Page 66 of Brass Anchor Inn

No new answers came to Josie. The only option she could see was for her to win the contest. And sitting around mulling over the dire situation wasn’t helping things at all.

Lucy stopped by the table and dropped off her coffee-to-go. Josie gave her a few dollars and told her to keep the change. She had no excuse to hang out any longer with her friends. It was time to get going. She still had the room to finish decorating. The contest wasn’t lost yet. She still had a good chance of beating Lane.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Judgingdayhadarrived.

But how would it end?

Lane hadn’t slept well. There was a fierce struggle raging within him. A part of him wanted to win the contest and put an end to his very unhappy past. And yet, there was another part of him that wanted to lose so Josie could win.

There was no way both of them could walk away from this contest happy with the results, as much as he wanted that to be the case. He was fairly certain he was going to win the contest. He’d given it his all and then some. He didn’t think he’d ever been so creative in his life.

As for Josie, he would make certain she was taken care of. He wouldn’t rest until she found a good job with appropriate compensation. Perhaps the new owner of the inn would keep her on as manager. It was something to consider when negotiating the sale.

A potential buyer had toured the inn the day before. They’d shown great interest. In fact, he was expecting an offer from them any time now.

But he was jumping too far ahead. Right now, he had to focus on the contest. The voting was open all day until five o’clock. The winner wouldn’t be announced until that evening at the dinner and dance.

He didn’t want to attend the affair, but he also couldn’t wait to know who was the winner.

“What would you like me to do with these?” His assistant, Sylvia Matson, stood there with a box of linens.

Sylvia had worked for him for years. He was fortunate to have her as she was extremely competent and drama free. He’d be lost without her.

She was older than him—somewhere in her late fifties. She was divorced with grown children. It made it possible for her to drop everything to help him. He wouldn’t forget it either.

She kept her silver hair cut short. Not a hair was ever out of place. Her ivory skin had the faintest amount of makeup to accentuate her features. And on her nose was perched a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses.

He approached her. He glanced in the box. There was nothing inside that he wanted. Just like the rest of the stuff in the house, it held no sentimental value to him.

“You can put it by the door to go to the donation center.”

Sylvia nodded. “There are also some old photos I left on the dining room table for you to look at.”

“I don’t need to see them.”

“There are some of your mother.” Sylvia walked away, leaving him with that thought.

He didn’t want to care that they were photos of his mother, but he couldn’t easily dismiss them. His mother had her problems, but he wanted to believe she loved him in her own way.

So, if his mother’s family had written her off, why were there still pictures of her? Maybe they were forgotten photos of his mother when she was young. Yes, that must be it.

To prove himself right, he moved to the dining room table. He gazed down at the array of photos from old black and whites to color ones. He spotted his mother standing next to his aunt. There were countless photos of them together. When they were younger, they were wearing matching outfits. As they got older, their hairstyles were different. While his aunt’s hair had been long, his mother’s was short. The photos chronicled their lives from birth through their teenage years when his mother’s colorful and extravagant personality emerged, while his aunt had remained rather conservative in style and color.

He found himself sitting down to look at the photos. Hundreds of them sat on the table in neat stacks. He was only going to look through a few of them—curious to see his mother so happy. He’d never known that part of her. One by one, he thumbed his way through them.

“Lane, it’s time.” Sylvia’s voice drew him from his thoughts.

He blinked and glanced at her. “What did you say?”

“It’s time for the dinner.”

“Already?” He glanced at the time on his phone. It was past six o’clock. How could it be that late already?

He’d only meant to glance at a few photos, but he found himself going through stack after stack of photos, wondering who all of the people were. He was fortunate that most of the older pictures had notations on the backs. Even though he didn’t want to be drawn in by his past, he was fascinated by it all.

He stood. “I should get going. I don’t plan to be gone for long.”

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