Page 17 of The Candlemaker

In many ways, it had the same B&B atmosphere they were originally looking to create but with more permanent guests.

Like Mom.

I’d called Dianne the day Mom looked me in the eyes, smiled, and called me Geoff. I’d corrected her no less than a dozen times that night over dinner, and each time, she’d remember for a few minutes, and then by the next course, I’d be my father again.

Never.A low noise rumbled from deep in my chest.I’d never become like my father.Never give myself the chance. Marriage. Children. Fatherhood. It was all off the table for me; the only thing I was interested in building was business and a better legacy.

I slowed and turned into the small parking lot for guests, all the spots markedReserved.

From the lot, there was a wide path that led down to the pond, a favorite of Chip’s and many of the other residents here. According to Tom, Mom thought it was okay.Probably because it wasn’t the beach. But Tom would know. He came up here every other weekend to visit her…and then discreetly gave me any updates when I would see him.

He wasn’t judging me. He understood—knewhow hard it was for me to come up here. I had a million work-related excuses at the ready to explain why I put off visiting Mom, and I was happy to fall on the sword of appearing an asshole if it meant avoiding the truth: there wasn’t anything more painful than having the one person I loved see me, talk to me,want me to bethe only person I hated.

And it wasn’t her fucking fault. Wasn’t her fault her brain confused me with Geoff Collins or that my genetics helped the association by giving me his notorious good looks.

I turned into one of the parking spots out front and shut off the engine. Reaching for the keys set on the center console, the candle I’d unceremoniously dropped in the passenger seat caught my eye.

“It’s a limited-edition beach scent.”

Air hissed through my lips as I grabbed the candle and secured the lid. I should smell it first—make sure it was halfway decent before giving it to Mom as a present. But if I did that, I’d lose the scent of her.

Cinnamon. A little bit of sweet, a lot of spice, and wholly intoxicating.

It was honeyed but with a punch—the kind that didn’t hold back when it hit you, didn’t try to bury it under other aromas, but saidyou’re either going to like all of me or you’re not.

It was bold.Unyielding.And if that wasn’t the whole goddamn vibe of Francesca Kinkade, I didn’t know what was.

Hell, it wasn’t just her. “Unyielding” should be their family motto, given the way her sister kept trying to buy my inn.Learning Lou stood for Elouise, not Louis, was a fun lesson to learn yesterday morning. All this time, I’d pictured Louis Kinkade as some heavyset country bumpkin trying to swindle himself a deal.What were the fucking chances the first people I’d met in town were the very family I wanted to avoid?

A piece of frustration broke off deep in my chest and erupted as a groan. At least they were still unaware of who I was.For now.

I shoved myself out of the seat of the car and strode toward the building. Mom would like the candle. Frankie wouldn’t be in business if she didn’t make candles that smelled good.

The pastel blue front door swung open, Edgewood’s longest-serving employee on the other side of it to greet me with a smile.

“Morning, Cathy.”

“Mr. Collins. It’s so good to see you.” She pulled me in for a hug like she always did. I could be a beggar, a billionaire, or the Prince of Sheba, and Cathy would still greet me like family.One of the many reasons I’d pay any price for Mom to stay here—because they treated her like family, too.

“I know it’s been a little bit,” I admitted. No beating around the bush here.

“You’re very busy.” She patted my back gently and gave me a sympathetic look. “And it’s hard.”

My throat tightened. I wasn’t sure hard was the right word to describe how it felt to face a loved one with dementia. I wasn’t sure there was a right word.

“Not an excuse, Cathy.” I was a decisive businessman. It was how I started my business. Ran my business. Made my business what it was. The rest of the industry and the tabloids could call me cold. Ruthless. But all I did was keep my emotions out of my decisions. I saw a situation for what it was—good and bad. And I didn’t spare myself that assessment either.

There were many ways I was a good son, but for this, for avoiding her, I was an ass.

The inside of the old estate was cozy rather than clinical. Sure, there were doctors and nurses on staff, but it never looked like it.

“They finished the screened-in porch since the last time you were here, Mr. Collins.” She pointed as we walked through the main room, the large windows that overlooked the pond on the far side now revealed a closed-in area with large couches and tables where I could see some of the residents playing games.

“Chip loves chess,” I murmured, recalling Dianne telling me about the porch a few years ago as part of her future plans.

“Miss Laura enjoys the porch,” Cathy said over her shoulder.

“What about those rocking chairs out front?”

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