Page 25 of Finding Home at Hearts Hotel

"Welcome home," Linda murmured, stepping forward to press a lingering kiss against his cheek. The light scent of her familiar perfume washed over him, a sweet comfort he had missed terribly during his sterile weeks in the hospital ward.

Linda took her position beside the chair, her hand resting gently on his shoulder as Brock and Stuart began wheeling him toward the front ramp of the house.

"We've been very busy while you were away," Linda explained, her voice carrying a gentle rhythm as they crossed the threshold. "We wanted to ensure the transition back to the house was as smooth and comfortable as possible for you. Michael and Martin went through the building codes to install the safety ramps at the entryways, and we've re-engineered the interior doorways to easily accommodate the wheelchair now, and later, the crutches during your physical therapy phases."

George tried to formulate a response, but the words jammed tight in his throat, his chest feeling incredibly full as he looked around the familiar entryway. He merely offered a small, watery nod, his fingers tightening around the black plastic armrests of the chair as the emotion threatened to override his composure.

Brock wheeled him down the wide central hallway, his shoes squeaking calmly against the polished hardwood.

"We decided the penthouse suite was wholly out of the question for the first part of your recovery," Linda continued, guiding the path toward the rear wing of the ground floor. "So we transformed the large downstairs sitting room, the one with the private bathroom, into your temporary master suite."

They pushed the double doors open, and George's breath caught sharply in his throat. He sat there in his chair, thoroughly choked up, his eyes misting over as the sheer scale of what his family had done for him registered in his mind.

The spacious, high-ceilinged room had been transformed into a beautiful, fully functional recovery sanctuary. On one side of the room stood a state-of-the-art medical bed, surrounded by the necessary monitoring equipment and support bars, all neatly arranged to keep the clinical feel as minimal as possible.

The adjacent space, which had once served as a simple changing area, had been thoroughly cleared and converted into a bright, spacious physical therapy room, complete with resistance bands, support rails, and a therapy mat. The large private bathroom led directly off the therapy space, fitted with newly installed handrails and a roll-in shower safety seat.

Across from the bed, they had preserved a cozy, intimate sitting area, complete with his favorite leather armchair and the solid cedar desk he had used for decades to manage the hotel registry.

But the crowning glory of the room was the back wall. The massive double glass doors had been thrown wide open to the fresh air, letting the sweet, salty breeze of the Gulf roll across the floorboards. Through the open frames, George had a wholly unobstructed, breathtaking view of the wide back deck, the white sand of the private beach, and the endless, glittering expanse of the emerald ocean.

He stared out at the water, the rhythmic, familiar sound of the surf filling the quiet room, and a rare kind of contentment filled him. They had brought his work, his legacy, and his favorite view right to his bedside, wrapping him in the protective warmth of their love. He reached up, his rough hand wiping a single, stray tear from his cheek, and squeezed Linda's fingers with everything he had.

"Thank you," George managed to croak, his voice thick as his eyes scanned the smiling faces of the people surrounding his bed. A deep sense of gratitude swelled deep within him, making his heart feel lighter than it had in decades. "This... all of this. Thank you."

Just then, a light commotion near the open double doors of the suite caught his attention. He turned his head slowly against the pillow, his gray brows furrowing slightly as he took in three newcomers stepping into the sunlit room.

"Sorry we're late," the tall, broad-shouldered man said, his deep baritone carrying an apologetic tone as his face split into a genuine smile.

George knew him instantly. Even after forty years, the strong, handsome lines of the Wayne family resemblance were unmistakable. This was Darius. He watched his niece Linda turn toward the doorway, and the radiant look of devotion in her eyes told him every single thing he needed to know about their relationship. A peaceful smile touched George's lips.

Linda stepped forward, her fingers gracefully sliding into Darius's hand as she turned to introduce the two beautiful women who had followed him into the room, both of them looking to be around Linda's own age.

"This is Darius," Linda said, her voice rich with pride as she gestured toward the others. "And this is his sister, Isabel, who is Emma's grandmother."

Isabel stepped closer to the bedside, as she extended her hand. "It's a true honor to meet you, sir."

George shook her hand, his grip weak but steady.

"And this is Penny Rawlings," Linda continued, indicating the sharp, elegant woman beside her. "She works with Darius, and she’s become a very dear friend to all of us."

"My other sister, essentially," Darius elaborated with a cheeky, boyish grin that made Penny roll her eyes. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person, sir."

"It's wonderful to meet the three of you," George said as he looked at the newcomers. "I actually met young Emma a while ago. She came down to the hospital with the other kids to visit me, and she’s a lovely, remarkably polite young lady."

"Thank you," Isabel said, a flush of pride touching her cheeks at the compliment on how she’d raised her granddaughter.

"Oh, wait," Penny said, reaching into her canvas bag and holding out a beautifully wrapped square box tied with a thick, gold satin ribbon. "We brought you a little homecoming gift."

George’s gray eyebrows rose to his hairline when his eyes locked onto the gold-embossed label on the box. It was a box of expensive caramel truffles—his absolute favorite indulgence, and ones that had become virtually impossible to come by along the coast.

He clutched the box of Dolly’s Golden Caramel Truffle Delights, his head snapping up to stare at the three of them in sheer astonishment. "Thank you. But how on earth did you manage to secure these? The factory has been backordered for months."

"I happen to know the owner of the confectionery," Penny told him, her cheeks instantly coloring a pretty shade of pink. "She’s my Aunt Dolly."

"Dolly Royce?" George, Linda, Michael, Maggie, and Martin all chorused in perfect, stunned synchronization.

Penny nodded, looking thoroughly embarrassed by the sudden spotlight. "Yes. She's my mother’s youngest sister."