Page 22 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
"Isn't it?" Holly pulled back, her green eyes bright. "Come sit. Isabella, the incredible chef, just brought out the food, and it smells amazing."
Charlie followed her to the table and sank into a chair. A moment later, a striking woman in her late twenties to early thirties, with long dark hair and an easy smile, set a plate in front of her. Roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, and green beans that glistened with butter and herbs.
"Enjoy," the woman said with a wink. "I'm Isabella, the chef. If you need anything, just holler."
Charlie thanked her and picked up her fork. The first bite melted on her tongue, rich and savory, and she closed her eyes with a sigh.
"Good?" Holly asked, smiling.
"Amazing," Charlie purred, not remembering when last she’d had a meal that could pass as home-cooked like this one could.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sound of Trinity's chatter filling the space. But as Charlie chewed, that strange feeling from earlier returned.
It was warm and electric, humming just beneath her skin. Like something was shifting. Like the world was rearranging itself in ways she couldn't see but could feel.
Charlie set down her fork and glanced around the room, picking up the glass of white wine that had seemed to magically appear beside her. The lights flickered softly. The candles danced. And somewhere, deep in the heart of the inn, she could have sworn she felt something watching over them.
Something kind. Something hopeful.
She shook her head and picked up her fork again.
It's just exhaustion, she told herself.
But deep down, she wasn't so sure.
8
LOGAN
The highway stretched ahead, dark and endless, the white lines disappearing beneath Logan's tires in a rhythm that should have been soothing but wasn't. His shoulders were tight, his jaw clenched, and a dull throb had started behind his right eye about an hour ago. The kind of tension headache that came from stress and too many hours without food.
He should have left Tampa six hours ago. Should have been at the inn by now, sitting down to one of Isabella's incredible meals with a cold beer in his hand. Instead, he'd spent the better part of the afternoon dealing with Tara Wellington, and the thought made his grip tighten on the steering wheel.
Six months. He'd dated her for six months, and breaking it off a month ago should have been the end of it. Clean. Simple. But Tara wasn't taking no for an answer.
She'd shown up at his house just as he was loading the last of his bags into the truck. Dressed to perfection, as always, in heels and a designer dress that probably cost more than his monthly mortgage payment. Her smile had been bright, hervoice cheerful, as she reminded him about some gala they had committed to before they broke up.
"It's just as friends," she'd said, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "I already bought the tickets, Logan. It would be a shame to waste them."
And Logan, because he was too nice for his own good, had found himself making excuses. Lying, which he never did. Saying he had work obligations, family commitments, things he couldn't get out of. Anything to avoid telling her the truth.
That he didn't want to go. That he didn't want to be friends. That what they'd had was over, and no amount of galas or charity dinners was going to change that.
Tara had worked as a top model for years before transitioning into promotions for the brands she used to represent. She was beautiful, successful, and used to getting what she wanted. And for a while, Logan had thought maybe they could work. But the moment she'd started talking about moving in together, about taking their relationship to the next level, he'd known.
It wasn't going there. It wasn't going anywhere.
Because she wasn't Betty.
Logan's chest tightened, and he forced the thought away. Betty had been gone for eight years. Eight years since cancer had taken her, leaving him alone in a house that felt too big and too quiet. He'd loved her with everything he had, and losing her had nearly broken him.
But life went on. He'd learned that the hard way. And eventually, he'd started dating again. Casual relationships, nothing serious. Tara had been the longest, and even that had felt hollow.
He hadn't told her where he was going. Hadn't told anyone at his business, either. He'd given his crew the entire month off, from now until January third, with full pay. They'd been thrilled, scattering to spend the holidays with family and friends, and Logan had locked up the shop without a word about where he'd be.
Because Jack needed him. And the Christmas Inn was as much Logan's home as it had ever been Jack's.
Logan's father had been the handyman and manager at the inn for decades. His mother had been the chef, filling the kitchen with warmth, laughter, and the kind of meals that made guests return year after year. Logan had grown up running through those halls, climbing the dunes, helping his father fix broken shutters and leaking pipes. The Christmas family had been his family. Julie and James had treated him like a son, and Jack had been his brother in every way that mattered.
