Page 17 of Meet Me at the Grand

“My whole life. And I’m never leaving.”

The surety in her voice zinged through Liam and left him feeling hollow. Strange.

A few seconds later, they were turning right onto Blueberry Boulevard and hooking another right onto Main Street, just where it ended at the opening to the park he’d seen during the flyover. It looked much bigger from down here.

Multi-story white-and-gray storefronts with pops of color on their tattered awnings lined either side of the wide road. As they bumped over the cobblestones, still the only golf cart in sight, Liam couldn’t look away from the faded signs in darkened window shops, the sidewalks with weathered benches, the crumbling columns and banisters on the pop-out storefront porches. The street was dotted with old-timey-looking lampposts that boasted tear-drop globes with what appeared to be hand-blown crackled glass. Many of the shops were multi-storied, which would have provided extra apartments for residents—once upon a time.

And Liam could see it, in his mind’s eye…what once was.

A fresh coat of paint, repairs to the cracks, flowers by the benches, and shops reopened—plus the charm it clearly had in spades—and this town could be brought back to life.

Not by him, of course. He was here to draw up sufficient restoration plans for the hotel, and the hotel alone. A hotel that needed the Stone touch. That needed to be grander than grand.

Even so, his fingers itched to sketch out his vision for a restored downtown Jonathon Island.

“Well?” Dani’s voice brought Liam back to himself. “What do you think?”

“It’s like another world.”

Here and there were signs of life. A woman and her little boy stepped out of the tiny market—Doug’s—with a paper sack. The boy flashed a gap-toothed grin at Liam, and Liam waved.

Liam squinted down the side streets as they passed the Tourism Bureau and a coffee shop. “Can you get fudge in there? I heard your island was famous for it.”

“No, they only offer coffee and some pastries. And yeah, we were famous for it, once upon a time. There’s an old fudge shop at the end of Main Street on the right side—we’ll pass it on our way to the hotel. It used to be run by the Hart family, who also had a fishing company down by the marina. Then there was another up just behind that, on Jonathon Boulevard, started by the Kelley family. They own all of the other restaurants in town, and let’s just say thus began the great Fudge Wars of Jonathon Island.”

Liam chuckled. “A real-life feud? Like the Hatfields and McCoys?”

“Kind of. If you take away the guns and killing. But they definitely don’t like each other.”

“Why not?”

“Loaded question. Homer and Melinda Hart came over from the mainland and started their shop in 1951. Their second oldest son William became friends with Barry Kelley in the sixties. Barry even worked in the Harts’ shop for a few summers alongside William. But then, in 1970, when both of the men were in their mid-twenties, Barry Kelley started Kelley’s Classic Fudge, mostly at the behest of his dad and the family patriarch, Casey Kelley. Rumor has it that the fudges tasted very…familiar, if you catch my drift.”

“Yikes.” So much drama in one little town. “Do you think Barry stole the recipe?”

Dani shrugged. “No idea. I personally think the whole feud is based on the fact the Harts felt like the Kelleys already had a corner on the food market and didn’t need to encroach on the thing they’d been doing for nearly twenty years at that point.”

“I guess I can understand that. Though as a businessperson, I also understand how a little competition can be a good thing.” Liam studied the buildings as they passed more. “Now, though, it doesn’t look like a lot of restaurants are open. Are the Kelleys still around?”

“Oh yes, and all three open restaurants belong to them. Kelley’s Bar & Grill, Good Day Coffee, both of which we just passed, and Martha’s on Main. It’s coming up here on the left.” She pointed at the second-to-last building on the southern side of the road. Bikes lined the front of the white building with clapboard siding. Black stately awnings stretched over the black front door and panel of large windows flanking the front. White scripted font on the main window boldly declared the diner’s name, as did a round sign extended high over the door from a white, wooden post. People stood just outside the door in their jackets, leaning against the building and chatting as if they were waiting for a table.

“Looks busy.”

“Try her chicken salad and you’ll see why. It’s island famous.”

“I’ll do that. Maybe we can grab a bite after you show me the hotel.” Speaking of, they must be getting close.

She glanced over at him, her lips pursed. “Maybe. But I’ve got a lot of work to do after our meeting.”

They rounded the corner, and Liam got his first glimpse of the most beautiful—and maybe the most tragic—thing he’d ever seen.

His jaw dropped. “Is that…?”

“Yeah.” Dani parked the golf cart and sat there a moment before exhaling a deep breath. “Welcome to the Grand Sullivan Hotel.”

“This isn’t a hotel.” He climbed from the golf cart and stared at the pile of debris and charred wood in front of him. He knew this place had been a lovely four-story resort at one time, set on three acres with a fabulous view of the lake plus its very own golf course. He knew that, and yet, that knowledge did not compute with what he was seeing. “This is an ash heap. A scar.”

And there was no way this project was going to take three months. Try three years.

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