Page 14 of Meet Me at the Grand

“We don’t anymore. That’s the old Sullivan pumpkin farm. Abandoned years ago.”

Shame. Even from up here, it looked like a beautiful property.

A little farther south, they flew over a large section of land partially cleared of trees, with one large building and lots of smaller cabin-looking structures surrounding it. “That looks interesting down there. What is it?”

“The old MacBride adventure camp. An outdoors resort of sorts. It’s defunct now, but back in the day they offered some truly fabulous stuff for the outdoorsy among us. Used to give the Grand Hotel a run for its money—luxury versus adventure. Sad what happened to both of them.”

“And what was that?” He hadn’t been able to find any pictures of the Grand in recent years, save one small article in the local paper from a decade ago with a grainy photo of a gazebo and an article about a “small fire” that had taken out “a portion of rooms” at the Grand.

When he’d agreed to this, he hadn’t known he’d be dealing with a partial reconstruction. Then again, it would allow for a fabulous new wing with luxurious amenities—and that was Liam’s specialty.

Pete fell quiet. “We’re almost there. Make sure you’re buckled for landing.”

Guess he was done talking. “Will do. Thanks, Pete.”

Below, the trees suddenly opened up to reveal a runway that had to be half the size or less than normal, but Pete had no problem bringing it down. The plane clattered to a halt. As far as Liam could see, they were the only people here, though several small aircrafts lined the runway, which lead to a small municipal building that couldn’t have been more than a few thousand square feet. It probably had the world’s smallest waiting room.

When Pete gave the all clear, Liam pulled off his headset and climbed out of the puddle jumper. Ah, steady ground. Despite the sunny sky, wind whipped at Liam’s suit coat, and okay, yeah, maybe Pete had a point about the cold.

Pete wheeled Liam’s carry-on-size suitcase around and handed it off to him. “Guessing you’re staying at the Island House Inn?” He stuck his hands in the pockets of the jacket he’d pulled on over his vest.

“Yeah, how did you know?” Another blast of wind came out of nowhere, and Liam glanced toward the building, which he bet was much warmer than here. But the windows were dark.

“It’s the only place open this time of year.” Pete lifted his hat and scratched his nearly bald head underneath before replacing the cap. “The owner, Caleb, now there’s a nice guy. Loyal and as small-town as it gets. But he’s off island at the moment.”

“Wait. There’s only one hotel for the whole island?” No wonder they needed the Grand rebuilt.

“A few summer-only residents rent their places out to tourists, but we really don’t get many of those anymore in the off season.”

“Ah.”

“All right, well, I’m out of here. The missus has a pot of soup on for dinner. Need a lift to the hotel?”

Liam popped up the handle of his suitcase, turning his back to the wind. “Thank you, but I’ve got one.” Dad had told him Seb would be grabbing him from the airport—though the prospect of biking all the way to downtown sounded downright terrible.

Maybe he should have rethought the suit and loafers after all.

“Looks like they’re coming now.” Pilot Pete pointed toward the main road.

Liam turned to find a brown, double-bench golf cart headed their way. “I thought motorized vehicles weren’t allowed here.” That’s what the internet had said, anyway.

“Just golf carts and snowmobiles, and only in the off season. And of course emergency vehicles. Sometimes construction vehicles, but only for a very limited time and with a permit.”

Liam breathed a sigh of relief over that one. At least the hotel renovation wouldn’t have to revert back to the Dark Ages when they’d had to use pulleys and ramps.

“Otherwise, it’s bikes and buggies for us,” Pete continued. “Though we’ve only got a handful of horses on the island anymore, and they’re up on the Quinn property, so walking and biking are the only real options. Get used to using those things called legs.”

Liam laughed. “Thanks, Pete. I will.” He extended his hand.

Pete took his offering and shook. “Buckle up, Fancy Pants. Looks like Dani’s grabbing you today.” Then, whistling, he walked away toward another cart sitting near the building.

Danny? Maybe Seb had sent the director of tourism in his stead. The guy who, apparently, would be giving Liam a more in-depth tour of the island and hotel, and with whom Liam would be working to get the plans approved by the town council.

Turning, Liam lifted a hand in greeting as the golf cart, which was decked out with winter tires of all things, pulled to a halt beside him. A woman—not a man—climbed from behind the wheel.

A beautiful woman, tall and willowy, despite her white coat, jeans, and brown duck boots. Her long blonde hair hung nearly to her waist, and her big green eyes—framed over high cheekbones, a pert nose, and pretty lips turned downward—studied him. “Are you Mr. Stone?”

“Liam, please. Mr. Stone is my dad.” Liam stepped forward and shook her hand, which was much warmer than his, thanks to her lightweight yellow gloves. “And you are?”

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