He said it so casually, like he wasn’t aware of the age difference between the two of us and had no idea the comparison he was drawing. And suddenly I wondered if that was how he saw all young people. If that was how he saw me.
Did he think my passion over the Sea Sprite was just a lark? A project I was throwing myself into that I would eventually get bored with and walk away from? I felt my cheeks begin to burn and grabbed our lunch trash to throw away, using that as an excuse to put distance between us.
And what if he was right? What if I was holding on to the Sea Sprite because I was too afraid to move on? I’d lived in McBride my entire life, had never gone to college, so never had reason to leave. I told myself I liked living in a small town, I liked that I knew my neighbors and that they knew me. But what did I have to compare it to? I’d never experienced anywhere else, never tried living in a larger city. I told myself that I had everything I needed right here, but what if I was wrong? What if I’d only convinced myself that was true because it was easy?
When I turned back to the table, he was staring out the picture window toward the beach and the ocean beyond, stretching all the way to the horizon. There was something so unguarded in his expression, so vulnerable that my heart squeezed.
He looked sad. Lonely.
I wanted to take his hand and tell him that whatever had caused their breakup, his ex was stupid to have ever let him go. That if he were mine…
I stopped myself before that train of thought could go too far.
James wasn’t mine. He wouldn’t ever be mine.
I cleared my throat and took my seat, pulling the box of Sea Sprite documents closer. “We should start going through this stuff so you can get back to your other work.”
His eyes shifted to mine, his expression still unguarded and needy. Then he blinked and the moment passed. “Right,” he said. “Of course.”
Together, we started working our way through the old boxes. There were photos of my grandparents, photos of their parents, and various snapshots of the motel over the years. I’d seen some of them before, but there were several that were new to me. I wondered if my uncles had ever been through any of this stuff.
We found several paper clipped stacks of papers relevant to the ownership of the property—old tax bills and surveys—and some hand-sketched plans for a renovation that obviously never happened. Seeing my grandfather’s spidery handwriting was bittersweet. I felt connected to him when I saw the hard work he’d put into the Sea Sprite for so many years, but it also reminded me with a gut punch that he was gone.
Sorting through all of those papers wore heavily on my heart and nearly drowned me with memories. It made me miss my parents and grandparents all over again. Grief was such a sneaky motherfucker. One day you felt fine, and then something just came along and tipped your boat completely over.
“You okay?” James asked softly. I glanced at him.
“It’s hard letting go.” It was the first time I began to see my family’s legacy in the past tense. Seeing all of these old papers and evidence of renovation plans they’d never been able to put into action for the same reasons I was having trouble putting my own plans into action was a stark reminder that this was never going to work.
And maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe I was holding on to the past too hard and I needed to let go.
I stood up and stretched before wandering over to the cooler to fill up my water bottle. James’s questions from earlier wound on repeat in my mind. What would I do with a million dollars? Why hang on to the Sea Sprite when I could start fresh with a brand-new project. It would mean losing the legacy and history of this place, but it would also mean giving Karlie’s baby a new future. It would mean giving the rest of my family financial peace of mind.
“You okay?” James asked from across the room.
I nodded absently, my eyes skimming over old framed photographs and articles on the wall behind the counter. I’d seen them so many times I never noticed them anymore, but I took the opportunity to study them with new eyes.
One of them was an article in the Barwich Bee from 1981 when Dolly Parton had stayed at the Sea Sprite. She’d called it “charming” and said she’d love to come back one day. I laughed to myself at the thought of Dolly Parton or any other celebrity deigning to stay here today. They wouldn’t even give this dump a second glance.
Then my eyes fell on another portrait, the one from Labor Day the year before. It was the last family portrait we’d taken, the last that would ever contain both of my grandparents. My throat tightened as I looked at the way they held each other’s hands tightly, surrounded by generations that only existed because of their love for each other. I’d told them about my plans for renovating the Sea Sprite that day, and they’d been so excited and supportive. I’d truly believed that down the road it would be me and my husband and our children and grandchildren sitting for a family portrait on the bluff.
Two weeks later Grandpa had his stroke, and two months after that, Nana had died in her sleep, presumably of a broken heart. Our family had been left reeling. Losing my parents had been horrible, but losing Nana and Grandpa only a few years later had gutted me. And now their dream was going up in a puff of smoke.
“Let it go,” I muttered to myself, reaching out to push a bit of dust off the top of the frame with my fingertip.
Strong hands landed on my hips as James stepped up behind me. I could feel the warm puff of his breath against the back of my ear. “Let what go?”
A shiver traced down my spine. His touch was so firm, so reassuring, that I felt myself lean back against him. “This place. My dreams for it.”
He was silent. With my back to him, I couldn’t see his face to know what he was thinking. Was he grinning, knowing he’d finally won? Somehow I didn’t think so. He knew how much this place mattered to me. He knew what it would mean to give it up. James wasn’t the type to gloat over someone else’s misfortune.
He let out a long breath and spun me in his arms until I faced him. “Your vision for how to renovate and revamp this place is strong, Sawyer. And smart. You know what you’re talking about, and you’re good at it.”
His words embarrassed me, and I tried looking away, but he brought his hand to my cheek, forcing me to meet his eyes. “If this is what you want to do, take this concept and apply it to other properties, then you should do it.”
I wanted to laugh at how easy he made it sound. “How?”
“I’ll help.”
I lifted an eyebrow, doubtful. “I mean, you swing a mean hammer but…”
He rolled his eyes. “You need a business plan. I can help you write it. We can use the Sea Sprite as a model property, with all the projections you’ve already made along with photos of the sample room renovation. Then, once you have a list of potential properties, you can take the package to a bank and see about getting a business loan and go from there.”
Again, he made it sound simple, but somehow he made me believe what he was saying was possible. “You think it would work?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Absolutely. As it turns out, I’m kind of good at this sort of thing. It’s what I do for a living.”
His confidence was contagious. And sexy as hell. I stepped toward him, until my chest barely brushed against his. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”