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  The Second Chance Inn

  Susan Hatler

  The Second Chance Inn

  Copyright © 2015 by Susan Hatler

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Cover Design by Elaina Lee, For The Muse Design

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  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Second Chance Inn

  Susan Hatler

  Chapter One

  As I drove down California’s scenic coastal Highway 1, a sign indicated I would hit my hometown of Blue Moon Bay in two miles and I had to fight the urge not to slam on the brakes, do a fast U-turn, and head back home to Sacramento. Although Blue Moon Bay used to be my home, I hadn’t been there since the day I’d left after high school graduation, and I hadn’t planned to come back now. I’d tucked that part of my life away and didn’t like to think about it—ever.

  But my grandma’s lawyer had called yesterday, informing me that she’d passed away and had left me controlling interest in her quaint and quirky Inn at Blue Moon Bay. The shocking news of her death had sucked the air out of my chest and left me shaky and weak, reaching out to grab hold of the kitchen counter to keep from spilling to the floor.

  How could my grandma be gone? I’d just seen her in Napa last month when we’d celebrated her seventy-second birthday and she’d seemed fine. There hadn’t been one sign that she’d soon drop dead from a heart attack in the middle of her weekly pinochle game.

  As I was reeling in my grief, the lawyer proceeded to tell me that the will stated my brother, Brian, and I couldn’t keep the inn. Grandma had apparently added an odd requirement to her will: I had to sell the inn “in person” after running it with my brother for one last month. If I failed to follow those conditions then the inn would be donated to charity and both Brian and I would get nothing.

  Even if I’d been willing to give up my inheritance—I wasn’t a millionaire or anything but my real estate business was booming—I certainly wouldn’t mess things up for my brother, and my grandma would’ve known that. She obviously had some kind of plan up her sleeve, by forcing my return. Not fair, Grandma. Not fair.

  She should’ve just left the inn to Brian, since he was the one who’d stayed with her after I left nine years ago. Last night, I’d talked on the phone with my brother, whose voice sounded hoarse with grief. He’d also sounded upset about our grandma’s decision but mostly the explanation she’d left for him in a letter: she wanted us to sell the inn because I’d have no interest in running it (true enough), and while Brian would, she felt it was time he found his own path (he disagreed). Grandma seemed as pushy from the grave as she had been in life.

  I gripped the steering wheel, and my eyes watered. This was the last time my grandma would be bossing us around. She’d believed in hard work and doing your chores, and hadn’t been an emotional person in the slightest. But I’d always known she loved us, even if she hadn’t shown it in an outwardly way. It was hard to believe I’d never see her again.

  As I continued down the highway toward the inn and my brother, hot tears slipped down my cheeks and I swiped them away. To help clear my emotions, I cracke
d the window of my white Mercedes SUV and breathed in the salty sea air—a hint of blooming flowers wafting in as well.

  Along with the familiar scent, painful memories from my past overtook me and I shuddered. I’d been enjoying the city life in Sacramento, purposely not looking back to my time in Blue Moon Bay. Grandma hadn’t wanted a memorial service and she’d known I never wanted to come back here again. But she’d mandated that I sell the inn “in person” anyway. Stubborn woman.

  My lips twitched as I imagined the crinkle that would be between my grandma’s brows and the stern look she’d be giving me if she were here right now. She’d tell me to stop complaining and do what must be done. End of story. Then I’d do what I wanted, anyway. Like grandma, like granddaughter. I’d apparently inherited her “stubborn” gene. Wow, I really missed her.

  I cruised down the gray ribbon of highway by the coastline, and spotted the cheery sign welcoming me to Blue Moon Bay. My throat tightened. Nine years. Had it really been that long? I was barely eighteen when I’d left to start a new life in Sacramento, working as a receptionist in a real estate office to support myself through college. I’d worked hard, too, just like my grandma had taught me, and moved my way up the real estate ladder in record time.

  Pushing everything else aside, I’d focused on work and it had paid off big time.

  Now, at twenty-seven, I was known by everyone in Sacramento as Wendy Watts, the Queen of Realtors. I had a great income and my Realtor photo was plastered on billboards across the city. In the photo, I’d pasted on a smile and worked to communicate confidence and intelligence in my emerald green eyes . . . a confidence I didn’t always feel. But I needed people to know I was serious about getting them the home of their dreams, which I did—time after time. And I would continue to do so.

  Just as soon as I got back from Blue Moon Bay, anyway. . .

  The inn was on the southernmost tip of the bay, so I would have to cross through the entire town to get there. I wasn’t sure I was ready to drive through my past just yet, but that’s where the road was taking me. I drove around a bend and the scattering of trees broke apart, revealing dazzling blue waves rolling onto a sandy shore that stretched away from tufts of grass and waving wildflowers whose colorful faces turned up toward the sun.

  Seeing the ocean took my breath away and little spangles of sunlight bounced off the water in coin-shaped flashes of gold. The sand glimmered from the shore. I knew from experience that sand would be chilly and crumbly under my bare feet.

  As I approached the northern edge of town the white lighthouse came into view, jetting up against the hazy blue sky, black granite rocks strewn around its large base.

  A smile played on my lips as I remembered my first kiss right there at the lighthouse one cool summer evening in seventh grade. Benny Lee, a local boy who I’d liked for all of a week. I wondered how life had turned out for him. He was all freckly and big toothed back then, but he’d shared his bag of homemade popcorn with me before he’d made his move. I smiled as that kiss flashed through my head—he’d pressed his mouth against mine and made an adult moaning noise that had me fighting to hold in laughter.

