Rose Keeper

The rain hit like a punishment.

Evelyn Sterling had driven twelve hours through a nor’easter, and her reward was a dead engine in front of a garden center in a town she’d never wanted to see again. The windshield wipers gave one final, pitiful swipe before surrendering entirely. Rain sheeted down the glass, turning Pelican Bay into a watercolor smear of gray and green.

She sat in the dark, hands still gripping the wheel, and considered her options.

Option one: call a tow truck. But her phone had died somewhere around Providence, and her charger was in the trunk, which was currently underwater. Option two: wait for the storm to pass. But the storm had been going for six hours and showed no signs of mercy. Option three: walk.

She laughed. A dry, humorless sound that echoed in the empty car.

Walking. In heels. In a storm. In a town where the only person who’d ever loved her was buried six feet under.

“Fantastic,” she muttered, and reached for the door handle.

The wind nearly took the door off its hinges. Evie shoved it open with her shoulder and stepped into ankle-deep water, her black pumps instantly filling with cold. She’d worn a cashmere sweater for the drive—a small, stupid comfort—and now it clung to her like a wet blanket. Her hair, which she’d flat-ironed into submission that morning, was already curling into rebellious waves.

She looked up at the sign above the garden center. The paint was peeling, but she could make out the words: SORENSON HOME & GARDEN. EST. 1952.

Of course. Of course she’d broken down in front of the one place in town that belonged tohim.

Not him, exactly. His family. But still. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

Evie grabbed her duffel bag from the passenger seat and slung it over her shoulder. She’d left the rest of her luggage. It was just clothes. Just things. She could replace things. She’d spent her entire life replacing things.

The garden center’s porch light flickered, then steadied. A shadow moved behind the rain-streaked window.

She should knock. She should ask for a phone. She should be a normal person who asked for help instead of standing in a storm like a drowned rat, debating whether she’d rather freeze or swallow her pride.

Pride was winning.

Evie turned away from the door and started walking toward the inn. Two miles, according to her memory. Maybe three. She’d walked farther in worse conditions. That time in Milan, when the client’s wife had thrown her out of a penthouse at midnight—

“Hey!”

The voice came from behind her. Deep. Male. Annoyed.

She kept walking.

“Hey! You just gonna leave your car in the middle of the road?”

Evie stopped. Turned slowly. The man standing in the doorway of the garden center was tall, broad-shouldered, and glaring at her like she’d personally insulted his mother. He wore a faded flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that belonged on a lumberjack. Or a blacksmith. Or a statue in a museum.

Dark blond hair, wet from the rain. Blue-green eyes that looked like the ocean before a storm. A jaw that could cut glass.

He was, objectively, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

Evie hated him instantly.

“I don’t have a phone,” she said, her voice flat. “And my car is dead. I’m walking to the inn.”

“The inn?” He frowned. “Eleanor’s place? That old wreck?”

“That oldwreck,” Evie said, “is my inheritance.”

The man blinked. The annoyance in his eyes flickered, replaced by something else. Confusion? Suspicion? It was hard to tell through the rain.

“You’re Evie,” he said. Not a question.

“You know my name.”

“Everyone knows your name. You’re the one who’s gonna sell the inn to the resort people.” His voice hardened. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Of course. Ofcourse. She’d been in town for five minutes and she was already the villain.

“I’m not selling anything,” she said. “I just inherited a building. I’m here to fix it up and—”

“Fix it up and sell it,” he finished. “Same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing at all.”

“It’s exactly the same thing. You come in, wave some money around, patch the roof, and sell to the highest bidder. We’ve seen it before.”

Evie felt the familiar spark of anger ignite in her chest. The one she’d spent years learning to control. The one that had made her a legend in crisis management and a pariah in her own life.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said.

“I know enough.”

“Then you know I’ve been driving for twelve hours, my car is dead, my phone is dead, and I’m standing in a hurricane talking to a stranger who’s decided I’m the enemy before I’ve even said two words. So if you could point me toward the inn, I’ll get out of your hair.”

The man stared at her for a long moment. Rain dripped from his hair onto his collar. He looked like he wanted to argue. He looked like he wanted to slam the door in her face.

Instead, he sighed.

“Get in,” he said, jerking his head toward the garden center. “I’ll grab my keys.”

“I don’t need a ride.”

“You can’t walk to the inn in this. You’ll get hypothermia.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“I’m sure you have.” His voice was dry. “But I’m not going to stand here and watch you try to prove it. Get in. I’ll take you.”

Evie hesitated. Every instinct told her to refuse. To keep walking. To prove that she didn’t need anyone’s help, least of all from a man who’d already decided she was the enemy.

