Small Town Christmas (Blue Harbor #4) - Olivia Miles Page 0,20
a committee or theatre tickets or museum event. The city brownstone that he’d grown up in had felt large and empty, with dinners mostly eaten out at restaurants, the kitchen always spotless.
Here in Blue Harbor, his grandparents’ house had felt foreign, small by comparison, and a bit rundown, even all those years ago. Now, as he opened the door and flicked on the lights, he knew that if he was going to make an easy sale of it, he’d need to at least tend to a few minor repairs. It would likely sell to someone like him, he supposed, someone within driving distance who was looking for a vacation getaway.
Only that was where the comparison stopped. Phil didn’t do vacations. Phil worked.
He set the bags from the hardware store on the kitchen counter, knowing that he should have stopped by the Christmas shop before coming back to the house. By the terms of Cora’s lease, she was entitled to a thirty-day written notice, and as the executor of his grandparents’ estate, he’d hoped to tie this up by year-end. He supposed an extra week wouldn’t change the outcome of the sale. When he’d briefly spoken over the phone to the real estate agent in town about listing the two properties, he was told that both would likely sell when people began thinking about warmer weather.
The property on Main would likely be turned into an inn, much like the handful of others that lined the street. According to the real estate agent, there were always a few buyers circling the area, watching and waiting for an opportunity to pop up. Phil vaguely remembered the way his grandmother would dream of turning the property into a B&B—something that made his father snort, knowing the kind of capital it would take to make that happen.
Sure, his grandparents weren’t rich by any means, but they weren’t uncomfortable, either. They worked hard as bookkeepers for neighboring businesses, and Phil’s grandfather had made the choice to downsize to the cottage for less pressure and a simpler life. And more time to fish, he always pointed out. Oh, how that made Phil’s father roll his eyes. That house on Main had been his home, moving out of it was something he’d never quite forgiven his parents for. He wanted more out of life. More for himself than he could find in Blue Harbor.
The house on Main Street would be an easy sell, Phil knew, but the cottage would be harder to part with for his grandparents, which was why Phil hadn’t shared the details of how he planned to handle their affairs. They trusted him to do the right thing, and that was to unload the properties. His grandparents would never return to Blue Harbor at this stage of their lives, and there was no chance that Phil’s father would either. There was nothing to hold onto here.
Other than memories.
Phil shook away the thoughts. This was a time for action. There was no room for emotion to creep in. This was his wheelhouse. He knew how to focus, get the job done, not let his mind wander down paths of different scenarios. When something made sense, he did it. There were always casualties; it came with the territory. It had just never bothered him until now.
Tomorrow he would tell Cora the news. Surely, he had delivered worse news before—laying off hundreds, even thousands of employees at a time. It was part of his job: never pleasant, but necessary.
Even right before Christmas.
Nonsense. Since when did he care about the holiday?
His mind made up, today he would tend to the house, and he would start with the easy projects, like the loose doorknobs.
“I didn’t know you knew how to use a screwdriver, Daddy.” Georgie looked amused as she ate her scone at the kitchen table, watching him across the room.
“Well, then you learned something new about me today,” he said with a grin. He hesitated, remembering how it was his grandfather who had introduced him to the wonders of a toolbox out in the very garage where his car was now parked. They’d spent hours out there, tinkering with the boat, or little projects around the house, and Phil had loved the one-on-one time, something he’d never experienced with his own father.
And still didn’t. No matter how hard he tried.
Phil looked at the tool in his hand now as a thought took hold. He raised an eyebrow at his daughter. “Do you know how to use a screwdriver?”