  I’d been the first of my group to be kissed by a boy and my best friends had giggled profusely as I gave them every last detail. Where were Olivia, Megan, and Charlie now? I had no idea. I’d lost touch with everyone except my brother and my grandma.

  With a sigh, I tore my eyes away from the lighthouse as my car entered the beginning of town, heading toward the inn and my brother. I passed Over the Moon, the ancient local diner—that building was still standing?—and a rush of images flooded my brain, breaking through the wall I’d spent my life building.

  My stomach roiled and my hands went a little shaky at the sight of the diner, so I pulled over to the side of the road, staring back at the diner’s peeling paint. I’d eaten my last breakfast with my parents right there at that diner before they’d left—for good. I was eight years old and Brian was ten.

  Brian and I had been excited about eating out . . . until Mom and Dad sprang their decision on us. They were leaving and we were to stay with Grandma.

  When Brian and I had been growing up, my parents were always nomadic. No place could hold their interest long. They would go wherever the wind blew them . . . Guatemala, Peru, and we’d even lived in a hut in Bolivia for a year. We moved around a lot but when Brian and I became school-aged—my parents had home-schooled us—we’d started complaining about having to leave our friends. So my parents moved to Blue Moon Bay in order to “settle down for the kids,” living with my dad’s mom at the inn.

  For a few months our lives seemed perfect. Brian and I enrolled in the public elementary school, made friends we knew we could keep, and played on the beach at the inn until dusk every day. Then my parents made the decision to move on and leave us behind, crushing our brief sense of stability.

  Sitting here now, I could still recall how my heart had broken in two by my parents’ news. I’d loved them dearly and I was devastated—utterly destroyed—that they were abandoning us. I crumpled, tears flowing, and begged them not to leave. But Mom and Dad didn’t comfort me. They just tried to assure me that we’d be happier living a stable life with Grandma.

  Since my brother and I had always been close, I turned to him for comfort, trying to wiggle under his arm. But he kept a distance from me from that moment on. When Mom and Dad started talking about where they were going next, he’d whispered to me, “People can’t count on anyone but themselves. You should learn that now.”

  Those were the words I’d tried to live by.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed that awful morning out of my mind and merged back onto the highway as my thoughts returned to my grandma. After our parents left, she’d become my role model. Brian and I pretty much gave each other the same standoff-ish tough love that she gave us.

  I pulled into town. Houses lined either side of the highway. Many were vacation homes, places where people came and stayed for the season before heading back to their regular lives. I once dreamed of owning one of those homes, coming back summer after summer with my own children, but now? Viewing the houses as a Realtor, I saw them for their coastal value only. Cha-ching.

  On the ocean side, most houses were two-story and sometimes three-story affairs with large porches and sweeping balconies. Every window brought a view of the water or the lighthouse or the small fingers of land that jutted out into the ocean on the north and the south, making the semi-circular shape of Blue Moon Bay (population 20,000). The views alone were worth plenty of cash in California’s hot real estate market.

  I stopped at a red light downtown, admiring the familiar little streets that trailed off the highway, fancifully paved in cobblestones. Much about Blue Moon Bay remained the same: the familiar seafood restaurants, pretty architecture, and usual coastal decorations. I always loved the mix of colors—blues, greens, yellows, and more—throughout the town, all of them bright and cheery and very Spanish Colonial.

  The light turned green and I passed paved streets now, leading to more businesses and the schools. Then the highway took a sharp turn before rolling out on that southernmost finger of land. I had deliberately not looked that way on the drive. The inn sat out there on the bluff, overlooking the ocean and as I turned south, I couldn’t avoid seeing it any longer.

  The Inn at Blue Moon Bay.

  My heart skipped a beat and conflicting feelings washed over me as I stared at the impressive building of this quaint coastal inn, its white exterior tinted the colors of the setting sun and the refracted colors of the ocean. The best and worst times of my life had been here.

  I zoomed through the gates—which had never once been closed in all the time I’d lived there—and down the swooping cobblestone drive toward the grand circular entrance. I parked next to several other luxury cars and turned off the motor.

  Looking at the inn, it appeared as if nothing had changed—like Grandma would be on the other side of those doors, sweeping the lobby, o
r bringing out freshly baked cookies for the guests. But she’d never do those things again.

  The back of my eyes burned. Feeling like I was eight years old again, I wanted to cling to my brother for comfort. He’d sounded gruff on the phone, though. Maybe he blamed me as much as Grandma that we had to sell the inn. If so, this was going to be a very awkward month.

  Either way, I was back.

  I stepped out of the SUV and the cool ocean breeze swished through my clothes, whipping my hair back away from my face. I needed to go inside my former home and face my brother. Not easy, given that our grandma had died and left me in charge of selling the inn even though I was the one who had left nine years ago. Yeah, this wouldn’t be too uncomfortable or anything.

  Taking a deep breath, I strode through the front doors and stopped short when I spotted my brother standing behind the welcome desk. He wore a brown short-sleeved button-up shirt that matched his dark hair, which fell across his forehead into his emerald green eyes. I fought the instinctive urge to tell him to get a haircut. But that was my brother. His hair always looked messy, like he’d just gone for a run on the beach. Maybe he had.

  Obviously he was deep in thought about something since he didn’t seem to notice I’d come in. He wiped at the dark wood, a thoughtful frown on his handsome face, making me wonder if he was thinking about Grandma. A box sat next to him, filled with official-looking papers. Perhaps something to do with the estate?