But her feet were numb. Her hands were shaking. And the inn was two miles away in the wrong direction of nowhere.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not thanking you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

The truck was old. A Ford F-150, maybe twenty years old, with a dent in the passenger door and a faint smell of pine and sawdust. Evie climbed in and immediately dripped rainwater onto the cracked leather seat.

“Sorry,” she muttered.

“It’s just water.” The man—Jack, she remembered now, from the file she’d read on the inn. Jack Sorenson. Third-generation owner. Grandson of the man who’d once loved her grandmother. He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life. “You’re gonna need to give me directions.”

“Head toward the lighthouse. The inn is on the left, about a mile past the turnoff.”

He nodded and pulled out of the parking lot. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The rain drummed on the roof, and the wipers fought a losing battle against the storm.

“The inn’s in bad shape,” Jack said finally.

“I know.”

“When’s the last time you saw it?”

Evie hesitated. “Ten years.”

“Ten years.” He let out a low whistle. “It’s been empty for the last two. After Eleanor passed. Nobody’s been maintaining it.”

“I know that too.”

“Then you know the roof leaks. The foundation’s cracked. The electrical is—”

“I know,” Evie said, sharper than she intended. “I’ve read the inspection reports. I know exactly how bad it is.”

Jack glanced at her. She felt his gaze, sharp and assessing, before he turned back to the road.

“You’re gonna need more than an inspection report to fix that place,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“You’re aware.” He repeated the words like they were in a foreign language. “So you’re gonna fix it up. And then what? Sell it?”

Evie stared out the window. The town blurred past—dark houses, dark trees, dark memories. She hadn’t been here since she was twenty-three. Since before everything went wrong.

“I haven’t decided,” she said.

“You haven’t decided.”

“Is there an echo in here?”

Jack’s jaw tightened. “I’m just trying to understand your plan. Because if you sell to the resort people, you’re not just selling a building. You’re selling the town.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“That’s the truth.” He turned onto the lighthouse road, and the headlights caught a glimpse of the old inn. Evie’s heart clenched. It looked worse than she remembered. Much worse. “The resort’s been buying up property for years. They’ve got the beachfront, the old cannery, half the downtown. The inn is the last piece. If they get it, they’ll tear it down and build a parking lot.”

Evie said nothing.

“I’m not asking you to care,” Jack said. “I’m just asking you to think about what you’re doing.”

“I always think about what I’m doing.”

“Then think harder.”

He pulled into the inn’s driveway, and Evie got her first real look at her inheritance. The Pelican Bay Inn had once been beautiful—a sprawling Victorian with a wraparound porch, a rose garden, and a view of the ocean that could break your heart. Now the porch sagged, the garden was a tangle of weeds, and the paint had peeled down to bare wood.

But the lights were on.

Evie frowned. “Did you leave the lights on?”

“No.” Jack killed the engine. “I haven’t been inside since the funeral.”

“Then who—”

The front door opened. A woman stepped onto the porch, holding an umbrella and wearing a bright yellow raincoat. She was young, maybe late twenties, with dark curly hair and a smile that could power a small city.

“Jack!” she called. “Is that you? And—oh! Is thather?”

“Her” had a name. But Evie was too tired to correct her.

The woman bounded down the steps, splashing through puddles with reckless abandon. She reached the truck and peered through the window at Evie with open curiosity.

“You’re Evie Sterling,” she said. “You look exactly like your grandmother.”

Evie’s throat tightened. “You knew Eleanor?”

“Everyone knew Eleanor.” The woman’s smile softened. “I’m Margot. Jack’s sister. I’ve been airing out the inn for you. I figured you’d be tired when you got here.”

“I—” Evie didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to people doing things for her. Not without expecting something in return.

“Don’t look so suspicious,” Margot said, laughing. “It’s a small town. We take care of each other. And you’re Eleanor’s granddaughter. That makes you one of us.”

“I’m not—”

“Come on. Let’s get you inside before you drown.”

Margot grabbed Evie’s duffel bag and started toward the inn. Evie looked at Jack, who shrugged.

“She does that,” he said. “Sweeps people up. You’ll get used to it.”

“I’m not staying long enough to get used to anything.”

Jack’s eyes met hers. In the dim light of the truck, they looked almost black.

“That’s what they all say,” he said. “And then they leave.”

He got out of the truck and walked toward the inn without looking back.

Evie sat in the passenger seat for a long moment. The rain had finally started to ease. The storm was passing. But she felt like she’d just walked into another one.

She grabbed her purse and followed him inside.