Page 47 of Healing Hearts at the Christmas Inn
They stood there for a moment, the morning sun warm on their faces, Duke panting happily at their feet.
"Maybe I can help," Holly said quietly.
Jack's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"The antiques. The furniture, the paintings, the architectural pieces." Holly's mind was already racing, cataloging everything she'd seen since arriving. "I could look at them. Assess what needs immediate attention, what can wait, and what just needs basic maintenance. Some things might not need full restoration. Just cleaning or minor repairs that I could walk you through."
Jack started to shake his head. "Holly, I can't ask you to?—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering." She took a breath. "And I wouldn't charge you. Consider it a working vacation. I get to do what I love, and you get professional help without the professional price tag."
"Absolutely not." Jack's voice was firm. "I can't let you work for free. That's not fair to you."
"Fair?" Holly raised an eyebrow. "You're letting us stay in your beautiful inn, you're planning activities with us, you're making my granddaughter happier than I've seen her in months. I think fair went out the window somewhere around day one."
"That's different. You're paying guests," Jack pointed out.
Holly could see embarrassment flash in his eyes and knew how hard it had been to admit to her what he had.
"And I'm a restoration expert who happens to be staying at an inn full of antiques that need attention." Holly crossed her arms. "Trust me, even if we hadn’t had this conversation…” She pursed her lips. “You’d probably have found me at midnight in one of the rooms working on a piece. When I see beautiful things looking like they need a little TLC, I just can’t help myself.” She smiled. “So either you accept my offer or the guests you do have will think the place is haunted when I start my secret restoration project in the middle of the night.”
She watched him war with himself, pride battling against desperation and something else that looked a lot like relief as he weighed it up in his mind.
“So what’s it going to be, Jack?” Holly pressed. “I do this above board, or do you want your guests to start rumors that the inn’s haunted as guests hear noises in the night and wake up to find their furniture has been restored.”
That made him laugh, and his shoulders dropped slightly as some tension eased. "Are you sure?"
"Completely sure," Holly assured him.
Jack looked at her for a long moment, his expression shifting through a dozen emotions too quickly for Holly to track. When he spoke, his voice was rough. "Thank you. Really. You have no idea what this means."
Holly felt warmth spread through her chest. "I’m glad I can help in some way.”
They stood there as the sun climbed higher, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. Something passed between them. It wasn’t that pulse zinging excitement that hit them every time they thought of or were near each other. This was an understanding, a deepening of the connection that had been forming since that first morning run. Holly felt it settle into her bones, this awareness of Jack Christmas and all the weight he carried.
Duke barked, breaking the moment, and they both laughed.
"We should head back," Jack said, but he didn't move immediately. Finally, they jogged the last stretch to the boardwalk. "Same time tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't miss it." Holly smiled. "We can start cataloging pieces later this evening if you want. After the tree lighting."
"That would be perfect," Jack accepted her offer, smiling. "Thank you, Holly."
Jack waved, and Duke raced ahead toward the family house. As Holly watched them disappear around the corner, her mind was already working through logistics—what tools she'd need, which pieces to prioritize, how to organize an assessment without disrupting the guests.
She turned toward the boardwalk stairs, placing her foot on the first weathered plank when the world shifted.
Something brushed past her.
Not quite touch, not quite wind.
Something in between, cool and purposeful, that made every hair on her arms rise in a slow wave. The morning sounds faded to nothing: the crash of waves, the cry of gulls, the distanthum of early traffic. Complete, absolute silence descended like a curtain falling.
Holly froze mid-step.
The air around her thickened, pressing against her skin with an almost physical weight. Even the breeze stopped. The palm fronds overhead hung motionless, as if the world itself had drawn a breath and forgotten to let it go.
Then, soft as silk against her ear, a voice whispered:"Thank you."
