Page 8 of The Candlemaker

“It doesn’t matter.” I set my coffee on the counter and gripped her shoulders, giving her a little shake to look at me. Watery amber eyes met mine. “I’ll handle it,” I promised her.

Natural comparisons existed between twins, but this was the reason I exaggerated my personality: I didn’t want my sister to fade into the background. Something she would easily and probably happily do if no one stopped her.

My earliest memories were of Lou secluding herself to play alone in our room. Meanwhile, I was the one knocking at the door, asking the proverbial,do you want to build a snowman?Time and trial and error proved that the only thing that brought her out of her shell was her desire to protect me. If I wanted to be loud, she’d speak up to temper me. If I wanted to do something reckless, she’d come along to try and stop me.

So, my extroverted nature became outspoken and eccentric because it was the only way to engage her. Because my sister was too good of a person for the world to not know her.

“Not this time. Adele said the buyer—Mr. Fairfax—is some big time developer from the city…”Lou shook her head and then shook off my hold, quickly wiping all traces of tears away.

“Even city-dwellers know what ghosts are, Lou.”

Yes, the old Lamplight Inn was haunted.At least, that was what every local in Friendship would tell any outsider who was asking.

It wasn’t a lie…but neither was it the whole truth.

“I’ll look into it.” I kept my voice calm, knowing if overthinking were an Olympic sport, Lou would take the gold.

“Frankie, he won’t care?—”

“You don’t know what he will care about,” I interrupted, shooting her a hard stare. “So let me do what I do best.”

“Meddle?” she grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Yup.” I swiped my coffee from the counter and took a drink.

The town of Friendship was family. They’d known my mother, Ailene, my grandmother, Gigi, and my uncle, George, since they’d moved here. Supported Mom when she opened Stonebar Farms as a single mom of two teen boys and infant twins. They’d watched us grow, and we grew with them.

And there was not a single person in town who wanted the old inn—an iconic staple on Maine Street—to be sold to anyone other than my sister.

Which is why they would swear until the cows came home that the inn was haunted. And it was.

By me.

“Crap, he’s here.” Lou straightened her spine and rolled her shoulders back. “Do I look okay? Ugh, I’m?—”

“You look perfect,” I said and picked up my coffee. “I know your mind has a million things weighing on it, but maybe an afternoon stroll around town with a hot stranger could be a good thing?” My voice lifted, begging her to agree.

“He’s not for me, Frankie.” She was annoyingly certain.

“You gave him one of your favorite muffins?—”

“Because it’s my job,” she insisted with a half-laugh.

Fair.“Well, you only just met him. You should give him a chance because you can’t know?—”

“If I can’t know, then why can’t he be for you?”

“Me?” I rocked back. The notion shouldn’t have the power to make the ground tilt under my feet, but it did. The idea that his stare made me hot and achy was for a reason. That his smile and those firm lips were meant to be mine—no. Absolutely not. Mr. Workahottie wasn’t for me.“No, he’s way too gorgeous and clearly too much of a good guy,” I said cheekily, trying to bring a smile to her face before she walked out of here. “Obviously, whoever is meant for me is going to be one-thousand-percent bad to the bone and wrong for me because that’s how I roll.”

Lou sighed and headed for the door, pausing just before she walked out.“So, then his name means nothing?”

I frowned and felt my brow furrow. “What do you mean?”

She blinked, and a dust of color rose in her cheeks. “Frankie…his name is Chandler.”

What was in a name?Nothing. His name meant nothing. It was just a name like any other. No reason to dwell on it. And more reason than ever to not dream of him. Not how soft his hair might feel. Not how his lips might taste. And definitely not how hard his muscles were.

“Oww—” I hissed and doubled over, clutching my knee that I’d just rammed into the corner of my desk.

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