21.

 

Rose Cottage is ruined.

By the time I wade upstairs and find the burst pipe in one of the guest bedrooms, it’s already way too late. I’ve been out all day: campaigning with Dad, attending the big meeting, and celebrating at the bar all night. If I had been here sooner, maybe I could have stopped the damage, but after twelve hours of cold water gushing out into the house, the place is well and truly flooded. Worst of all, the ceiling in the living room gave way under the weight of water, crushing the couch in a litter of plaster, debris, and splintered joists.

“I see it in these older houses all the time,” the emergency plumber says sympathetically. He’s just shut off the water main, and helped me turn off the power too. “The pipes get frozen every winter, and expand in the spring, year after year. The metal corrodes, and, well, here you have it.”

He looks around. The entire ground floor is under three inches of water, and it’s still trickling down the stairs. “I can call in an industrial hose, get the rest of this water suctioned out of here, but it’ll take a few days. And cost you,” he adds.

“Fine,” I reply, too exhausted to protest. I’ve been up all night trying to bail it out by hand, and salvage whatever furniture I can from the water. “Whenever you can make it.”

I’ve barely had time to process his words—or emergency call-out bill—when the Petersons call me aside. “We’ll be heading out now, sweetheart,” Nancy tells me. Luckily, their room wasn’t flooded too badly, and their luggage was untouched. But of course, there’s no way I can keep guests here without power or proper plumbing. I’ve already cancelled the families who were arriving this weekend, and now the Petersons are heading home early.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do to help?” Harold adds.

I shake my head. “I’m just sorry you had to cut your trip short.”

“That’s OK, we had a wonderful time.” She gives me a warm hug. “We hope you get this mess sorted out soon.”

“Me too.” I force a smile. “I’m sure it’ll be fine!”

I help them load up their car, and watch them drive away. My head is spinning with all the things I have to do to get the B&B back running again. New plumbing, replacing the ruined furniture, rebuilding the ceiling and floors…! I’ve already drained my savings to make the cosmetic upgrades; I was banking on a full summer season to break even. I can’t afford any of this, not in a million years. Nana had insurance, sure, but I have no idea how much of the damage they’ll cover, or how long it’ll take.

I’m totally and completely screwed.

I force myself to go inside and take stock of the damage. Upstairs is completely flooded: every guest room under inches of water; the antique rugs and carpet all ruined. There’s a weird smell too, like the water that came gushing out the busted pipes wasn’t all too clean.

I gulp. Just like the plumber warned me, the wet boards are spongey underfoot. Water’s been soaking through all day, and downstairs, the dining area and kitchen has huge wet patches on the ceiling and soaking down the walls.

And then there’s the massive hole in the living room ceiling.

It looks like a tornado’s torn through: all Nana’s photos smashed, and her hand-stitched quilts in a wet, dirty pile. I was just lucky nothing else came crashing down, but I can’t find it in me to feel relieved when I’m faced with such devastation. The hours I spent repainting, the new furnishings I picked out so carefully—it’s all for nothing now.

Totally ruined.

Tears come, hot and pained in the corner of my eyes, but I can’t cry yet. If I do, I don’t think I’ll ever stop. Instead, I grab a couple of trash bags and start picking up the broken pieces of plaster and wood, focusing on the task in front of me, and not the massive uncertainty and fear looming just out of reach.

What do I do now?

If only I’d seen the dripping faucet as the warning sign it truly was. These pipes must be ancient by now, but I didn’t think twice about needing a proper plumber in, or someone to check the building. I just assumed everything would be OK. How naive could I be?

I wanted so badly to preserve Rose Cottage, but now it’s damaged beyond all repair.

I failed her. I took my grandmother’s amazing gift, and I ruined it.

I can’t hold back the heartbreak anymore. I stumble outside onto the front steps, sink down, and start to weep. Sobs wrack my body, regret and hurt and blame gripping tight and refusing to let me go.

I wanted this so badly, and I came so close. But it’s all for nothing now.

I hear the sound of tires on gravel. I look up through my tears, and see Ash parking out front. He climbs out of the car, and the sight of him is too much to take.

“What do you want now?” I cry, feeling hollow inside. “Come to gloat?”

His expression changes. “Are you OK?” he calls, hurrying closer. He crouches beside me, looking into my eyes with real fear. “Is someone hurt? What happened? Talk to me, Noelle.”

“You mean you didn’t hear?” I gulp for air. My cheeks are wet, and my head aches from crying. I wave him inside. “Take a look for yourself.”

Ash steps past me, and heads into the house. A moment later, he reappears. “Shit, Noelle, I’m so sorry,” he says.

“Are you?” I ask blankly. Pain grips my chest, a terrible ache. For one terrible moment, I wish I hadn’t fought him on the hotel development. Maybe then I would still have him. Instead, I’ve lost the B&B and our relationship.

“I guess you win, after all,” I say, regret spiraling through me.

He frowns. “It’s not like that. I never wanted for you to—”

“What? Lose the B&B?” I counter, tired out. “Does it make a difference if it’s a flood, or you bulldozing the place? It’s still over for me.”

Ash doesn’t move. He stays, awkwardly loitering a few paces away from me. I realize that if he didn’t know about the flooding, there must be some other reason for his visit.

