Page 13 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
Jack felt something loosen in his chest. He looked at his mother, at his daughter, and saw the same determination in their faces that he felt in his own bones.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I'll call Logan back."
Julie smiled, a small, tired smile that still held a spark of hope. "Good. Now, let's get back to work. We have an inn to save."
Jane stood, brushing a hand over her eyes, and followed her grandmother out of the office. Jack watched them go, then turned back to his desk.
A framed photo sat on the corner, slightly faded with age. His father was standing in front of the inn on its opening day after the last renovation in the eighties. He was grinning, one arm slung around Jack's shoulders, the other around Julie. The inn glowed behind them, wrapped in lights, a beacon against the twilight sky.
Jack picked up the photo, running his thumb over the glass. "We won't lose your legacy, Dad," he whispered. "I promise."
Outside, a dog barked. Sharp, insistent. Jack glanced at the clock on the wall. The mail. Two-thirty. Right on time.
He set the photo down with a sigh and headed for the front door. The mail carrier's truck was pulling away as he stepped onto the porch, and a small stack of envelopes sat in the mailbox. Jack grabbed them and flipped through absently. Bills. A catalog. A postcard from a guest thanking them for a wonderful stay.
And then, at the bottom, a thick envelope.
Jack froze.
The return address was from a law firm in Miami.Bennett, Crawford & Associates. And stamped across the front in bold red letters:Notice of Intent to Collect.
His hands tightened on the envelope, crumpling the edges. He stared at it for a long moment, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Then he turned and walked back into the inn, the envelope clutched in his fist.
It was time to put pride aside.
It was time to call Logan.
5
HOLLY
The highway stretched ahead of them, flat and endless, cutting through Florida like a ribbon of asphalt under a sky that was just beginning to soften into evening. Holly kept her hands steady on the wheel, her eyes on the road, while Trinity sat in the passenger seat with her nose practically pressed against the window.
"How much longer?" Trinity asked for what had to be the tenth time in the last hour.
Holly glanced at the GPS. "Not much longer, honey. We’re almost there."
Trinity bounced in her seat, her excitement barely contained. She'd been like this since they'd left Miami, chattering nonstop about the beach and the lights and all the things she wanted to do. Holly had listened, nodding and smiling in all the right places, but her own thoughts had been elsewhere.
Six months. Six months since her world had shattered. Six months since she'd pulled off her wedding ring and driven away from everything she'd thought was real.
The divorce papers were filed. The house was hers. The shop was thriving. She should have felt free.
Instead, she felt hollow.
But maybe that was why she was here. Maybe St. Augustine and the Christmas Inn could fill some of that emptiness, or at least distract her from it long enough to give Trinity the holiday she deserved.
The landscape began to shift as they drew closer to the coast. Palm trees gave way to sprawling oaks draped in Spanish moss, their branches reaching across the road like gnarled fingers. The air smelled different here, carrying the faint tang of salt and something older, something that spoke of history and time.
"Gran, look!" Trinity pointed ahead, her voice rising with wonder.
Holly's breath caught.
They were entering St. Augustine, and the city was glowing.
The sun had set just minutes before, leaving the sky painted in shades of deep purple and indigo. And against that twilight canvas, the city sparkled. Millions of tiny white lights draped from rooftops, wrapped around balconies, and outlined every arch and window of the Spanish colonial buildings that lined the streets. The lights weren't harsh or garish. They were soft, golden, like stars that had fallen to earth and decided to stay.
