How had he ended up here? Just an hour ago, he’d had everything he ever wanted—he’d been about to become a husband, hopefully within the next year or two, a father, and he’d finally felt a sense of belonging. At peace. Settled.
But now all his dreams had washed away with the coming of the rain...and Tessa’s desertion.
The Delphine and the Moontide were the only two hotels in town. The Lodge had boarded up its doors last year. So he could either drive an hour outside of town and use his credit card to put himself up at a motel on the outskirts until he could figure out his next move, or he could go begging Allan Worth for a free room at the Delphine.
He was sure his father-in-law—correction, his ex-fiancée’s dad—would have let him stay in the suite he and Tessa were meant to have for their wedding night, but no way did he want to set foot in that room now. Nor did he want to stay at the Delphine at all, where the staff and Tessa’s family could take note and whisper about him behind his back.
That only left the Moontide.
Erin stood there patiently, letting him sort through his options before she spoke up once more.
“It would make Aunt Lenora happy,” she pointed out. “She’s always said that the years you lived there were some of her happiest.”
He hadn’t lived at the Moontide since he was eighteen years old. Other than a handful of visits, he hadn’t spent any length of time at the bed-and-breakfast since he and Gavin had lived there as teenagers.
“She’s missed having you under her roof,” Erin added.
He swallowed, not daring to voice the question that rose unbidden.
And you, Erin? Did you ever miss me?
He quashed the thought as quickly as it came. There was no point in thinking along these lines. He had spent several long years burying that question as deeply as he could. The only reason it surfaced now, he told himself, was because he was feeling vulnerable and betrayed. But he would not even consider the subject because it no longer mattered.
His heart protested, whispering, It does matter. It’s always mattered.
But he ignored his heart’s cry and tugged his hand free of Erin’s.
“All right. If Lenora has a room to spare, I’ll come to the Moontide.”
Erin looked at him so intently that he shifted away from her.
“But only tonight, Erin. Just until I get things sorted out.”
Erin didn’t argue with him, and no matter how hard he tried to bury the feeling, part of him wished she would.
* * *
THE UNEXPECTED STORM had blown over, but it left behind a few threadbare clouds and an unseasonal chill in the summer air. Erin laid out Kitt’s long-sleeved pajamas and left him to dress for bed before checking in on Burke.
Her brother-in-law had collapsed onto the bed in the Galway Room, one of the Moontide’s middle-size bedrooms, as soon as they had returned home from the Delphine.
As she peeked inside the door he’d left ajar, she could see he hadn’t moved from where she’d left him, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest told her he’d fallen into a sound sleep. She moved into the room and opened the armoire, pulling out one of the family afghans, knitted years ago by Aunt Lenora’s grandmother.
She buried her face briefly into the soft, worn cotton, inhaling the scents of lavender and cedar from the armoire’s interior before she unfolded it and stepped toward the bed. She draped the blanket over Burke’s sleeping form, arranging it carefully, the same as she did for Kitt when he fell asleep on the couch while reading.
She lingered in the room, tidying up small details like centering the pair of porcelain songbird figurines sitting slightly askew on the fireplace mantel, pushing the ceramic pitcher and basin on the bedside table away from the edge and tugging a stray cobweb free of the wooden desk chair.
At one time, Aunt Lenora kept a girl on the payroll to come in twice a week for detailed cleaning of the rooms at the B&B. But in the last year, the inn’s revenue had dropped so much that she’d been forced to try to clean the rooms herself. At eighty-nine, scrubbing floors and washing windows had taxed the older woman to her limits. When Erin had come upon her one day, leaning on the wardrobe in the Killarney Suite and heaving for breath, she had known it was time to take over.
The next day, she’d given Connor her two-week notice at the restaurant and began working at the inn full-time. She booked the reservations (though there were fewer than there once had been), made the morning breakfast (and lamented how much food was wasted), kept up with the piles of laundry that a B&B generated and cleaned the rooms, all while raising Kitt on her own and keeping an eye on Aunt Lenora.
The older woman had reluctantly given over much of the B&B’s maintenance to Erin, but that didn’t mean she’d retired. On any given day, Aunt Lenora could be found outside in the garden, tending to vegetables and flowers or crawling up into the attic to go through the expansive mementos stored in its rafters.
Erin had found her there just last week, after hours of searching. She’d fallen asleep in the attic’s drafty environment, curled up in a pile of blankets with her arms wrapped around an album. After waking Aunt Lenora, Erin returned to the attic to restore order and found the album lying open.
It was a scrapbook of Gavin’s life with pressed clippings of his high school wrestling career, a copy of his graduation program, the Findlay Roads Courier’s article about his time in the army and then, at the back, his obituary.
Erin hadn’t needed to read the words. She knew each one by heart.
Sergeant Gavin Daniels passed into eternal rest this past week at the age of thirty-two.
She and Aunt Lenora had decided to leave the specific details of his passing out of the paper, for Kitt’s sake more than anything. It had been bad enough that her son had lost his father. She wanted to shelter him as much as possible from the senselessness of Gavin’s death by a drunk driver.
The obituary had gone on to list Gavin’s various accomplishments in the army before detailing what Erin considered the most important part of his life’s summation.
Gavin leaves behind his wife, Erin, and his son, Kitt, as well as a great-aunt, Lenora, and a brother, Burke, along with many friends who will forever miss his spirit, laughter and kindness.
In the stifling air of the attic, Erin had started to cry, and even now, recalling the words, she had to blink back tears. That final statement had been truer than she might have known. She missed Gavin more with each passing day.
Her grief was cut short as Burke groaned in his sleep, and Erin turned back toward him. His face was lined with emotion, his brow furrowed in slumber.
She bit her lip, her feelings a tangled mess. On the one hand, she felt sympathy for the way the day had gone. He and Tessa had seemed like the perfect couple. She was petite and blonde, cute and sweet, and a lovely foil to Burke’s tall, muscular physique, brown hair and blue eyes. They were easy around each other. Burke would often drape an arm around Tessa’s shoulders as she leaned into him. The sight had always pierced Erin with a pang of envy, and she told herself it was the residual grief of losing Gavin.
But
