Page 20 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

I lean back in my chair, trying to process this. “Ryan sent you to check up on us,” I say, my voice slow and measured. “That’s… a lot to take in.”

“I know,” Miles says softly. “And I should have told you sooner. But I didn’t want it to mess things up between us.”

I stare at him, my mind racing. This changes things, complicates things. But as I sit there, holding his gaze, I realize something. I’m not angry. I’m not even that surprised. Ryan has always had a way of pulling strings from afar, of keeping an eye on things without getting directly involved.

And Miles… he didn’t have to tell me this. But he did.

“I’m not mad,” I say after a long pause. “Just… surprised. But I appreciate you being honest with me.”

He exhales, relief flooding his face. “Thank you. I didn’t want to keep it from you.”

I smile, reaching across the table to take his hand again. “Well, now that all the cards are on the table, let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”

He smiles back, squeezing my hand. “Sounds like a plan.”

We finish dinner, the conversation flowing easily again, the weight of our earlier revelations lifting. As the night stretches on, I find myself more drawn to him, more intrigued by the layers of the man sitting across from me. There’s so much more to Miles Dawson than I first realized.

And I can’t wait to uncover it all.

Chapter 9

Miles

Iwake up the next day with the sun already high in the sky and the sound of seagulls screeching outside my hotel window. After last night, it feels like I’ve had maybe five minutes of sleep, even though the clock insists otherwise.

The image of Emma—her flushed cheeks and the way she looked at me after dinner—is still fresh in my mind. We didn’t go for another round, though the temptation had been strong.

Instead, we stayed up late, talking and getting to know each other better. By the time I left, we were both worn out—not just from the sex, but from the emotional weight of everything that had come out.

Then there’s Candace Prescott. I’ve dealt with her before in the world of wine—she’s smart, ruthless, and knows how to play the game better than anyone else. If she’s here, trying to make waves in Pelican Point, it’s not good news for Brennen or anyone else trying to keep their business afloat.

Sapphire Development doesn’t just acquire properties; they take over entire towns, changing their dynamics completely. Whatever she’s planning, it can’t be good.

I pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, deciding it’s time to do a little more digging. I still have to check in with Brennenlater to see if he’s thought about letting me taste that special reserve batch, but first, I want to see what else I can learn about Candace’s presence in town. After all, she doesn’t just show up somewhere without a plan, and right now, I need to figure out what that plan is.

I step outside, the Florida sun hitting me like a sledgehammer. It’s bright, hot, and humid—nothing like the cool mornings in Tuscany where I’d been just days before. As I make my way down the main street of Pelican Point, I notice a familiar figure walking ahead, stopping to talk to various shop owners along the way. It’s Candace.

She’s dressed sharply as usual, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, and she’s got that same confident stride I’ve always known her for. But there’s something more calculating in the way she moves today—like she’s a hunter, and the town is her prey.

I keep my distance, but move close enough to overhear snippets of her conversations with the shop owners.

“...just think about it. I can give you a great deal on the lease, or we can discuss a full buyout. Tourism is down across the board. I know it’s tough, but this could be your way out.”

It’s clear what she’s doing. She’s targeting small businesses, preying on their vulnerability. With tourism drying up after the scandal at Celtic Knot, these owners are probably barely hanging on. Candace knows it, and she’s offering them a lifeline—but it comes with strings. Selling to her would mean they lose control of their businesses, their properties, and their future.

I watch as she moves from shop to shop, her tone sweet but her intentions clear. When she finishes her last conversation andheads toward her sleek black car, I hang back, waiting for the right moment to make my move.

A few hours later, I head to Jumpin' Jacks for dinner. The place is busy as usual, with locals unwinding after a long day and tourists trickling in despite the downturn in business. I slide into a booth near the back, ordering a beer and a burger, while I keep my ears open.

It doesn’t take long to catch the conversations I hope to hear. A group of older men sitting at the bar are deep in discussion, their voices low but serious.

“You hear what that lady, Candace Prescott, has been up to?” one of them says, his voice gruff.

“Yeah, offering to buy out all the small shops. Says she’ll pay more than what they’re worth, but we all know what happens after she gets her hands on ’em,” another replies, shaking his head.

“Damn shame,” the first man says, taking a swig of his beer. “But with tourism down, thanks to Celtic Knot’s mess, I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. Maybe it’s time to get out while we still can.”

I clench my jaw, listening to their words. This is exactly what Candace wants—she’s counting on these business owners feeling desperate enough to sell. She’s using the downturn in tourism to her advantage, slowly picking them off one by one.

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