“Again, let me repeat myself. Fuck. Him.” Kennedy takes a large swig. “It’s time for you to move on. Let’s be real, Elodie. How long has it been since you’ve gotten laid?” I wave my glass at her and shoot her the middle finger.
“I don’t know.” Chug a large gulp of wine. “Awhile.” Another chug.
“We need to get you LAID.” Kennedy’s voice is loud and I resist the urge to shush her. Clearly, she’s so tired that the wine is going straight to her head. “Awww, but I have to leave tomorrow.”
“Don’t you worry about me. I’m doing just fine. Me and my wine and the B&B.” And I have been fine. Maybe a little lonely, but this B&B is my world and I won’t stop until I make sure it continues on in the legacy of my family.
“Maybe just fuck my client.” Kennedy giggles as she finishes off the last large sip of wine. I turn to look at her.
“He barely spoke three words to me at dinner. I think he actually just grunted.”
“Or maybe don’t. I wouldn’t touch him with someone else’s vagina.” She giggles some more. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth and she accidentally sends the wine glass flying.
“Okay, drunkie. Time for bed for you. You can’t hold your alcohol anymore.” She stands up and starts to fold her blanket. I grab the other end and help her.
“I swear to God, I can actually drink. I promise. I’m just so damn tired.” Kennedy is swaying a bit on her feet. I reach out to hold on to her as I grab the blankets to bring inside. “Just so damn tired,” she mutters. I safely navigate her up the stairs and into her room.
When I get back to my room, I slowly strip down. I look at myself in the mirror and see my plain white bra and bikini panties. I’m still active at the B&B but I’m definitely not the same size six I was in college. Hips and curves for days, mostly from the booze and the food post-divorce. A sigh escapes my lips. Living under this roof with a hot as fuck athlete won’t be hard. Kennedy has nothing to worry about, I’ve followed Ryan’s career through her. I know his type. And I am definitely not an amazon blonde bombshell.
Dawn is one of my favorite times of day. When the sun breaks the horizon over the ocean and paints the sky vivid shades of orange and pink. My favorite mornings are the ones like this in which I can sit on the porch with coffee in my hand and just watch as the day begins. With only Kennedy and Ryan in the house, my morning can be a bit slower and relaxed. Usually, with a house full of guests, I’m up and cooking breakfast by five. Making sure that everyone is fed and ready to seize their day is part of what we offer here. The women in my family have been doing this for generations—with the same recipes.
The Lilac Harbor B&B—simply known as the B&B—has been in my family for generations. The women who came before me bucked tradition and passed it down woman to woman. My great-grandmother is said to have explained it as “who can trust a man to provide excellent service that keeps people coming back?”
Sitting on a sprawling fifty acres of land, the house is well hidden down a long tree-lined driveway. No one ever expects that when it finally opens up—the ocean is cresting before you. Even returning guests are still in awe of the beauty when they return. It brings such joy to my family to watch their faces as they get out of their cars. From the large old farmhouse to the sweeping views, we pride ourselves on being a hidden gem. We don’t actively advertise, all of our business is word of mouth—and we are often booked solid.
My feet are propped up on the railing, dressed in heavy socks. Winter isn’t here quite yet but the fall mornings are crisp and cool. My coffee is steaming as I hold it in my hands. I can see the whole beach area around the water and smell the crisp salt air. The dock juts out from the far end of our property and the boats are calmly bobbing in the waves. I make a mental note to have Deacon pull them out of the water next week before it gets too cold.
This is where I’ve spent so many of my mornings since I was a kid. Watching the waves hit the sand is my form of meditation. I realized early on that the best kind of peace was the one I felt when I was close enough to the ocean to feel the power from the waves.
This place runs in my veins just as true as my blood. Every last parcel of land is a part of my genetic makeup. I could never leave—regardless of the consequences. I guess that’s how I ended up thirty-five and divorced from my high school sweetheart.
I quickly block out those memories and place my cup on the side table. Pulling my body to a stand, I stretch out my arms and mentally run down the things I want to get done today. I have yet to hear a peep from either of my guests, so I’ll probably make my way into the kitchen and start breakfast. As I turn into the house, I hear the faint crunching of tires on gravel. Checking my watch, I see it’s just about six, and that means only one thing.
Deacon is here for breakfast.
Don’t get me wrong. I adore my big brother on about eight hundred different levels. Only being eighteen months apart, we grew up together. He’s played the role of big brother and supreme protector better than anyone. Our eldest brother, Callen, has always been a bit distant, quiet. Not Deacon, he’s the exact opposite.
Walking into the kitchen, I make my first stop: the coffee maker. Emptying the old grounds from my cup this morning, I dump some fresh ones in. Deacon will bitch at me if his coffee isn’t fresh. Plus, it will be nice to have some more going when Kennedy and Ryan wake up.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Deacon’s voice booms from outside the screen door.
I roll my eyes. “Deacon. People are sleeping.”
“I thought you didn’t have any guests this week.” He appears in the doorway and makes a beeline for the fresh coffee that is dripping slowly into the pot. “Oh, yes. Hello, there love. Happy to see you.”
“I’m going to go ahead and assume you are talking to the coffee and not me.” I giggle out loud as I make my way to the pantry to start gathering the ingredients for breakfast.
“I like you a whole lot, Els, but coffee.” He closes his eyes in reverence for a moment. “Coffee never treats me wrong.” His deep green eyes dance with laughter as he sips from his cup.
My arms are laden down with all the ingredients to make breakfast, and I start to lay them all out on the counter as he watches. “You know, you could help me here.”
He’s leaning against the counter, one arm propping him up and the other arm holding his cup. “Nah, it’s much more fun watching you do it. Whatcha making us for breakfast?”
“Well, seeing as how I also have guests in-house, I’m making a quiche Lorraine and some blueberry muffins. Do you have time to hang around for that?” I know Deacon’s schedule at the shipyard is flexible, but he craves that early morning quiet time before the docks get busy.
“Sure do. I completed the framing on the custom I’m working on yesterday. I was there until eleven finishing it, but it’s done.” Deacon is a world-class boat builder. He has a waiting list three years long because everything he does is hand-crafted.
“Great, then I’m going to put you to work.” Handing Deacon the eggs, I carefully take out all the ones I need him to crack. I feel like cracking eggs is a culinary job even he can do. While well known for his boats, he is not well-known for his cooking ability. My mom says he could burn water. We work like that in tandem until everything is completed.