“Hey, did anyone see Brooklyn Hewett? Man, time has been very good to her. She’s hotter now than she was in high school. What I wouldn’t give to hook up with her.”
Bowie scanned for the person speaking. Once he spotted him, he tried to recall his name but couldn’t. The guy was a year or two younger than Bowie and not someone who ran with his crowd. Still, the words pissed him off. The last thing he wanted was to hear people go on and on about Brooklyn, particularly in that manner. Especially when everyone was coming home to honor Austin.
TEN
Brooklyn sat with her toes in the sand and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The tide was still out, and she could barely hear the waves crashing against the shore. Seagulls chirped overhead, squawking louder when they found a morsel of food or an enemy came too close. She loved everything about the ocean, minus the gulls. When she was twelve or thirteen, she had been down on the docks in Seattle, and not one, but a whole group of birds had flown above and done their business at the same time, each plop landing on her head, shoulders, and arms. Mortified hadn’t even begun to explain how she had felt. She had cried for days and sworn to always wear a hat when she was near the water from that day forward.
The memory had her touching the brim of her cap. Yesterday, when she had run into Bowie, she had thought for sure he would say something about it, comment on how it used to be Austin’s. But he hadn’t. Maybe he hadn’t noticed because he’d been far too busy throwing daggers at her, trying to emotionally maim her in the driveway for even stepping foot in Cape Harbor again, and sending her into an emotional whiplash. She didn’t blame him. She couldn’t. Things between them could’ve been different if she had called, written a letter, or even told him she was leaving, or stayed. She hadn’t. She had chosen to run. She had chosen to deal with her actions privately because she had known any relationship she and Bowie had had was over, and seeing him every day would’ve destroyed her even more. Knowing he was there, within arm’s reach, would’ve been torture. The relationship they had known, the one that had been cemented in her life from the time she had arrived, was over. Leaving had been her only option.
Boats began to leave port, setting out for the day. Even in the early dawn, she could see the crew waving as they motored by the inn. In her heart, she knew who it was. She didn’t wave back, knowing they weren’t acknowledging her but the woman who lived in the home behind her. They were paying respect in their own way—a way that didn’t make sense to Brooklyn. What Carly needed was people to surround her, to help her. And yet, she only had Simone, and Brystol when she was here. She wanted to shake each one of Austin’s friends, including those fishermen who likely never even knew him, and ask how they could forget about his mother. Their mother. The woman who had taken every one of them in without question or reservation. She had opened her door, her life, and her heart to them, and they all had ditched out on her. Brooklyn wasn’t much better, but at least she had given her Brystol.
There were a few joggers running up and down the coastline, and by the middle of summer, there would be more. She and Simone were going to sit down today, once painting started, and figure out a marketing strategy. They planned to reach out to the former guests, inquire if they were interested in a return stay, and offer them a discount for a future booking. As much as Carly wanted to rush the project, Brooklyn was going to follow Bowie’s timeline, even though with their combined crews they could easily open five rooms at a time. Waiting made more sense. It gave her more time to make sure everything was perfect. The only thing that had bothered her after the meeting with Bowie was how long it would take him to get supplies. One call and she had a delivery scheduled to arrive this morning.
She would plan a grand reopening party, a gala of sorts. Something that would encourage Carly to don a beautiful gown, get her hair done, and show her granddaughter what the inn used to be like. Even thinking about organizing an event like this put a smile on Brooklyn’s face. She had spent countless nights dancing in the ballroom, with the moon shining through the window, and she wanted to do it again.
She hadn’t been back in town more than twenty-four hours, and she already wanted Brystol to experience everything she had growing up here, the majesty that seemed to surround the inn when people from all over filled the rooms. The sunsets, bonfires on the beaches, the close friendships she’d made in the short time she lived here. These were important parts of life that she was denying her daughter. Brystol needed to make lasting memories that didn’t revolve around her mother’s job. Mostly, though, Brooklyn wanted Brystol to be happy. Carly as well.