Page 12 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
"It's fine," Jack said. "Just the usual end-of-year chaos. Bookings, renovations, keeping the place running."
Silence on the other end of the line. Then, quietly, "Jack. Come on. It's me."
Jack exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. "The bank called. The loan extension ends in December. If we don't make significant progress on the balance, they will move forward with foreclosure. And there's a developer circling, ready to buy up the debt."
More silence. Then Logan swore, low and fierce. "Those vultures. How much do you need?"
"Logan—"
"How much?"
Jack stared at the ceiling, his throat tight. "More than I can ask you for."
"Good thing you're not asking, then. I'm offering." Logan's voice was firm, brooking no argument. "I've got savings sitting in the bank doing nothing. Let me loan it to you. Get you through December, give you breathing room to figure out the next step."
"I can't take your money." Jack’s voice brooked no argument.
"Why not?" Logan’s tone of voice also said he was not taking no for an answer.
"Because it's charity, and I'm not—" Jacks started, but was cut off.
"Then call it an investment." Logan cut him off, his tone matter-of-fact. "Shares in the new and improved Christmas Inn. I help you keep the place afloat, and when it's back on its feet, I get a cut of the profits. Fair deal."
Jack opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He turned back to the window, watching the waves roll in. The construction noise had stopped. Someone laughed outside, the sound carrying on the wind. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
"I need to talk to my mother," Jack said finally. "And Jane. This isn't just my decision."
"Of course." Logan's voice softened. "Take your time. But Jack? Don't let pride get in the way of saving something that matters. Your dad wouldn't have."
The words landed like a stone in Jack's chest. He swallowed hard. "I'll call you back."
"You better," Logan warned.
Jack hung up and stood there for a moment, staring at the phone. Then he straightened, squared his shoulders, and headed for the door.
He found his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the long wooden table with a cup of tea in her hands. Julie Christmas was seventy-six, with silver-white hair that caught the light like spun glass and eyes the same deep blue as Jack's and Jane's. She wore a soft shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and though age had slowed her steps, there was still a sharpness in her gaze that missed nothing.
Jane was at the sink, washing paint off her hands, humming softly under her breath.
"Mom. Jane." Jack's voice was steady, but his chest felt tight. "Can we talk? In my office."
Julie set down her teacup, her expression shifting to one of quiet concern. "Of course, dear."
Jane dried her hands on a towel and followed them down the hallway. They settled into Jack's office, Julie in the cushioned armchair by the window, Jane perched on the edge of the desk, and Jack standing by the bookshelf, arms crossed.
He told them everything. The bank's ultimatum. The developer's interest. Logan's offer.
When he finished, the room was silent except for the faint crash of waves and the distant cry of gulls.
Julie was the first to speak. "I have savings," she said quietly. "Not much, but enough to help. We can use it."
"Mom, no." Jack shook his head. "That's your retirement. Your security. I'm not touching it."
"It's my inn too," Julie said, her voice firm despite its softness. "Your father’s legacy. If it can help, then it should."
Jane bit her lip, her fingers twisting together in her lap. "Logan's offer makes sense," she said. "He's not a stranger. He's family. You know what granddad always said."
Julie reached over and squeezed her granddaughter's hand. "Jack, Jane’s right. Your father always said family isn't just blood. It's the ones who show up when you need them. And Logan has been showing up since the two of you were at school."
