Page 2 of Starting Over with Her Billionaire Boss

Kinsley wrapped her arms around herself, letting out a long breath. Being back in the house was like stepping into a memory, one that filled her with warmth, as well as an aching sense of loss. She had wanted so badly to make a new life for herself, to breathe a new purpose into this house by transforming it into a quaint bed-and-breakfast. But now, standing in this room rich with family history, surrounded by memories at every turn, she paused.

The laughter and chatter that once filled these walls was now replaced by a heavy silence, each echo a reminder of what was lost. Light from a front window echoed off the dust floating around the room.

“I’m going to make you proud, Granny,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. She said the words even though she couldn’t bring herself to believe them. Perhaps this was what manifesting was. “This place will be something special. Just like you always said it was.”

The ticking of an old clock demanded her attention, like a child tugging on their mother’s dress. Just as the hands behind the antique glass kept moving with the reliable push of old gears, Kinsley knew she had to keep moving forward. Fingers nervously fiddling with the fabric of her shirt, shetook a few steps toward the clock—her eyes catching something underneath.

It was a small figurine of a ballerina. Granny had bought it many years ago while traveling in Russia. Throughout her childhood, Kinsley had idolized that little ballerina statue, had even taken a few years of ballet because of it. Her fingers grazed the delicate figurine and came away with dust. To be fair, the whole place would need a good cleaning, though it could wait for another day.

Despite losing one family member after the next since she was a child, Granny’s passing was possibly the hardest one. A constant cycle of funerals and wakes had brought Kinsley to discover the perfect waterproof mascara; it had been recommended by Granny herself.

As she walked into the family room, her eyes locked onto the treadmill where Granny would walk as she yelled out answers to game shows. In their last phone call, just a week before her passing, Granny had shared stories of her recent skiing trip. She had always been active; it made it all the more difficult for Kinsley to grasp how a woman in such good health could be so quickly taken. Kinsley could never have imagined that a few days later, Granny would be found in her bed.

When she’d received that call, her hands had trembled, barely holding onto her glass of water. The world seemed to stop completely. The executor of the estate had tried to cheer her up by saying that Kinsley would inherit the beautiful house that had been in her family for over a century and a half, plus all of Granny’s money and belongings. Though she knew the executor had only good intentions, Kinsley couldn’t feel that same excitement or eagerness within her bones.

She tried. After all, it was hers now. It could be a chance to start over—a chance to escape her past and create a living tribute to her family. She could turn this house into a place where morefamilies could create happy, lifelong memories, just like Kinsley had.

Though it had taken the last few months to get everything sorted out between the inheritance, her old apartment, and her dead-end job, being here now, in her “new” home, wasn’t going as she’d planned.What was I expecting?Kinsley didn’t know. But this emptiness wasn’t it.

She spent the next few hours unloading her car, tidying the house, cleaning the fridge, and other trivial tasks to keep her mind off of it. Kinsley sighed as she picked up the mail scattered on the floor in front of the mail slot. Seeing her grandmother’s name on each one sent shivers down her spine. She flipped through the heaping pile, tossing the junk mail, opening the few that seemed necessary to know. One was asking for donations to the animal shelter, another was a credit card pre-approval, and one looked to be a fairly detailed letter offering to buy the home at a newly increased price.

She stopped reading it after a line that specified they would love to discuss the value of her home one more time.Over my dead body.

Gripping it tightly in her palm, she tossed it in the trash can next to the rubbish from her drive in.

A low growl from her stomach brought her tidying to a halt. Slipping on her shoes, she decided it was time to venture out and find something to eat. Pulling up to Granny's favorite restaurant, a pang of nostalgia twisted into sorrow as Kinsley found the windows boarded up, the cheerful awning removed. The place that had once overflowed with laughter was silent, a relic of happier times. As she drove off, she saw that a few other buildings were similarly shuttered along the sparsely populated road. It was an unfortunate sight, especially for such a quaint New England town.

Kinsley made a turn down one of the main roads near the sea. As the traffic grew thicker, she spotted a diner called The Wet Crab by the shore. Though less than ten minutes from home, this wasn’t a place she had come with Granny. It didn’t surprise her, though; Granny hadn’t been big into seafood.

From the outside, The Wet Crab looked small: it had an outdoor patio in the front that extended to a large deck in the back near the water. The outdoor area must have been twice the size of the diner itself. Though it appeared the seagulls were out enjoying it this afternoon. Above the entrance was a wooden sign with the restaurant’s name. It swayed slightly in the breeze, its paint faded and chipped.

Stepping inside, the briny scent of the ocean mingled with frying batter, enveloping her senses. Lively chatter and clinking silverware filled the cozy space, a stark contrast to the silence that had been keeping her company.

At a table near the back, an older couple shared a platter of oysters, their laughter muffled, yet sincere. At a corner table sat a group of fishermen, raincoats draped over their chairs, talking over steaming bowls of chowder. A handwritten chalkboard at the hostess station boasted today's specials in wobbly letters: clam chowder, fried cod, and homemade apple pie. This was clearly a place where people knew each other’s names, where the food was familiar and the atmosphere stayed the same, no matter how many tourists passed it by.

The diner's warmth and chatter felt almost jarring after the hollow quiet of the old house. Kinsley felt out of place in her long sleeves; the other patrons were already in full summer wear. Seeing their raincoats and umbrellas as they prepared for the approaching rain showers, Kinsley realized she had forgotten to bring one of Granny’s umbrellas that sat by the door.Now I understand.

The young hostess noticed her across the room and approached with a smile. “Just one today?”

“Yes, please.” Kinsley adjusted the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, her fingers fidgeting with the frayed edge as she surveyed the unfamiliar faces. Being in a new place was a fresh, but stressful, experience. Going into a new town knowing almost nobody meant there were endless possibilities for both success and failure. Although she’d visited Granny often, they’d mainly stuck to her house and trips to the shore, with little happening in between.

“We’re a little short-staffed right now since it isn’t our peak hours. Would you mind if I sat you at the bar? You’ll likely get faster service there than at a table.” The petite blonde smiled as she grabbed a menu.

“That would be fine.”A drink could be nice, too.

Vintage fishing gear was fastened to the walls, a few lures dangling high above the bar in between pendant lights made from old buoys. There were a few framed newspaper articles, with the occasional autographed portrait. The hostess placed some silverware and a lunch menu on the bar and assured her someone would be with her shortly. Kinsley sat on the worn bar stool and grabbed the menu. Flipping over the limited lunch offerings, she looked for something, anything, to catch her eye. The strong scent of fish permeated the room, infusing the place with a salty charm.

“You must be new. That menu hasn’t changed in probably over ten years,” a gently musical voice spoke from her right. “I could probably quote it at this point.”

The friendliness of a stranger was a rare comfort—different from what she had been used to. A gentle calm easing her nerves, Kinsley lifted her head up to them. The woman beside her gave a warm smile. A sleek bun held back her dark hair. Her tailoredblazer conveyed a serious attitude, but her kind eyes softened the impression.

“Is it that obvious that I’m new here?” Kinsley felt herself flush.

“I thought you didn’t look familiar. Not many people stop in here for lunch, so I usually know all the regulars.” The woman chuckled under her breath. “Are you new in town, or just new to the restaurant?”

“Both.”

“Well, I guess I should welcome you to Trueport. My name is Lourdes McEmmitt.” The friendly brunette extended her hand.

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