Page 15 of Fetch Me A Mate (Shifter Mates of Hollow Oak #1)
DIANA
D iana was arranging paint samples on the reception desk when she heard the soft click of a camera from upstairs. She paused, brush in hand, and listened. Another click, then another. Someone was taking photographs in the work area.
She climbed the stairs quietly, finding Gerald Finch crouched near the exposed wall framing with his phone out, snapping pictures of the unfinished electrical work.
"Mr. Finch," she said pleasantly. "Getting documentation for your report?"
He straightened quickly, sliding the phone into his jacket pocket. "Ms. Merrick. Yes, just... cataloguing progress."
"How thorough of you." Diana stepped closer, studying the work area with fresh eyes. "You know, these would make excellent 'before' photos for the town newsletter. Show people the scope of what we're accomplishing here."
Finch's eyebrows rose. "The newsletter?"
"Absolutely. People love seeing transformation in action." Diana pulled out her own phone, snapping a wide shot of the exposed beams. "Mind if I borrow your idea? I'll give you full credit for the documentation angle."
"I... suppose that would be acceptable."
"Perfect. In fact, we should do a whole series.
Before, during, after. Really showcase the craftsmanship going into preserving the inn's historical integrity.
" She took another photo, this one highlighting Rowan's precise electrical work.
"The Council will appreciate having a visual record of every phase. "
Finch looked like he'd swallowed something sour. "Naturally."
"I'll make sure you get copies for your files. And I'll mention your thorough oversight in my next Council report." Diana smiled brightly. "Thank you for the inspiration."
After Finch left, Diana stared at the photos on her phone. The exposed bones of the building looked raw, vulnerable. But they also looked like possibility. Like a story being written in wood and wire and careful restoration.
She scrolled through her contacts and called Tom Brewster.
"Tom? It's Diana. I have a proposition for you."
An hour later, Tom arrived with his camera equipment and an eager expression. "A photo essay about the renovation? I love it. The Hollow Oak Gazette hasn't had content this interesting in months."
"I want people to see the work that's going into this place," Diana said, leading him through the inn. "The skill, the craftsmanship, the care. Make them invested in the outcome."
They spent the afternoon documenting every phase of the renovation.
Tom captured Rowan's precise measurements, the gleam of new copper pipe, the careful preservation of original trim work.
Rowan tolerated the photography with typical stoic grace, though Diana caught him straightening his shoulders when Tom aimed the camera his way.
"This is good stuff," Tom said, reviewing his shots. "Mind if I interview you for a sidebar? New innkeeper's vision for the future?"
"Of course. But I want to include something else." Diana pulled out a notepad where she'd been sketching ideas. "Community involvement. Volunteer opportunities for the final push."
Tom's eyes lit up. "Brilliant angle. Nothing brings people together like shared work."
The story ran in Wednesday's edition with the headline "Heart of Hollow Oak Gets New Life." By Thursday morning, Diana's phone was ringing.
"I saw the article," said Freya's voice. "Need painters?"
"Always."
"Kieran's got Saturday free. And I know three others who'd help."
Mrs. Swanson called twenty minutes later. "That electrical work looks complicated. My nephew's an electrician. Want me to ask if he'll donate a few hours?"
By evening, Diana had a list of seventeen volunteers and offers of everything from sandwiches to professional consultation.
"You've started something," Miriam observed, settling into the parlor chair with her knitting. "Half the town's talking about lending a hand."
"That was the idea." Diana spread volunteer schedules across the coffee table. "People support what they help build."
"Smart girl." Miriam's needles clicked rhythmically. "How's our resident contractor taking the invasion?"
Diana glanced toward the stairs, where the sound of Rowan's hammer provided steady background rhythm. "He's... adapting."
"Adapting. Is that what we're calling it?"
Heat crept up Diana's neck. Small towns and their gossip networks. "He's professional."
"Professional." Miriam's tone suggested she wasn't fooled. "And how are you, dear? Professionally speaking."
Diana thought about the way Rowan's eyes had followed her movements all week, the careful distance he maintained, the moments when she caught him watching her with something that looked like hunger.
"I'm learning," she said finally.
Saturday arrived with unseasonable warmth and a crowd of volunteers that transformed the inn into organized chaos.
Diana found herself in the middle of it all, coordinating schedules and answering questions and making sure everyone had the supplies they needed. She'd never managed a group project this large, but somehow it felt natural. Like she'd been preparing for this role her whole life.
"Need more drop cloths in the parlor," called Freya.
"Danny needs someone to hold the fixture while he wires it," added Mrs. Swanson.
"Where do you want this trim piece?" asked Kieran, hefting a length of restored molding.
Diana orchestrated it all with growing confidence, her clipboard becoming command central for the organized beautiful chaos.
She felt eyes on her and looked up to find Rowan standing in the doorway, tool belt slung low on his hips, watching her direct traffic with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"Everything under control?" he asked.
"Better than control. We're ahead of schedule."
Something shifted in his pale eyes. "You're good at this."
"At what?"
"Leading. Making people want to help." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "Making them believe in something."
"It's their town. Their inn. I'm just... facilitating."
"You're doing more than facilitating." His gaze held hers for a moment longer than necessary.
Before Diana could respond, Freya appeared with paint chips. "Diana, we need you to decide between sage and seafoam for the second-floor landing."
The moment broke, but not the warmth that had settled in Diana's chest.
By Sunday evening, the inn looked transformed. Fresh paint gleamed on walls that had been dingy for years. New fixtures cast warm light over restored surfaces. The parlor glowed with soft green walls that made the fireplace look like the heart of a fairy tale.
"It's beautiful," whispered Sera Quinn, standing in the newly painted lobby. "Like the inn's been waiting for this."
"It has," Diana said, surveying the work with deep satisfaction. "We all have."
As the volunteers packed up their supplies and headed home, promises to attend the Autumn Hearth Gathering echoing behind them, Diana felt something she'd never experienced before.
Not just accomplishment, but belonging. These people had given their weekend to help her vision become reality.
They'd invested their time and skill in her success.
She was part of something now. Part of Hollow Oak in a way that went deeper than ownership papers or Council approval.
"Thank you," she called after the last volunteer. "All of you. This place is alive because of what you've given it."
Rowan emerged from the second floor as the front door closed behind Tom Brewster. Paint specked his flannel, and his dark hair was mussed from a day of careful work around ladder-climbing volunteers.
"They did good work," he said, surveying the transformed space.
"They did." Diana set down her clipboard, suddenly aware of how quiet the inn felt after a week of constant activity. "Couldn't have happened without you keeping the structural work on track."
"Couldn't have happened without you making them want to help." He moved closer, and Diana caught the scent of pine and honest sweat. "Want to help me clean up? I'll order pizza."
"Yeah," he said, something in his voice making her pulse quicken. "I'd like that."
As they worked side by side, collecting brushes and folding drop cloths, Diana felt the same electric awareness that had been building all week.
The way Rowan's attention lingered on her movements.
The careful space he maintained even while working closely beside her.
The moments when their hands brushed and neither pulled away immediately.
Something had shifted during the week of shared work and community investment. Diana felt bolder, more confident in her own skin and her place in this town. She was no longer the uncertain outsider hoping for acceptance. She was the innkeeper who'd rallied the community to restore their heart.
And she was a woman who knew what she wanted.
That night, she fell asleep with paint under her fingernails and satisfaction humming in her veins. The Autumn Hearth Gathering was three days away, and the inn had never looked better.
More importantly, Diana had never felt more like herself.