Page 17 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
Jack shook his head and started down the hallway, his footsteps soft on the worn carpet runner. He was being ridiculous. She was a guest. A woman who'd come here for a quiet holiday with her family, not to have the innkeeper stare at her like some kind of lovesick teenager.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that had been building in his chest ever since her reservation had come through.
It had been three weeks ago. Right after he'd called Logan and accepted his offer to invest in the inn. Jack had been sitting at his desk, staring at the phone long after he'd hung up, wondering if he'd made the right decision. Wondering if it would be enough. And then Jane had brought him a printout of the new bookings, her face brightening for the first time in days.
"We got one, Dad," she'd said, setting the paper on his desk. "The penthouse suite. Three weeks over Christmas. Full price, even with the renovations."
Jack had picked up the paper, scanning the details.Holly Bennett. Party of three. December 1st through December 22nd.
And the moment he'd read that name, something had shifted.
It was impossible to explain. A feeling, warm and certain, like sunlight breaking through clouds. Like the inn itself had taken a breath and whispered,Pay attention.
Since then, he'd been restless. Waiting. For what, he didn't know. But tonight, when he'd seen Holly Bennett standing beside her car, that feeling had crystallized into something he couldn't ignore.
This Christmas was going to change things.
At first, he'd thought it was about the inn. About Logan's investment, the renovations, the chance to turn things around before the bank pulled the rug out from under them. And maybe it was. But now, standing in the hallway with the ghost of Holly's smile still lingering in his mind, Jack had the strangest suspicion it was about more than that.
Much more.
He reached the bottom of the stairs and paused, his hand on the banister, frowning up at the third floor. The lights in the hallway flickered slightly, casting soft shadows across the walls, and for just a moment he thought he heard his father's voice.
Sometimes, son, you just have to trust the feeling.
Jack's chest tightened. His father had always believed in things like that. Signs. Intuition. The idea that the inn had a soul, a presence that guided the people who walked through its doors. Jack had never been sure if he believed it himself, but standing here now, he couldn't deny that something was different this year.
The air felt lighter. More alive. Like the inn was holding its breath, waiting for something to begin.
A sudden burst of sound shattered his thoughts.
Duke came hurtling down the hallway like a chocolate-brown missile, his tail wagging so hard his entire body swayed. Heskidded to a stop in front of Jack, his paws scrabbling against the wood floor, and launched himself upward in a joyful greeting that nearly knocked Jack off balance.
"Whoa, boy!" Jack laughed, catching the dog's front paws before they could connect with his chest. "Easy. You're gonna knock me over one of these days."
Duke barked, his tongue lolling out in a goofy grin, and spun in a tight circle. Then he sat, his tail thumping against the floor, and stared up at Jack with bright, expectant eyes.
Jack scratched behind the dog's ears, watching as Duke's entire body wiggled with happiness. The dog had been restless all day, pacing the halls and whining at the windows like he could sense something in the air. Like he knew, the way animals sometimes did, that change was coming.
"You feel it too, huh?" Jack murmured.
Duke barked again, louder this time, and darted toward the coat rack by the door where his leash hung.
Jack glanced toward the dining room, where he could hear the low murmur of voices and the clatter of dishes. Jane and his mother were probably setting up for dinner, making sure everything was perfect for their new guests. He should help. Should check on the kitchen, make sure Isabella had everything she needed.
But the restlessness was gnawing at him, the same restless energy that had been building all evening. He needed air. Space. A moment to think.
"Alright," Jack said, grabbing the leash. "Let's take you for a quick walk."
Duke bounded toward the door, nearly pulling Jack off his feet in his excitement. They stepped out onto the porch, and the cool December air hit Jack's face, carrying the scent of salt and pine. The ocean was louder out here, the waves crashing against the shore in a rhythm that had been the soundtrack of his entire life.
They walked down the steps and onto the sand, Duke racing ahead to investigate a piece of driftwood. Jack followed more slowly, his hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze drifting out over the water. The moon was rising, casting a silver path across the dark surface of the Atlantic, and the lights of the inn glowed warm and golden behind him.
This place. His family's legacy. His father's dream.
Jack's throat tightened. He couldn't lose it. He wouldn't.
Duke barked, chasing a wave as it washed up onto the shore, and Jack turned to watch him. The dog was still a puppy in so many ways, all gangly limbs and boundless energy. He'd shown up at the inn eight months ago, a stray with no collar and ribs showing through his coat. Jane had been the one to find him, curled up on the porch in the rain, and she'd insisted they keep him.
