Page 3 of The Candlemaker

The Maine Squeeze.

The Friendship Lighthouse.

The Kinkade Gallery.

Maine Stems.

The Candle Cabin.

How fucking quaint.My jaw tightened, and I closed the screen. If there was one thing I’d learned in this industry, it was that there was no coincidence when buyers repeatedly walked away from a deal. Something questionable was going on in the not-so-quaint seaside town of Friendship—something that was scaring away every chance I had to remove all ties to my fuck-up of a father. And I was going to find out what.

“Tell Scott the deal was fifteen million. He knew that walking into the building, and I’m sure as hell not going to let him try to talk me down from it now,” I barked to my assistant, Ashley, her call filtering through the speakers in my car. “If he’s not interested at the agreed price, there are a dozen other developers who will be.”

“Will do, Mr. Collins.”

“Thanks.” My voice rasped a little just before we hung up, and I made a mental note to message Tom to buy Ashley’s lunch today for my boorish behavior.

I hadn’t slept more than a few hours last night—all of them on the couch in my office. That wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; I’d usually head down to the gym in the basement, work out, shower, and then just change into one of the dozen sparesuits I kept in my closet there for this exact reason. Except that what I was doing todaywasuncommon.

So, it wasn’t the minimal sleep or the lack of caffeine that sent my attitude squarely to the center of being an asshole; it was this. Having to deal with this fucking inn and whatever the hell ties it had to my father.

I flipped my blinker and made a hard turn onto Maine Street. “Jesus—” Before I could hardly hit the brake, my Tesla jolted to a halt, alarms blaring to alert me to the person in the crosswalk.

I hadn’t hit her, but for some reason, my hands tightened harder on the steering wheel rather than relaxed when I met her surprised stare. Not met. My windows were tinted so she couldn’t see me, but damn, could I see her.

It was breezy outside because it blew strands of her honey-blond hair in front of her face, and they caught on a pair of the fullest lips I’d ever seen. Almost too full, I would say, if they weren’t balanced out by her big brown eyes.

Damn.

I didn’t have time for this, I chided myself, pressing back in my seat and waving her on like she was wasting my time.

I drove on, slightly slower now, down the center street in Friendship, the sides of it rimmed by seaside shops that would make the picture-perfect postcard. Mom loved it up here. Kennebunkport. Ogunquit. She loved the slow coasts where it wasn’t too hot or too crowded. It was the reason I’d moved her to Edgewood Estate when it became clear she couldn’t live on her own.

The private, expensive assisted-living facility was about an hour inland from here. When I’d picked it, I thought it would make for easy day trips out to the beaches and lighthouses she loved.

That was before the dementia got so bad that she rarely remembered who I was.

Again, the Tesla slowed on its own when I got too close to a pickup truck moseying through town.

“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath, trying to peek to the side of the vehicle. “Not all of us have nowhere to be.”

The GPS dot ticked painfully closer to my destination. I was surprised the car even registered a speed rather than a picture of a snail on the screen. Letting out a drawn exhale, I glanced in the rearview, wondering if the woman I’d almost hit was catching up to me.

What the hell did that matter?

The corner of my eye caught on a bright orange sign.The Maine Squeeze.But it was the coffee menu stuck to the window that caught my attention. I was already in a shit mood; if I was going to find out what the hell was going on with this property, I shouldn’t do it without caffeine in my system.

I swung into a spot right out front, and the thought struck me that I couldn’t remember the last time I’d parked on the street—parked, period. I rarely drove myself in Boston. Even for short distances, I used a driver so I could take calls and work on my laptop in the back seat. There was too much to do. And it was easier to not think about what I was missing if I never looked.

Shutting off the car, I flipped down my visor, ran my fingers through my hair, and saw what I imagined the woman from the road seeing:an out-of-town asshole.

“Dammit,” I grunted and tugged my tie loose and pulled it through my collar. Tossing it onto the passenger seat, I unbuttoned my collar and then reached for the cuffs of my sleeves, rolling them to my elbows.

I should’ve already thought this through. Appearance—perception—was everything. Walking into town as the callousreal estate investor who was going to sell some historic landmark to the highest bidder wasn’t going to make me any friends—not that I wanted friends, but enemies wouldn’t share information. And information was what I needed.

I got out of the car, and it locked itself behind me.

The bell above the entry into the Maine Squeeze toned off-key as I entered, alerting the barista behind the counter to my presence.

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