Page 3 of Chasing the Sun
Helen had been badgering me for years to expand—with enough sweat and hard work, Drifted Spirit Inn had been making more than enough money. But the thought of a second location seemed daunting. My days were already filled with maintenance, staff schedules, dealing with guests, and Levi.
Something less than a hundred yards away ... now that could be an idea worth considering. I let the possibility roll over me, walking in companionable silence with my old friend.
We reached the bend in the road where Stan would continue on, and I needed to get inside the inn to make sure breakfast went off without a hitch.
But for the first time, I wasn’t just thinking about today’s to-do list.
I was thinking about what came next. The possibilitiesof expanding the inn and having my very own restaurant on-site burrowed into my chest. For the first time in my life, I let a tiny spark of hope ignite.
I turned, holding out my hand. “Tell you what—if you ever decide you’re ready for those changes, you tell me first, how about that?”
His eyes smiled as he shook. “You’ll be the first to know.” Stan’s grip was strong, and he didn’t let me go. “You should also think about coming with me to BOLD. We meet next week.” His eyebrows bounced alongside the offer.
I bit back a grimace. Stan had been hounding me for the last few years to join his widow/widower support group.
BOLD: Brave, Optimistic, Living Dynamically.
Even if it wasn’t designed for the over-sixty crowd, it was a hard pass.
“You could meet a nice lady,” he continued with a hint of mischief in his voice. “One who won’t even care about the scars.”
I suppressed a wince and tried to ignore the phantom pain in my shoulder.
I mustered up a smile for him, knowing the old man was meddlesome but always meant well. “I’ve got my hands full with a fourteen-year-old who thinks he’s twenty-five. Thanks for the invite, though.”
Stan nodded, knowing full well there waszerochance I would be hitting up BOLD.
My thoughts flicked to Mary and the gaping hole she’d left in Levi’s life. On the long list of ways I had failed her, Levi’s latest struggles were the hardest to ignore.
Much to Mary’s dismay, despite her unexpected pregnancy at twenty-two, I had never planned to leave the Army. Sure, I had agreed to marry her, but I had been selfish. I’d joined the Delta Force operators as soon as I waseligible and had been gone more than I was home. Her brother, Wes, was one of my best friends and a fellow operator.
When Mary died, he was the sole reason I managed to hold my shit together as a man who had no clue how to raise a son alone. Sometimes I wondered whether Wes ever regretted bringing me home to Thanksgiving that time and introducing me to his little sister.
With heavy shoulders, I dipped through the cedar fence and walked across the yard toward the Drifted Spirit Inn. The old Victorian stood proudly against the stark magenta sunrise. The three-story house had been built in the late 1880s and had survived various renovations over the past 140 years, but the goal was always to retain its historic charm. Mary had begged to take over the inn, saying she was a lot less lonely when I was gone if she was surrounded by people.
I preferred my solitude.
Still, in my absence, Mary had worked hard and made the Drifted Spirit Inn what it was today. Every room, every board in that place, was hers. When her tragic car accident and unexpected death had forced my retirement from the Army, the inn had been yet another saving grace. The settlement from her accident was more than enough to make sure Levi was taken care of for a long time. Any amount that was left, I poured into making her dream a living, breathing thing.
It was my penance for not being the man she had deserved.
I walked through the side entrance of the Drifted Spirit, entering the kitchen. After my detour to the cottage from hell, I was already behind schedule. I grabbed my apron off the hook and slipped it over my head. I tied it inthe back as I read over the detailed notes I’d left myself last night.
The morning’s breakfast menu included German apple pancakes with whipped maple sour cream, glazed breakfast sausages, scrambled eggs, and pineapple carpaccio with mint sugar. It would feed eight to ten people and take me about forty-five minutes from start to finish.
I looked around the kitchen. In the bustling chaos of an inn, the kitchen was my sanctuary. Everything had a place. A timeline. A result. Helen could handle the guest requests for extra towels or recommendations for the best ghost walk in town, while I could disappear into the kitchen and keep to myself.
Learning how to cook was easy compared to worrying about how to raise a kid who barely knew me. I had never seemed to shake the times as a child when I went hungry. Not having something as basic as food sticks with you—cooking for others eased a bit of that ache of a scared little boy I had once been.
Over time, I’d found my rhythm with both food and Levi.
As I measured the ingredients and placed them on the large island in the center of the newly renovated kitchen, my son came sauntering in.
“Where were you?” I asked, glancing up. He was freshly showered, and his brown hair looked nearly black with the water clinging to it. He needed a haircut, and I mentally added that to my to-do list.
“Out.” Levi barely looked at me as he rummaged through the industrial-size refrigerator.
I whipped the eggs with more force than necessary. “Breakfast will be ready in about an hour. Then I’ll drive you to school.”
