Page 6 of Starlight Bay

“Well, here we are.” I pointed to the Property office.

“Thanks so much, I appreciate your help.” She beamed at me and I swear I felt a ray of sunshine hit my chest, a warm flush rising and heating my face.

“No problem, my pleasure. And if you need any help while you’re in town, with the house—or anything else, really—” I pulled out my card and handed it to her. “Give me a call.”

She glanced at the card, reading it. “You’re a contractor? I might just be calling you, Jackson Montgomery.”

I smiled, my heart beating double-time in my chest as my name rolled off her full lips, a sweet, melodious sound.

“I’m around.” I waved and left the Property Office before I broke my resolution—and lost the bet with my brother—right there on the spot.

Harper Fitzpatrick was a damn cute ray of sunshine, the polar opposite of the ice queen who’d gutted me, but that didn’t mean I should get involved. This was the Year of Me and the last thing I needed was a romantic fling with a city girl.

CHAPTER 4

HARPER

Well, Jackson Montgomery was a tall drink of water and a great way to start off the new year. Warm brown eyes, a brilliant smile, broad, strong shoulders. When our fingers touched, electricity pulsed through me and my heart about thudded out of my chest. Coming to Starlight Bay didn’t seem so bad right about now.

True, the last thing on my mind should be dating. I’d been unapologetically dumped less than a week ago and had no plans to stay in Starlight Bay beyond a few weeks. But Jackson definitely piqued my interest. He’d been so friendly and genuine; pretty much the exact opposite of that asshole Clark. I’d fallen for his false charm and bravado and now I was out of a job.

At least Aunt Gertrude’s house would keep me busy and hopefully give me a nice side hustle until I could find employment. I was eager to see Bramblehill House.

I drove slowly through an established neighborhood, all the streets named after various flowers and trees. Finally, I came to Aster Lane and turned, slowing as I passed by Cape Cod-style homes in various shades of gray, blue, and brown. Most hadshaker shingles, dormer windows, and brightly colored front doors. I checked the house numbers, my heart buoyed by the condition of the homes on the street.

And then I saw it, way down at the end. A two-story dark gray house, with turrets and a wide-front porch. It was the only house on the block that stood out—and not in a good way.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of my growling stomach—I hadn’t eaten anything since my iced latte and PowerBar back in the city—I knew, deep-down, that the ramshackle building was Bramblehill House. I mean, itlookedlike it should be called Bramblehill House, with snarled tangles of trees hanging down around all the windows and bare limbs tapping against the roofline.

Crap. What have I gotten myself into?A flash of panic raced through me.Would I be able to stay here tonight? Did this place even have electricity?The house was straight out of a horror film.

With shaking hands, I parked the car in the cracking driveway and gingerly made my way up the rickety wooden steps. I fished the key out of the envelope and slid it into the brass knob, turning until the lock clicked. I pushed open the heavy black door, staring into darkness. Nothing jumped out at me except a slight mildew smell mixed with a talcum powder and rose scent. Not great, but I’d smelled worse.

I walked in, fumbling along the wall for a light switch. Much to my surprise, I flicked it up and lights actually turned on, although they were very dim and bathed the room in a strange, hazy yellow glow. Directly in front of me was a wooden staircase with delicate hand-carved spindles and a deep maroon runner covering the stairs. I inched up the stairs, gripping the rail, each step creaking and moaning beneath my feet. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure this house would pass a safety inspection at themoment, and it definitely needed work if I was going to rent it out.

At the top of the landing was a narrow hallway with several closed doors. I opened each of them in turn, peering into the rooms one by one. Every bedroom had a distinct color scheme: there was a blue room, a yellow room, and a green room. They were all about the same size, with dark wood floors and small closets. There was also a small hall bath, with a “modern” shower/tub combo, most likely updated last in the 1980’s. At the end of the hall was a slightly larger bedroom I took to be Aunt Gertrude’s. Her room was done up in pinks and reds, matching the maroon stair runner, with striped wallpaper. She’d been lucky enough to have an en suite bathroom, complete with what looked to be an original clawfoot tub. The toilet wore a fluffy white cover, just in case anyone wondered how old Aunt Gertrude had been.

I blew out my breath, which I’d been holding. Reaching out, I turned on the cross-handle brass taps and water streamed out, rusty at first, but eventually running clear. I also flushed the fluffy toilet and that worked, too. At least the house seemed habitable.

I made my way back downstairs and found the formal dining room, with detailed crown molding and white wainscoting halfway up the wall. An oversized chandelier dripping with crystals hung over the long table that could easily seat twelve. Just off the dining room was the kitchen, which faced the backyard. In contrast to the dark dining room, the kitchen was actually bright and airy. The cabinets were dark and ornate, but I could see refinishing them and throwing in a backsplash over the gas stove. There was a white apron sink and a white refrigerator. I opened it and immediately regretted that decision as the smell of mold and sour milk hit my nostrils.

“Ugh.” I slammed the door shut, rattling the glass contents on the door. The fridge would definitely be one of the first things to go. I couldn’t imagine putting anything in there at the moment.

Sorely in need of fresh air, I yanked on the door leading to the backyard. It creaked and moaned in protest, but I managed to pry it open. I walked out onto a small wooden deck, noting several of the boards had rotted out. I carefully made my way across, dodging the visible holes, and walked down the three steps into the garden. The yard was surrounded by huge trees, offering lots of privacy and solitude. A raised bed for a garden in the spring and summer months and a stone birdbath sat on the far edge of the lawn.

“Meow.” I jumped, startled to see a gray cat winding its way between my boots, rubbing up against my legs.

“Hey, kitty, you scared me,” I said, bending down to stroke its soft ears. The cat purred beneath my hand and I wondered if this was one of Aunt Gertrude’s cats. He looked a little gaunt and I made a mental note to buy some cat food at the store.

“I guess I better check to make sure the heater works,” I said to the cat.Oh geez, I was really losing it. I was talking to a cat.

The cat peered up at me with big, yellow eyes, then licked his paw, unimpressed with my situation.

“Okay, then,” I said, walking back to the kitchen. The cat followed me up the steps, then jumped on the rail, balancing as he walked to the door.

“I don’t think so, kitty. Stay outside for now. I’m not sure renters would love a cat in the kitchen,” I explained to him.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, giving me a look of disdain.

---