Page 46 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
"You were." Holly's voice was firm. "You are."
They started walking again, Duke circling back to check on them before running ahead once more.
"My mother has sent pieces to a restoration shop in Miami for years," Jack said thoughtfully.
A thought hit her, and Holly's pulse quickened. “Do you know which restoration shop? There aren’t many in Miami.”
“No, I’ll have to ask her,” Jack answered.
"I don’t think it would’ve been my shop as I'm sure I would have remembered the name Christmas if we'd gotten any commissions from your family."
Jack's smile turned knowing. "My gran seldom uses our last name when she's dealing with vendors or contractors. The Christmas surname tends to bring up conversations that she tries to avoid. She uses her first and middle names instead. Julie Jane."
Holly stopped walking. "Your mother is Julie Jane?"
"Yes, why? Have you heard of her?"
"Heard of her? It’s my shop she’s been sending pieces to." Holly's voice rose with excitement. "I've restored dozens of pieces for Julie Jane over the years! An 1890s sideboard with the most incredible inlay work. A set of dining chairs from the twenties. Several oil paintings. A few landscapes, mostly, and a few portraits. An antique mirror with an ornate gilded frame." She was talking faster now, the memories flooding back. "Every piece came with the most detailed care notes. You could tell she loved these things, that they meant something to her."
Jack's expression had softened, pride mixing with something that looked like relief. "That sounds like my mother. She's always been obsessive about preserving the inn's history. Every piece of furniture has a story."
"I always wondered about her," Holly admitted. "About the woman who sent such beautiful things and cared for them so deeply." She paused, then frowned slightly. "But I haven't received anything from Julie for a few years now. I wondered what happened. If she'd moved, or found another shop, or..."
She trailed off, seeing Jack's expression change. The openness closed slightly, replaced by something heavier.
Jack started walking again, but slower now, his gaze fixed on the horizon. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I probably shouldn't say this. You'll grab your family and head for the hills."
"Why on earth would we do that?" Holly harrumphed. “We may have just arrived, but we already love the place.”
"You might not after what I’m about to tell you.” Jack’s voice grew serious. “The inn has been slowly falling into disrepair since my father died." The words came out flat, factual, butHolly could hear the pain beneath them. "My mother tried to keep everything going. She threw everything she had into it. Then Jane came home and tried. Now I'm here, and we're all trying, but..." He stopped walking, turning to face the ocean fully. "We've had to make choices. Fix a leaking roof or restore antique furniture. Replace rotting floorboards or send paintings for cleaning. Keep the lights on or preserve the past."
Holly's heart clenched. "So your mother stopped sending pieces because?—"
"Because we couldn't afford it anymore." Jack's shoulders sagged slightly. "The restoration work, the materials, the shipping—it all adds up. And when you're choosing between that and keeping the inn from literally falling apart..." He sighed, long and heavy. "I fear it might be too late."
The words hung in the air between them, weighted with exhaustion and something that looked dangerously close to defeat.
Holly found herself moving closer, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Too late for what?"
"To save it." Jack's voice was barely above a whisper. "The renovations are expensive. Bookings are down. Well, as you might have seen, besides your family, there are only two other guests.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We're doing everything we can. Even my friend Logan came down to help with a bit of restoration. Jane's running herself ragged, and my mother is trying to hold everything together with sheer force of will.” His jaw clenched. “But it feels like we're trying to bail out a sinking ship with a teaspoon."
He wasn't looking at her anymore, his gaze fixed on some distant point on the horizon. Holly could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had curled into fists at his sides.
"Every day, something else breaks," Jack continued. "Yesterday, it was the walk-in freezer. Last week, a pipe burst in one of the bathrooms on the third floor. The month before that, we had to replace the hot water heater. It's always something, and we're always scrambling to cover it." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You want to know why the inn looks so good despite everything? Because Jane is a magician with touch-up paint and strategic garland placement. Because my mother knows exactly which tablecloths hide which stains. Because we've all gotten very, very good at making do."
Holly's throat was tight. She thought about the careful patches she'd noticed, the worn spots cleverly disguised. The love and desperation woven into every decorating choice.
Before she could respond, her phone alarm chirped from the pocket of her running jacket. She pulled it out and silenced it. It was just a reminder that Trinity would be waking soon, that they had plans for the day.
Jack seemed to shake himself, stepping back slightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dumped all that on you. You came here for a vacation, not to hear about our problems."
"Don't apologize." Holly's voice was firm. "I'm glad you told me."
Jack met her eyes, searching for something. "You're not packing up and leaving?"
"Are you kidding?" Holly found herself smiling despite the heaviness of the conversation. "And miss out on all thoseactivities we planned last night? Trinity would never forgive me."
Jack's expression softened, a ghost of his usual smile returning. "Good. That's good."
