Chapter 2 Town Eyes

Lina Pov

The sound of dripping water woke me before sunrise.

I lay on Grandma’s old sofa in the parlor, wrapped in a wool quilt that smelled of cedar shavings. By six in the morning, the gray light had crept across the floor, showing off every layer of dust and every crack in the molding.

Panic was a familiar guest from my old life. In the city, whenever a five-hundred-person gala went off the rails, panic would try to take the wheel. I had learned back then that the only way to stop your chest from tightening is to pick one small thing and finish it.

I walked into the kitchen, rolled up the sleeves of my gray sweatshirt, and tackled the coffee counter.

I found a can of scouring powder under the sink, an old yellow sponge, and clean rags. I scrubbed the white laminate until the coffee rings faded. I polished the glass pot, wiped down the chrome toaster, and arranged four clean ceramic mugs in a neat, even line. When I brewed a fresh pot, the sharp, dark aroma finally chased away the smell of damp plaster. It was only three square feet of clean counter space, but it was mine, and it was under control.

I poured a mug, stepped out onto the porch, and headed down the hill toward town.

Seabreeze Bay woke up slowly. Gulls wheeled over the harbor, their sharp cries mixing with the low rumble of fishing boats easing away from the docks. The main street was lined with narrow, weathered brick storefronts, flower boxes full of purple pansies, and wooden signboards creaking in the salt breeze.

A colorful community board stood beside the post office. I paused, taking in the layers of pinned paper. There was a flyer for the Summer Seabreeze Festival, an announcement for the annual Best Porch Contest, and a sign-up sheet for the weekend farmers market. This town had an entire rhythm that ran on tradition and neighborly competition. If I wanted the inn to survive, I had to fit right back into that rhythm.

A familiar bell chimed overhead as I pushed open the door to Park & Page, the little café and used bookstore on the corner.

"If that isn't Lina Hart looking like she just lost a wrestling match with an antique rug," a voice called out from behind the espresso machine.

June Park came around the counter before I could even set my empty mug down. She threw her arms around my neck, smelling of cinnamon, roasted beans, and old paper. Her dark hair was tied in a messy knot with a pencil shoved through it, and her brown eyes were wide and sharp.

"Look at you," June said, pulling back to look me over. "City life made your posture too straight. We're going to fix that. Sit."

She pushed me into a small wicker chair by the sunny front window and disappeared. Two minutes later, she returned with a plate holding a warm blackberry scone and a steaming ceramic mug.

"Eat first, confess later," June ordered, sitting across from me.

I took a bite of the scone. The crust was crisp, the fruit tart and sweet, and I felt my shoulders drop two inches. "The inn is a wreck, June."

"We all know the roof has seen better days," June said gently. "Mara’s been quiet about it, but the town talks."

"It's not just the roof," I said, leaning in so the two elderly men browsing the mystery section wouldn't hear. "The town slapped an orange notice on the door. Taxes, code violations, sixty days to clear it all. Grandma owed thousands, and if I can't pass inspection and reopen before the summer rush, they take the place."

June stopped drumming her fingers on the table. Her playful expression vanished, replaced by the fierce loyalty that had kept us friends since middle school. "Sixty days? That's brutal, Lina. You can't hire a city crew for that. You need someone local who knows coastal timber."

"Do you know someone?"

Before June could answer, the shadow of a tall figure fell across our table.

"Good morning, ladies," a smooth, cultured voice said.

I looked up. The man standing beside us was dressed in an immaculate sand-colored linen jacket and dark trousers. He had thick, styled brown hair, warm hazel eyes, and a relaxed smile that felt entirely practiced.

"Elliot," June said, her voice dropping into a cool, flat tone.

"June, lovely as always," he said pleasantly. Then he turned his full attention to me, his smile widening with easy warmth. "And you must be Lina. Welcome home. I was so sorry to hear about your grandmother. Clara was the heart of this bay."

"Thank you, Mr. Crane," I said, sitting up straighter.

"Please, call me Elliot," he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down without being invited. He rested his hands lightly on the table. "I actually heard your cab pull up yesterday. Word moves fast on the bluff. I wanted to check in on you. Clara's passing left a lot of loose ends, and that old inn... well, it’s a heavy weight for someone to carry alone."

"I can handle it," I said evenly.

"Of course you can try," Elliot said, his tone full of comforting sympathy. "Nobody doubts your work ethic, Lina. But the reality is, the estate has accumulated quite a bit of debt. The repairs alone are staggering. The foundation, the plumbing... it would break anyone's spirit."

He reached into his jacket pocket, took out a heavy silver card case, and set an embossed card beside my plate.

"My investment group is preparing a coastal preservation project," Elliot continued, speaking in that quiet, reasonable way that makes saying no feel almost foolish. "We could purchase the property as-is, take all the debt off your hands this afternoon, and give you a clean slate. You wouldn't have to spend your summer fighting broken pipes. You could return to the city with a very comfortable nest egg."

The offer was polished, polite, and wrapped in complete concern. But under the calm surface, I felt the unmistakable tug of a net closing in.

"The inn isn't for sale," I said, keeping my voice steady. "My grandmother left it to me to run, not to sell off."

Elliot didn't flinch. His smile remained completely intact. He stood up slowly, smoothing the front of his jacket.

"I respect family loyalty, Lina, truly," he said softly. "Just keep the card. Sixty days go by very fast around here. If the weight gets too heavy, you don't have to sink with it."

He gave us a courteous nod and walked out of the shop, the brass bell ringing softly behind him.

I looked through the café window. Across the street, the grocer and a woman walking two golden retrievers were looking over toward the café, watching Elliot leave, then glancing straight at me.

Everyone in Seabreeze Bay was watching to see what Clara Hart’s granddaughter was going to do.

"You're not calling him," June said firmly, breaking the silence.

"Not a chance," I said, sliding his card across the table without looking at it. "Now tell me who I need to hire before the clock runs out."

June leaned in close. "You need Rowan Vale. But good luck getting him to say yes."