Page 19 of Chasing the Sun

I smiled at Stan. “I can work with that.” I let out a reluctant laugh, then hooked my thumbs into my back pockets as we started walking. “Hey, what’s up with that place?” I asked, nodding toward the inn. “It’s beautiful.”

The Drifted Spirit Inn stood like something out of an old novel—haunting, elegant, the kind of place that carried a thousand untold stories in its bones. A three-story Victorian beauty with a towering turret, crisp white paint, and dark-green shutters that framed its many windows like watchful eyes.

A wraparound porch stretched wide, its rocking chairs swaying gently in the lake breeze. A faded wooden sign swung gently from a wrought iron bracket by the front steps, the wordsDrifted Spirit Innhand-painted in delicate gold script. Beneath it, a small plaque read:Established 1886.Despite its ghostly name, the inn feltalivein its own way—holding its breath, waiting for someone to fall in love with it all over again.

It was the kind of place that pulled you in before you even realized you’d stepped closer.

I wasn’t sure what surprised me more—that a broody, imposing man ran an inn at all, or that it somehow made perfect sense.

Stan followed my gaze, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “That’d be Callum Blackwood’s place. Drifted Spirit Inn.”

Callum.

My lips pursed. The infuriating, handsy man whom I had practically tackled last night.

I blinked. “He runs that whole place by himself?” I asked as we walked along the fence line that separated the two properties.

Something about that didn’t fit. He didn’t seem like the bed-and-breakfast type, the welcoming-and-hospitable kind. He seemed more like the stay-the-hell-out-of-my-way-or-I’ll-burn-this-town-to-the-ground type.

Mr. Stafford picked up a stone, inspected it, and tossed it aside. “Helen keeps him from working himself into the ground. But yes, it’s his. Has been for years now.”

I glanced back at the inn, my curiosity buzzing. “Is Helen his wife?”

Stan sighed, rubbing his jaw. “No, Cal lost his wife several years back. Been raising his son ever since. He and Levi—his boy—live there,” Stan added. “Took some time, but Cal made it work after Mary passed. Helen Harris works for him. She’s more the mothering type.”

Something soft bloomed beneath my ribs, a quiet, unwelcome tug in my chest. A single dad, raising a son alone. Grieving a wife. Keeping a business afloat.

I had no business feeling anything about that. The man was a menace, a walking mood swing wrapped in muscle and a bad attitude. He was also—annoyingly, unfairly, completely—the kind of guy a girl could spend too much time trying to figure out.

Absolutely not.

I was not going to get curious about Callum Blackwood.

Nope. No soft spots for grumpy innkeepers.

I crossed my arms, looking away. The idea of Callum—tall, scowling, built and tattooed like a Norse god—being a single dad was something I was not prepared to process.

The sharp annoyance I’d felt last night was still there, but now it tangled with something else.

I didn’t like it.

I also didn’t like the way my stomach had a weird little reaction to the thought of him raising a kid alone. I certainly didn’t like that the small, silent act of kindness—a stupid box of Band-Aids—had settled into my chest like its own unwelcome houseguest.

I suddenly had a whole lot of questions about a man I absolutely did not need to be thinking about.

So I did what I always did when something made me uncomfortable.

I assigned it a word—thoughtfulness—shoved it down, rolled my shoulders, and pasted on a smirk.

“Let’s dig into the details.” My gaze swept across the rolling hills. “Tell me what I’m working with here.”

Love and nostalgia filled Stan’s blue eyes. “Back in the nineties, Karen and I purchased fifty-one acres. We were hoping to return to my farming roots, settle in, and live a quiet life.” He pointed toward a simple house far across the property. “Never could have children of our own, but we lived there and had a happy life together.”

I smiled at how proud the old man was.

“For a time, the farm was doing well. We had families come for outings, pick out their pumpkins, that kind of thing. Karen liked to bake, so she also offered some simple treats.”

I hummed with a smile. “I remember.”