Page 26 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
Jack hesitated, then moved to the desk. He pulled open the bottom drawer and retrieved a thick envelope, its edges crumpled from being shoved out of sight.
He set it on the desk in front of Logan.
Logan picked it up, his stomach sinking as he read the bold red letters stamped across the front.
NOTICE OF INTENT TO COLLECT.
He pulled out the papers inside and scanned them quickly, his jaw tightening with every line.
The development company wasn't just interested in buying the inn's debt. They were actively working to accelerate the foreclosure process. The letter outlined their intention to purchase the outstanding balance from the bank and move forward with the acquisition within sixty days.
Sixty days.
Logan set the papers down, his hands flat on the desk. "Jack."
"I know." Jack's voice was rough. "I didn't want to tell you over the phone. Didn't want to tell anyone until I knew what we were up against." He glanced at the office door. “I didn’t want to ruin Christmas.”
Logan looked up, meeting his friend's eyes. "We're not going to let this happen." He tapped the envelope.
Jack nodded, but the doubt in his expression was clear.
Logan leaned back in his chair, his mind already racing. Sixty days. They had sixty days to come up with a plan, to save the inn, to keep the Christmas family's legacy intact.
It wasn't much time.
But it would have to be enough.
"We'll figure it out," Logan said, his voice firm. "Together."
Jack exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Together."
Logan glanced down at the papers again, his jaw set.
This was going to be a fight. But if there was one thing Logan Miller knew how to do, it was fight for the people he loved.
And he wasn't about to lose this one.
9
HOLLY
Sleep had abandoned Holly sometime around three in the morning.
She'd lain in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling while moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains and painted silver stripes across the walls. The sound of the ocean was different here. Louder. More insistent. In Miami, the water had been a distant backdrop, something she noticed only when she specifically listened for it. But here, on Anastasia Island, the waves were a presence. They crashed and rolled, whispering, filling the silence with a rhythm that was both soothing and restless.
Eventually, Holly had given up trying to force sleep and climbed out of bed.
Now, as pale pink light began to creep across the horizon, she laced up her running shoes on the small balcony outside her bedroom. The air was cool and damp, carrying the sharp tang of salt and something green and alive. December in Florida meant temperatures in the sixties, perfect for a morning run. She pulledher hair back into a ponytail, tugged her lightweight jacket over her tank top, and slipped quietly through the suite.
Trinity's door was closed, soft snores audible from within. Charlie's door was shut too, and Holly smiled. Her sister had always been able to sleep through anything.
Holly made her way down the stairs, her footsteps light on the polished wood. The inn was silent at this hour, the lobby dim except for the glow of a single lamp left burning near the front desk. Through the windows, she could see the sky beginning to lighten, the darkness giving way to shades of lavender and gold.
She pushed through the back door onto the wide wooden deck that overlooked the beach. The boardwalk stretched before her, weathered planks leading down to the sand, and beyond that, the Atlantic spread out like a vast canvas waiting to be painted by the sunrise.
Holly descended the steps and her shoes sank into soft sand. She paused for a moment, breathing deeply, letting the morning settle into her bones. Everything felt different here. Cleaner somehow. Fresher. It was absurd, really. This was the same ocean that touched Miami's shores, the same water, the same salt air. But standing here, watching the sun peek over the edge of the world, it felt like she'd crossed into another realm entirely.
Holly shook off the thought and started jogging along the hard-packed sand near the waterline. The beach was deserted, just her and the gulls wheeling overhead. Her muscles protested at first, stiff from the long drive and the uncomfortable sleep, but after a few minutes, they loosened and she found her rhythm. The waves rolled in beside her, their foam white and lacy in the growing light.
