Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
I inherited a freaking family.
Thanks, Gramps. I expected the lake house, the repairs, and the weird little secrets you left behind.
But sharing this place with Kane Saint and his kids?
Holy potato.
Don't laugh at his name.
There's nothing holy about a man this guarded and growly and scary fine.
He's at war with everything except his adorable munchkins.
It's a classic standoff the instant I let him stay after an awkward mix-up.
I go to work looking for my grandfather's final cryptic gift.
Saint Dadzilla goes to work on me.
A helping hand I never asked for.
The warmest laughs over breakfast feasts.
And when one stolen kiss claims my soul, I forget this is clinically insane.
I'm in shambles.
Every flaming night whispers promises we can't keep—especially when Gramps' legacy has teeth.
What happens if playing house with the wrong man feels like coming home?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME (MARGOT)
It’s a long drive up to the lake house from Portland.
Over three hours on the road where city comforts bow to marching mountains and tall forests as thick as my memories.
I make the entire trip with the windows down, though.
It’s fall, and the wind streaming through my hair gives me a sense of freedom I’ve been missing forever.
Why does this feel like a new beginning when it’s really just a working trip to assess the mess I’ve been handed?
Thanks, PopPop. You always did love to send me on scavenger hunts.
By the time I pull up the gravel driveway outside my grandfather’s secluded lake house, I think I’m ready.
I tell myself I’ve braced for the emotional sucker punch.
I’m sure I’m old enough to handle this like a grown-up and not a hurt little girl who still desperately misses the old man who held her entire universe together.
Ha, no.
This is the first time I’ve seen the place since Gramps died. Honestly, since my first year of college.
Half a lifetime ago, we’d head up here every summer as kids for deliciously lazy weeks lost among the country greenery and an infinite canopy of stars.
It’s been a hot minute since I’ve made the trek up the long, dark, winding path through the tall pines and vibrant maples.
The old house’s exterior certainly doesn’t match the memory in my head.
“Ouch,” I mutter, wincing at the worn blue paint.
The short steps leading up to the porch are a little overgrown along the sides. We’re talking weeds poking through the slats like they’re scheming to trip you.
The handrail looks like it’s a heartbeat away from falling over the second you grab it.
With a heavy sigh, I linger in the car, just taking it in for a second.
Dead, black windows stare back at me. The nostalgia trapped inside this place suddenly feels gloomy.
The old blue house has certainly seen better days.
So have I.
But at least it’s a warm, sunny day for September.
One of those breezy autumn kisses that likes to pretend it’s still summer. Cloudless blue sky, rolling breeze, gold splashed everywhere.
It makes this house feel picture-perfect even if it’s looking more rustic ruin on the outside.
Makes coming here feel a little less morbid, I guess.
In the will, PopPop left me the lake house and vast land around it. The only real estate with my name on it.
The rest of his sprawling empire went to my brother, Ethan, and that’s fine.
There’s still some big secret waiting in the wings for my little cousin, Cleo, too.
For me, it was a generous addition to my trust fund I didn’t really need, plus this property.
But now that I’m here, I’m more confused than ever.
Why did he leave me a place that probably needs a hundred fixes to shine again?
My hands grip the steering wheel, turning my knuckles bone-white. I release them, blowing out a long, slow breath.
Then I put on my game face and climb out of the car.
My arrival disturbs a few big crows on the porch. They erupt from their roost cackling, and a couple of them nearly take my head off in their rush to leave.
“Jeez!”
I almost drop my sunglasses as I throw up my hands. Before I can curse them, they’re gone, spiraling into the sky like a plume of black smoke.
Great. At least I’m alone if this place has gone to the birds.
I snort, shaking my head.
If Ethan saw me freaking out over a few bouncy crows, he’d never let me live it down.
Whatever. It’s expected.
Jitters.
That’s part of the journey when you come back to a childhood stomping ground that’s basically haunted. Memories can be just as scary as ghosts.
For all I know, a few real ghosts moved in while it’s been abandoned, barely checked by locals and Gramps’ old bodyguard, Holden.
With my luck, I’ll need to look for psychics along with contractors to make this place decent again.
I snatch the unopened letter off the passenger seat and pat the back pocket of my jeans to make sure I’ve got the keys before stepping through the tall weeds crowding the old stone walkway to the back of the house.
The rickety stairs are sturdier than they look. They only creak a little as I climb them.
It’s weird doing this alone without my dumb brother charging ahead of me, or my bestie, Hattie, by my side.
When we’d come here as kids, we’d always run in through the back.
“Front’s for guests. The back, that’s for family,” PopPop would always tell me with a wink.
Old habits die hard.
Same with people, and God, I miss him.
It’s been almost a year since he left this world, but every time I think about it, my heart aches bitterly.
My grandfather was more like a third parent to Ethan and me.
So much crap has come out about his life and his complicated relationship with my mom that I don’t even know how I should feel about coming here.