“What did you want?” I ask finally, lifting my head. It still hurts to look at him: backlit by the sun, his dark hair now in need of a cut, those eyes watching me. Warily.

Tender.

“I came to make another offer for the property,” Ash admits. At least he has the decency to look rueful, but after everything I’ve been through, nothing would shock me.

I let out a hollow laugh. “God, you just don’t quit, do you?”

“Never,” he says. “Look, maybe this is bad timing, or perhaps it’s the answer to your problems right now. Fixing this place up would cost you a fortune, but you could cut your losses right now. Just say the word. I’ll pay you three times the market rate—cash.”

Ash pulls a check from his shirt pocket. He places it down on the step beside me, and I can’t help glancing down.

What?

The zeroes make me dizzy for a moment. It’s more than I ever could imagine getting for the property, enough to clear my student loans and start fresh at anything I’d like.

“You could buy another place here in Beachwood Bay,” Ash says, as if he’s reading my mind. “I know how much you love the town, and just because the B&B is closed, it doesn’t mean you have to leave. You could open a bakery, maybe, or a little cafe—”

“Stop!” I cry, my tears welling up again. It’s too soon to hear him talk about other options, about the B&B being gone forever. I scramble to my feet, wiping at my damp cheeks. I know I must look like a mess right now—dirty T-shirt, wet shoes—but I don’t care. “Just stop!” I beg him again. “Can’t you listen to yourself, just for one minute? You’re so obsessed with this project, with the money, you don’t understand. Some things don’t have a price, they matter more than any payoff!”

“I’m trying to help you here.” Ash argues, looking stubborn.

“And I don’t want your help, not like this!” I reply, clenching my fists at my side. My nails press into my palms, and the pain helps me focus. Keeps me together as I try one final time to get through to him. “Have you even thought about what happens next, after you get your precious permits?” I demand. “You won’t stick around, not after the hotel is finished. It’s not your future you’re building, you’ve probably already got a buyer lined up for the property.”

I see a flash of something on Ash’s face. The truth.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” I realize. “It’s what you do. You develop projects, then sell them off and move on. You don’t know what it’s like to build a future, to make a home somewhere. You’ve probably built a hundred buildings all over the world, but where’s home to you now, Ash? Where do you belong?”

“I have my family,” he replies, his jaw clenched, but I can see my words are hitting home in the depths of his dark gaze.

“And you come, visit for a couple of weeks, then leave again. On to the next project, the next city. Don’t you want more than that?” I ask, despairing. “Don’t you want to put down roots, and be a part of something? A community. Somewhere to belong. Because until you know what that’s like, you can’t possibly understand how I feel right now. This,” I say, grabbing the check and holding it up, “This can’t possibly compare to the years of love my grandmother put into this house, or all the dreams I had of making it my own.”

I rip the check in two and toss the pieces down. Ash flinches, like I’ve hit him.

“You don’t understand,” he says, looking conflicted. “You don’t know what it’s taken to build this company. It’s taken me years too! Years of work and sacrifice to get to where I am today. I didn’t have any help,” his voice rises with passion. “I did this all alone!”

“I know,” I say quietly. My heart aches for him again, so used to being closed off and remote, he’s forgotten it doesn’t have to be like this. “You raised your family, and built an empire too, and I admire you so much for that strength, I really do. It’s one of the things that made me fall—”

I stop before I can let the words tumble out. My pulse is racing, and suddenly, the air between us is thick with tension.

“Noelle…” Ash stares at me, looking shocked.

I gulp a lung full of air and try to get back on track. “What happens next?” I cover, ignoring my slip. “After this project, and the next one, and the one after that? You have the status now, the security,” I implore him. I don’t know why it matters so much to me to make him realize. I should hate him, I should want him gone, but instead, I’m filled with such sadness and regret when I think about him going through life like this, always so distanced and removed.

The Ash I know could have a life filled with joy and belonging—or he could keep these barriers built so high, nobody stands a chance of getting in.

And even if that person isn’t me, if our chance to be together is long behind us, I still can’t bear the thought of his goodness, his humor and grace going completely to waste.

“You could retire tomorrow, and nobody in your family would ever want for anything,” I continue, still fixed on the man standing in front of me. “They’re all grown up now. They have lives of their own, they’re building homes and families, a future right here in town. But what about you?” I ask desperately. “What happens when you wake up and realize you’re still alone? You think you want this development. You think it’s all that matters. But it’s just another job, Ash, you’re filling your life with work.

“When will it ever be enough?”

I finally run out words and come to a stop. My heart is pounding.

Silence.

Ash stands there, a few feet away from me. His expression is impossible to read now, but his eyes seem full of conflicted emotion: dark and stormy, a world away from this beautiful summer’s day.

Or maybe that’s just me imagining things; inventing a heart for the man who seems forged from steel. Because after a frozen moment, Ash jerks his head in a stiff nod and backs away.

“I won’t keep you,” he says blankly. “I can see you have a lot to do. Goodbye.”

There’s something about the way he says the word that sends a cold shiver through me.

“Ash?” I start, my voice quavering. “What are you—?”

But he’s already gone: getting back in his car and driving away. I watch him go, feeling numb. Totally worn out. Because some terrible intuition tells me I haven’t just lost the B&B now, but Ash too, forever.

He’s leaving for the last time, and he’s not ever coming back.