see it’s my father calling, I toss it onto the passenger seat. I’m in no mood for a lecture tonight.
Are you sure you know what you’re doing?
Have you secured the land?
Do you really think we need to spend this kind of money when we already have a working processing plant?
I swear to God, the man is just waiting for me to fail. But I won’t. I don’t need to be a hard-core asshole, with little regard for the people, to make this work and see this through to completion. I drive past the water, and the sign outside the Old Fish Factory Restaurant had been tampered with. Again. Earlier today, the sign read Whole Clams for sale, Monday to Friday. Now, apparently, they have Clam Whores for sale Monday to Fiday. I chuckle and make a note to ask the guys if they’d like a few clam whores before bed. I guess there could be worse things the kids around here could do. It does make me wonder if it was kids that egged Gram’s place.
I park in Gram’s driveway and find the land yacht in the parking space at the rear of the house. The B&B is quiet when I enter, except for the shooting noises coming from Cody’s TV in his room. I assume he’s playing his favorite first-person shooter game. I cut a slice of cheese and climb the stairs, stopping outside Kira’s door. I take a couple of deep breaths to pull myself together then rap on her door, but it’s not shut tight and inches open from the pressure of my knock. Honest to God, the prospect of seeing her again—preferably in her T-shirt—is messing with me in inexplicable ways. And that’s just fucked-up, considering I vowed to keep my hands to myself.
Chapter Nine
Kira
“Jesus wept, Moses crept, and Adam came on crutches.”
“Ah, what?” Nate asks from the doorway.
I roll at the sound of his voice, but he’s far too slow to react. Once again, I catch him staring at my ass. His head lifts