Lucas pressed his lips into a thin line, then let out an exaggerated breath. “Fine. I’ll take the booking.”
Sophie clapped her hands together. “That’s great!”
“What’s great?” Maddie asked. Her dark-brown curls swayed as she skipped toward the table.
“Your dad just agreed to let you sleep over at my house for a few nights.”
His little girl’s eyes grew wide. “Like a slumber party?”
Sophie smiled. “Exactly like a slumber party.” She cocked her head to one side. “Except it’s not much of a party if it’s only the two of us. Can you think of anyone else we can invite?”
“Stanley would love to come,” Maddie said. “So would Floppy and Raymond,” she added, referring to Stinky by his given name.
Shocker, Lucas thought. But there was no denying the warmth that spread through his chest at the sight of his daughter so happy.
“Then definitely bring them.” Sophie pulled her niece into her lap, then turned her attention back to Lucas. “Want me to come by tonight to help you tidy the place up a bit?”
It would take a hell of a lot more than a little “tidying” to make the place presentable. For a moment, he almost felt guilty about that. But then he thought about the kind of uptight woman who would pay double just to beat out some imaginary schmuck looking for turtles in winter, and all thoughts of Southern hospitality left him. “No thanks,” he said. “I am who I am. If my guest doesn’t like it”—he narrowed his eyes at his sister—“she can message her host.”
Chapter 3
Paige realized she’d made a terrible mistake the moment she stepped off the ferry. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention the way they always did when she was making the wrong move, but that wasn’t even the most obvious sign that disaster loomed ahead of her. No, it was the enormous dark clouds that had suddenly shrouded the whole marina like a blanket of doom and gloom.
She should have hightailed it back to the mainland right then and there, but the room at the inn was prepaid and she’d flown all the way to North Carolina. Last thing she wanted was more time in an airport. Besides, snuggling up on a rocking chair, watching the storm move across the ocean while wrapped in a blanket and sipping herbal tea—or even better, a glass of chardonnay—might be just as nice as walking the beach. But first, she needed to get to the inn.
She pulled out her smartphone and opened the Uber app. Nothing. Not a single car anywhere on the digital grid.
What the…
She glanced around for a taxi stand. Again, nothing.
“Excuse me,” she called out to a man loading the last of his fishing gear into a wagon-like device he had hitched to his bicycle. “Can you tell me where I can grab a cab?”
The man looked around and chuckled. “Raleigh maybe?”
Paige frowned, and the man’s laugh grew deeper. “Just come in on the ferry?” he asked as he sauntered closer. He had a kind face, weathered from lack of sunscreen but in a way that made his eyes crinkle when he smiled.
She nodded toward the suitcase at her feet. “Pretty obvious, huh?”
“Not too many tourists this time of year.” He took off his red cap and wiped his brow with the back of his hand before shoving the hat squarely back on his head. “But the ones we do get usually know there’s no cars on the island.”
Paige’s mouth dropped open. “No cars?” Guess that’s what she got for choosing traffic as the thing that annoyed her the most.
“Nope. That’s the charm of Aurelia.” His deep voice switched into a singsong. “Trade the hustle and bustle for the charm of a simpler time.” No doubt he’d just recounted some sort of Department of Tourism slogan. Too bad Paige was only just now hearing it for the first time.
“In season, the bike rental shop is open,” he continued. “They usually have a stand set up to greet the ferry. But in February…”
Good to know. Even her unspoken words were dripping with sarcasm because none of that information did anything to help her immediate predicament.
“Where ya headed?” the man asked.
“Copper Lantern Inn.”
His brows shot up so high they were practically under his cap.
Paige was about to ask him about his reaction when he caught her off guard with an offer she wanted to refuse but couldn’t.
“Tell you what,” he said. “Load that bag of yours on top of my gear, and I’ll drop you by on my way home.”
For a moment, she thought he planned to pedal her to the inn on his handlebars like they were a couple of ten-year-olds, but then he wheeled the bike toward her, revealing a sidecar. On a bike. This day really couldn’t get any worse, she thought as she used a bungee cord to strap her Louis Vuitton bag on top of a rusty tackle box.
But when she reached the inn, she knew her assessment had been premature. She also knew why her chauffeur had reacted the way he did when she told him where she was staying. To put it bluntly, the place was a dump.
From a distance, the outside of the inn looked pretty much the same as it had on the website. Aside from the fact that the bright-yellow shingles now looked a bit faded and two shutters hung slightly askew, it was still the epitome of beachfront charm. But as she drew closer, she noted that the manicured lawn was comprised of more weeds than grass and the white picket fence was now a shade of dingy beige, thanks to being weathered to nearly bare wood.
Paige took a deep breath. She wasn’t planning to be out front much anyway. As long as the back porch still had rocking chairs and a view of the ocean, she’d be just fine.
Famous last words.
Determined, she made her way up the porch steps, careful to avoid a nearly rotted tread. But when she reached the front door, she hesitated. Do you knock at a bed-and-breakfast? Granted, it was a type of hotel, but it was also someone’s home. What was the protocol?
“Go on in,” her chauffeur called out as if reading her mind. “Lucas is probably out back.”
She walked through the leaded-glass door and came to an abrupt halt. The website had used words like quaint, charming, and picturesque, but the adjectives ricocheting around Paige’s head as she took in the sight of the front room were more along the lines of cluttered, disgusting, and unsightly.
Clothes were strewn about on every piece of upholstered furniture, while dirty plates and cups sat piled on the flat surfaces. And dear Lord, was that peanut butter on the banister? Her eyes were drawn to the back of the house, where a wall of French doors revealed the seagrass swells that led to the white-capped waves. At least the ocean was as advertised, because the rest of the place certainly wasn’t. With the exception of being quiet, nothing was as she expected, but even that would have more appropriately been described as desolate.