“So there it is,” she said. “I can’t wait to get started.”
He was quiet. She wondered if he was checking her out and twisted around in her seat. “Shane?”
“Yeah, about that,” he said, jerking his helmeted head in the direction of the inn. “There’ve been some interesting developments at the bank.”
Nina frowned. “‘Interesting’ sounds a bit ominous.”
“While you were away, Bailey retired and moved to Florida.”
She relaxed. “I know. I sent him a card.”
“And we brought in a new asset manager from the main branch, a woman named Brooke Harlow. She made some changes in her department. She had orders from the home office to improve her bottom line.”
Nina’s heart faltered. “She’s still going to honor my contract, right?”
“Rest assured, that contract is considered a valuable part of the package. You have a fantastic reputation. No question you’re the best general manager for the job.”
“Why doesn’t this sound so good to me, Shane?” she asked.
“Well, actually, it could be very good. The Inn at Willow Lake has been sold, and your contract with it.”
She turned again and scowled at him. “Not funny.”
“I’m not telling you to be funny. It’s just something that happened.”
“It can’t happen.” Yet the churning of her stomach told her that indeed, it could. “I expected the bank to give me the option to buy the place as soon as I’m able to qualify for a loan.”
“I’m sure you knew it was a possibility that the bank would divest itself of the property if a buyer came along.”
“But Mr. Bailey said—”
“I’m sorry, Nina. That’s what happened.”
She’d been aware of the risk. She’d known it when she signed her contract, but Mr. Bailey had told her the possibility was highly unlikely. As soon as Nina qualified for a small-business loan, she would be in a position to buy the place.
The Inn at Willow Lake. Sold.
For a few moments, she couldn’t get her mind around the reality. It just seemed like such a foreign concept. Of course the inn would be sold one day—to her. That had always been the plan.
“Anyway,” Shane went on, ignoring the fact that every word that came out of his mouth was another hammer blow, “it belongs to someone else now. You won’t believe who the buyer is.”
Nina Romano felt something snap inside her. This clueless man, this spray-skirt-wearing lousy kisser, was sitting there informing her that her entire future, the one thing she had counted on to fill her life now that Sonnet was gone, had been taken away. It was too much.
“Hey, are you all right?” he asked.
Not the smartest question to ask an Italian-American woman with steam coming out of her ears.
Nina’s body was not her own. As though possessed by demons, she reared up in the kayak and went for his throat.
Two
“Isn’t it a bit early in the season for swimming?” Brooke Harlow asked Greg Bellamy.
Curious, Greg turned to see what she was pointing at—a couple with a kayak in the distance. A dark-haired woman and a guy in a crash helmet appeared to be locked together in the kayak in a passionate embrace, churning up water all around them as the craft bobbed and rolled. Stillwater kayaking was supposed to be a relaxing sport, Greg thought. But it was none of his business. Whatever floats your boat. Ha, ha.
He tried to shake off his sour mood. It was a blue-sky, summer’s-coming day and he damn well better enjoy it. He was spending the afternoon with a woman who looked like a lingerie model. His twelve-year-old son was actually behaving like a human being for once. It didn’t take long for Greg to figure out why. Max was … Damn, he was checking out Brooke Harlow. The kid was only twelve. That was way too young to be interested in women. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Max was playing with Tonka trucks, making motor sounds with his mouth?
Brooke shook the water from her hand. “Brr. I think I’ll wait until later in the season to try swimming. How about you, Max?”
“I don’t mind cold water,” he said.
Greg suspected Max would be agreeable to walking across hot coals if Brooke suggested it. He tried to send his son a telepathic message—you’re too young to be thinking what you’re thinking. But Max was oblivious to everything except Brooke.
Greg told himself not to worry about the situation. But of course, these days, he worried about everything, including the fact that later in the summer, Max would be going overseas to visit his mother. Which was more depressing for the kid: having his parents together, but miserable, or having them an ocean apart? Also depressing—the fact that Greg was thinking about these things when he was supposed to be on a date.
This wasn’t a date, not technically. That wouldn’t happen until Greg took her to dinner tonight. She was the new asset manager of the bank, and she’d recently overseen a major transaction for him. For better or worse, Greg now owned the Inn at Willow Lake. He had paid cash for the place and Brooke had expedited the transaction so it took place in a matter of days. His ex, Sophie, would probably be the first to tell him he was crazy, which was why he hadn’t told her yet. The place had been vacated and was now closed for renovations. He’d dived in headfirst, hiring a contractor and spending his own days—and nights—hard at work on the place. The idea was to reopen as quickly as possible. Greg and his kids, Max and Daisy, had already moved to the premises and now lived in the owner’s residence at the edge of the property. The boxy Victorian house was a far cry from their first home, a luxury high-rise in Manhattan, but the three of them were adjusting well enough, all things considered.
He dug in his paddle and, at the front of the boat, Max did the same. Working as a team, they paddled in tandem and soon had the canoe gliding through the clear water. For a few blessed seconds, Greg felt connected to his son, the two of them engaged in a rare moment of cooperation. They used to live their lives according to the same rhythm, but since the divorce, they’d been out of sync.
“Holy crap, Dad,” said Max, pointing at the people in the kayak. “I think that guy’s in trouble. We should go check it out.”
“No, they’re just horsing around,” Greg said. Seconds later, the woman went overboard. A fount of water exploded around the kayak. The woman in the water was trying to hold the kayak upright while the guy flailed and shouted.
The kayak bobbed, then toppled sideways in a roll. The guy in the helmet yelled a word Greg liked to pretend Max didn’t know, then crashed into the water.
“Oh, my lord,” Brooke said, “I think that’s Shane Gilmore.”
The bank president. And, as Greg and Max paddled closer, he realized that the woman in the water was Nina Romano. Damn. What were the chances?
The dude in the crash helmet seemed to be shoving at Nina with a paddle. Maybe he knew something Greg didn’t about her.
“You guys need some help?” Greg shouted, bringing the canoe alongside the kayak. Stupid question. He extended his oar toward Nina.
She ignored it and said, “Help me hold this upright. He’s panicking.”
Great, thought Greg, his skin shrinking as he thought about the water temperature. “Hang on,” he said, then sucked in a big breath of air and dove into the lake. He emerged a few feet from the rolling kayak.
“The kayak’s taking on water,” Nina shouted. “He’s stuck and he won’t stay still.”
“Get