Page 3 of Always and Forever
Before I can respond, she’s pulled away by another customer. With one last look at the woman I used to have sleepovers with, swap secrets, share snacks, and play with all day, every day, I head to the door. Back out on the sidewalk, I take a grateful sip of the rich, warm brew. Exhaling deeply, I let those first tendrils of caffeine-induced alertness fill me with the energy I’m pretty sure I’ll need to get through the next thing I have to face today.
Time to figure out exactly what my estranged father wanted from me.
With a bushy white beard and kind eyes hidden behind glasses, George Hendrix looks more like Santa Claus than a lawyer. He’s even wearing suspenders, for Chrissake. He sits across from me in a leather chair matching the one I’m seated in, his hands folded in his lap and a kind expression on his face.
“Mighty kind of Mila to share one of her muffins with us. She’s a good girl, that one.”
I nod in agreement, my mouth full of the delicious muffin. Damn, Mila can bake, and I can’t wait to try more of what she’s got at the bakery. After swapping a few pleasantries over our muffins, George finally pulls a file folder across his desk and opens it.
“Now, I’m not certain how much you know about your father’s last few years, so why don’t I start at the beginning,” he says formally.
I swallow a chunk of muffin that has suddenly lodged in my throat. “Yes, please,” I croak. “I don’t know anything,” I finish lamely.
To his credit, George just nods. There’s no judgment about the fact that I know nothing about my dad’s life.
“Two years ago, Carl was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Unfortunately, they didn’t find it in time to be able to do any lifesaving treatment. But he was determined to fight any way he could. Oh, that man fought hard.” George takes off his glasses with a chuckle, but I can see he’s fighting his own emotions as he wipes at his eyes. “He also wanted to make sure that everything was in place for you, Summer. He and I met just two days after his diagnosis, and he had me write up the will and start the process of trying to locate you. I’m just so sorry we weren’t able to do that in time. All he wanted was to see you again.” Shuffling some papers, George finds the one he’s looking for, and slides it toward me. It looks like a deed of some kind. “Do you remember Oceanside Resort? The old cabins on the beach?”
I nod slowly, skimming the paper and not really understanding it.
“Your father bought the property the year before he got sick. He had plans of renovating it and then getting in touch with you. He hoped you might want to come home someday and visit. He wanted a legacy for you.” George pats the top of my hand. “He missed you so much.”
I’m pretty sure my jaw hits the floor at this point.
“My dad wanted me to come home.” I’ll get to the wholeDad bought OceansideResortin a minute. Right now, I’m still trying to process everything he’s told me. After all, you don’t go from spending almost twenty years thinking that your dad wanted nothing to do with you, to hearing how much he missed you, without a bit of a mental adjustment.
George’s eyes soften. “Oh yes, Summer. He very much wanted to see you. He missed you greatly, and the years your mother moved you around so much that we couldn’t keep track of your whereabouts were torture for him.” Sorrow is clear in George’s voice, and something cracks open inside of me. This man, this stranger, knew my dad. More than that, he knew that my dad loved me and wanted to find me. The grief of finally accepting the fact that my father loved me, but I’m too late, hits like a tidal wave. George remains quiet, patiently handing me tissues as I cry, finally letting the grief of losing my father flow out of me. I’ve missed so much. Why didn’t I find a way to come home sooner? All of my excuses feel weak, and I can’t believe I let myself accept my mother’s narrative when she told me Dad wanted nothing to do with me.
Eventually, I get enough control over myself to ask. “Are you saying Dad left Oceanside Resort to me?”
George nods and gestures to the paper. “Yes, Summer. That’s the deed, which we’ll get changed to your name.”
Wow. I’ve gone from thinking my dad never loved me, to finding out he loved me, missed me, and left me a freaking beachfront resort to run, all in the span of five minutes. To say my head is spinning would be the understatement of the century.
“So, what now?” I ask tentatively.
George shuffles some papers on his lap before adjusting his glasses. “Well, I suggest you go and take a look at the property before you make any decisions. You should know, your father didn’t have any money to leave you, only Oceanside. He spent all of his retirement savings purchasing the property, but then the cancer spread so quickly he never had time to see anything to completion.”
I nod slowly, trying to understand what he’s saying.
“When you get to the resort, try to have an open mind. The town would love to see it reopen, but it might be more than you can handle, and there’s no shame in that.”
Crap. What the hell did you get me into, Dad?
When I leave the lawyer’s office and step outside, it’s warm out. The sun is breaking through the clouds, and the rays of light fill me with my own light. I have to admit, the idea of running Oceanside Resort is stirring something in me — a sense of purpose and a drive to let myself imagine a future here in Dogwood Cove. Maybe the property isn’t as run-down as it seems from the road, and I can get it open this summer. My mind drifts back to my childhood as I drive, and I remember spending time at Oceanside with Mila and her older brother. I remember buying slushies at the main building, and on a sunny day, the former owner would be grilling hot dogs on the back deck and selling them for a dollar. Mila and I used to spend a lot of summers playing on the sandy beach. There was a gigantic log that had rolled up on shore that was fun to climb over, and an old swing set that we were allowed to use, despite being locals and not guests.
But any hope of resurrecting those childhood memories is dashed when I reach the driveway to the resort. The sign is hanging by only one chain, and the paint is faded and peeling. Not a good start. I drive slowly down the path, dread building inside. As the buildings come into sight, I curse under my breath. They’re a mess, I can already tell. Any hope of having the place open by summer is completely dashed by what I see.
Parking in front of the main building, I turn off my truck and take a good look around. All of my fond memories are now overshadowed by the unpleasant reality I’m currently facing. My eyes take in boarded up windows, a broken step leading up to the door, and badly peeling paint. There are weeds and trash everywhere, including signs of more than one bonfire right there on the ground in front of the building. Walking down toward the cabins I see more trash, more weeds, and more signs that people have been camping down here with little to no regard for the property.
The first cabin seems to be in slightly better shape, with actual windows and a door that doesn’t appear to be broken.
“Oh my God!” I shriek when I push the door open and am greeted by multiple glowing eyes in the dim room. I close the door quickly and back away without getting a good enough look at what kind of animal has made its home there.
Before I can move on to any of the other cabins, I hear a horn honk. When I turn toward the sound, I see a large, newer model pickup truck pulling in and parking next to my beat-up old Chevy. Someone climbs out and starts to walk toward me. Despite being silhouetted against the sun, hiding his face, my heart somehow recognizes him as the man from my dream even as my brain questions how that could be true. But this scene — the sun that has broken through the clouds, the waves crashing behind me, and this man — it’s my dream. My heart starts to pound, but I don’t feel scared.
When he comes nearer, my breath catches when I realize it’s Ethan Monroe, Mila’s older brother and the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had. But the man headed my way is not someone who inspires brotherly feelings. Oh no, the stirrings of attraction I feel as I take in his strong jawline, deep blue eyes, and tousled hair hidden under a baseball cap are anything but familial. His body fills out a pair of jeans and flannel shirt perfectly, giving him a scruffy, sexy, lumberjack vibe that is unexpectedly attractive. This is not the boy I ran around with as a child.
“Ethan?”
