As I pulled into Wilhelmina’s Bed & Breakfast, I congratulated myself on somehow slipping out of the wake without detection, but I was pretty sure my mom would clue in soon enough. That was okay, though—it would be much easier to tell her I wasn’t planning to stay at the house if I was already booked to stay somewhere else.
I remembered this place, but not as it stood now. What had once been a dilapidated building—my brothers and I used to dare each other to spend the night there—had since had a major makeover. It now stood tall and proud, the way it was no doubt intended, and as I parked my car and climbed outside, I took a moment to appreciate what the new owners had done with the place.
Built in the 1800s, the picturesque three-story craftsman-style home was bordered with a wide balcony that wrapped around its entirety. There were rocking chairs on one side and a classic porch swing on the other, and flanking the entrance to the beautifully restored home were four thick columns that gave the place an authentic feel that you just couldn’t replicate.
I made my way through the immaculate grounds toward the front door, and when I stepped inside the lobby/seating area, I stopped dead in my tracks. Holy shit. It was hard to even remember what it had looked like pre-reno. The broken floorboards, the cobwebs so thick they could suffocate you if you ran into them. Not to mention the ghosts—well, according to Justin.
I took in the now polished floorboards and sweeping staircase that wound up the three flights, before glancing through the open pocket door to where there was a desk that I assumed was the check-in area. The furniture was all era-appropriate and looked comfortable and charming, and as I made my way to check-in, the strong scent of freshly brewed coffee and apple pie filled the air.
It was quiet and peaceful, perfect for the lounging area off to my right, where the only sound was the running water of a fountain that was lit up through one of the side windows.
I looked around, trying to spot an employee or maybe a guest who was staying there. It wasn’t until I heard a loud crash followed by someone muttering, “Shit,” that there was any indication someone else was here.
A few more rumblings came from behind a wooden door at the far end of the room, and then it swung open and a frazzled woman I’d never seen before appeared. In jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black apron splattered with something she’d clearly been cooking, the woman reached for her earbuds and cursed a second time, before she glanced up to see me standing by the desk.
Her dark eyes widened a fraction, and then she immediately plastered on a smile. “Hi. I’m sorry. I had my music on and didn’t hear you.”
She rushed over to the desk and was about to hold out her hand when she glanced down at it and grimaced.
“Sorry—again. I was cooking.” She held her palm up to show it was still covered in a fine sheen of what I assumed was flour, then she quickly brushed it off on the apron and moved to stand behind the desk. “I’m usually more organized than this, but I got caught up today at a—”
When she cut off her words and quickly looked away from me, I knew exactly where she’d gotten caught up. Harry’s funeral. This woman might’ve been a stranger to me, but she clearly knew who I was.
“A funeral?”
“Yeah, uh, again—”
“I know, you’re sorry.”
A sheepish expression crossed her face, and I couldn’t help but take pity on her.
“It’s fine, really.”
“It’s not. Oh God. What a horrible first impression I’m making. I’m Willa, and despite all appearances to the contrary, I own and run this place. Usually much more smoothly than this.”
I chuckled and flashed a smile her way, hoping to ease some of her obvious embarrassment. “I’m not judging, I promise. I’m just looking for a room, if you have one.”
“You’re not staying with your family?” The second the words were out of her mouth, she looked as though she wanted to take them back. But…too late.
“Have you met my family?”
“I have.”
“Then there’s your answer.”
She let out a quick burst of laughter and immediately seemed to loosen up as she typed something in on the keyboard in front of her.
It was weird. Here I was coming back to my hometown, and yet this woman I’d just met probably knew more about me and my family than I did. But that had been my choice. Not at first, but definitely in the end.
“Actually, your brother Ryan helped me renovate this place.”
No shit. I took another look around, even more impressed than when I first arrived. “Really? How long did that take?”
“Five years.”
I whipped my head back around so I was facing her. “Five years?”
“Uh huh. Your brother’s a busy guy. I had to get him on his downtime.”
“Some downtime.”
“Eh, he likes it. Says whacking things with a hammer relaxes him.”
That sounded like Ryan, but seriously, five years?
“So you and Ryan, you’re close?” I asked.
Willa grinned as she leaned her hip up against the desk and crossed her arms. “Close enough to know that he’s really happy to have his brother back home.”
“I’m not back home. I’m visiting.”
“Same thing.”
“Not really.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Only because Harry died.”
“Yeah, but there’s no love lost there. So there must be another reason.”
Willa eyed me as she pondered, and it was amazing how comfortable I suddenly felt around her. All day I’d been on edge
