Page 19 of The Candlemaker

“I brought you a present,” I offered—a plea to return to the gift and the present moment. That was the only place I could visit with her now.

“Oh, a candle.” She clasped her hands and came back to the couch. “I do love a good candle.”

I fished a lighter from my pocket, popped off the lid, and carefully lit the wick. “It’s a beach scent.” I extended the jar for her to smell, the first hints of salt and sea grass hitting my nostrils.

Her smile didn’t waver as she leaned forward, her serene expression telling me she was still adrift between the past and present. And then she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Oh my.” Her eyes fluttered back open, her head tipping to one side.

Shit.

I wasn’t thinking. Was this a bad idea? Had I just made it worse?

“This smells wonderful, Chandler.” Her voice sounded stronger. Like instead of floating, it was tethered to solid ground.

“Mom?” My voice cracked. She was calling me Chandler again.

“This was such a thoughtful gift. You know how much I love the ocean.”

It was the first thing I’d thought earlier when Lou had led the way onto the beach—a beach that looked vaguely familiar to me. How many vacations had we spent on the coast of Maine? Mom loved the shore, but not the tropical, suffocating sunshine shore; she loved the rocky coastline and rough waves. Her favorite thing to do was get ice cream after dinner and find some rocky perch or another to sit on and eat it while we watched the rumbling tide.

I gritted my teeth, emotion threatening to split my chest and flay open my skin. “I do.”

She didn’t like the beach at its best; she loved the ocean at its most honest. Sometimes calm. Many times stormy. But beautiful all the same.

“Remember that one time Tom and I took you to the beach in Friendship? You could’ve only been maybe five.”

My jaw went slack. “In Friendship?”

She nodded and took another deep breath close to the candle. “We walked along the beach and collected seashells.”

I stilled, vaguely recalling the memory.

“There’s a lighthouse there, and you wanted to go all the way over to explore…”

“But it’s impossible,” I murmured, recalling the exact spot I’d been standing this morning when Lou pointed out the Friendship Lighthouse, sharing it was where her brother, Kit,lived and worked both as the lighthouse keeper and as an artist.

“You remember?” The irony that she was asking that question wasn’t lost on me.

“I was there this morning.”

“You were?” Her brows lifted.

“Stood on the beach. Saw the lighthouse. Walked along Maine Street and got the lay of the land.” From the Maine Squeeze all the way down to the inn, Lou had pointed out businesses old and new along the way, including her brother’s art gallery that she managed—the Kinkade Gallery.

I blinked, and Frankie’s stormy gaze stared back at me, reminding me of the tangle of our conversation. Her, trying to focus the conversation on my time with her sister. And me, trying to learn why the hell Lou wouldn’t share much about the inn—and no, it couldn’t be because she knew who I was; she would’ve been pleading her case rather than giving me a tour of the town if that were the case.

“Oh really?” One of Mom’s brows arched the way it did when I was akid, and she knew I was in trouble—or about to be. “And what interest does Collins Realty have in a small seaside town? Last I checked, there were no skyscrapers there, honey, only sand castles.”

I wasn’t sure I could reply, her lucidity left me speechless. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so with it. Sure, there were moments here and there. A split-second answer before it was gone. But not this. Not the makings of a conversation. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly around her enough to make the claim that these moments were rare in general—they were just rare when she was around me.

My throat tightened. What I wouldn’t give to not have thismoment unravel. All my money. All my properties.I’d give it all…

“Come on.” She patted my knee, drawing me out of my thoughts. “I know you weren’t in Friendship for vacation. Heaven forbid, Chandler Collinsdoesn’twork a day in his life…”

“Mom.” I let out a pained chuckle and managed to give her a guilty smile. Damn, if seeing her—having her like this—wasn’t the most bittersweet fucking experience of my life.And it was all because of that candle—because of Frankie fucking Kinkade.I cleared my throat and told her,“There’s an inn…”

“The Lamplight Inn?” she asked with a small gasp and then gushed, “Oh, I love it there.” Her eyes swung around the room as she let out a soft sigh. “Or I did. It closed quite some time ago…” When I nodded, she continued. “Are you selling it or buying it?”

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