“The place is dated, and with the historic designation, it takes a special person who’s dedicated to its preservation.”
“Someone will turn up,” Boz said. “Sure would help if she did something with the landscaping. That’s been a real eyesore ever since her husband bought it and let it go. That lady’s got no one to blame but herself for that.”
Bennett nodded, though he still wondered why Jeremy Marin hadn’t told his wife about the house. At least, that’s the story he got from his real estate sales partner Claire, who was meticulous with details. She was undergoing chemotherapy, and he didn’t want to disturb her with this mess.
“Good luck with her,” Bennett said, grinning. “Alert security if you have a problem.” He could just imagine how that scene would play out.
“Will do, boss.” Chuckling, Boz turned around and went back to work.
After leaving the Planning and Zoning Department, Bennett made his way to his office down the hall and opened the door marked Bennett Dylan, Mayor.
He hadn’t planned on continuing his real estate practice while he was in office, but neither of them could have foreseen Claire’s illness. His days were divided between his mayoral duties during the day, and his evening and weekend work in real estate. He used to sit in and jam with a local band that played around town, but he hadn’t done that in months. With hardly a moment of free time, he was planning to bring on another partner in the real estate practice to handle Claire’s book of business, though it had been difficult to find the right person.
Ivy Marin. He sat at his desk and ran his hands over his face. As far as he was concerned, she was a toxic woman taking up space in his head. Just another rich lady thinking the world revolved around her, even though she was pleading poverty. While owning a valuable property like Las Brisas. Figure that one out.
He leaned back in his chair and stared through the plate glass window from the City Hall perched on a hill. Tyler and Celia, his neighbors on the ridgetop, were easing their boat out of the marina for a sail. The line out the door at Java Beach told him Mitch was doing brisk business today. Once summer started, Mitch would hire local high school students to help him manage the summer crowd.
Many Summer Beach residents found work at the nearby horse racing track—a world famous, seaside race track that attracted affluent visitors from the middle of July to the beginning of September, and again during November. The Summer Beach population would surge when the wealthy second—or third or fourth—homeowners arrived for the meet. No doubt Ivy Marin was bent on attracting part of that crowd.
Ivy Marin. He had to get that infuriating woman out of his mind. Women like her were why he’d retired from dating.
It was hard to believe she was any relation to Flint Bay—who was a great guy—but she’d said they were relatives. Definitely distant relations. He hadn’t known Flint long, but they’d connected on a bike ride for charity, and Flint had referred a real estate client to him, among other things. They’d connected on social media, too, and that’s when he’d seen a post about Ivy attending a party Flint’s parents were giving.
He’d jumped at the opportunity to get Ivy to see her property. Now he almost wished he hadn’t. But with Claire’s medical treatment, she could use the commission, so he’d tried to do everything in his power to sell it.
Heaving a deep sigh, Bennett thought about how much he loved Summer Beach. As mayor, he’d pledged to represent all residents. Unfortunately, now that Ivy was a resident, she was included in the population, too. But with any luck, one of the real estate agents, Hollywood moguls, or racehorse owners he’d pitched Las Brisas to before would come back with an offer to buy the property. And that would be the end of Ivy Marin.
Chapter 8
“YOU MIGHT AS well have all the linens in this closet for your new inn,” Carlotta said, motioning to high stacks of neatly folded sheets and towels. “I haven’t used most of them since all of you left home.”
Ivy gazed up at the linens that reached to the top of the linen closet. The scent of lavender from neatly tied bundles of dried lavender stalks harvested from her mother’s garden wafted out. The herbal aroma reminded her of her childhood when she’d slept on similarly scented sheets. She still found it comforting. “Don’t you need these linens anymore for when friends or grandchildren come to visit?”
Her mother drew a breath to speak but stopped short.
The small movement caught Ivy’s eye. “Mom, what is it?”
Carlotta waved her hand. “We have far too much of everything. Whatever you want, please take, mija. And keep the dress and shoes you borrowed, too. They look better on you than me.”
Ivy knew that was an outright lie. “Mom, that was a new dress, and the shoes were barely worn.”
Carlotta lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I bought those last year. Take them. Tell Shelly to keep hers, too. Maybe I have other things you can wear.”
“Mom, this isn’t like you. Next, you’ll be offering me your jewelry.”
“As a matter of fact, if there are any pieces you want, I’d rather see you enjoy them. I won’t wear most of what I have anymore.”
Anymore? What did that mean? Dreading the worst, Ivy placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders.
“Please tell me what’s going on. Are you ill?” Ivy’s words felt thick in her throat. All her life, her mother and father had been active and vital. Now she realized she’d often taken for granted that her parents would always be there. How she wished she’d visited more often. Was she too late to make up for her self-centered adulthood?
Carlotta pursed her lips. “I promised your father that we would wait until everyone is together to
