Kathleen Brooks - Secrets Collide

At least she could still stay if she wanted to. Not that it would be the same with Jack and Ava gone and new owners at the helm. They’d want to change it. Turn it into another cookie-cutter hotel. Gone would be her artist’s collective and the herbalist conference. And who knew what they’d do with the century-old cottages.

Maybe if it was an individual or a couple rather than some corporation. They might stand a chance then. “Who’s bought the Siren?”

As if reading her thoughts, Jack frowned. “Holt Enterprises. They’re big, but promised to let you take the lead on the changes they’ll be making.”

Yeah…and dreams were made of cotton candy and gumdrops. She bit back a groan, not wanting to make this anymore difficult on Jack and Ava than it already was. “Where will you go?” Now that she’d made Mermaid Isle her home, she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“Honey, another Maine winter will do us in.” Jack sat back and laughed. “I want sun and warm waters. Sandy beaches that I can walk on without getting swept out to sea. Drinks I can sip out of a coconut or pineapple and are loaded up with rum.”

Riley wanted to protest that they could have those things here, but knew it wasn’t the same. And Jack was right—the winters could be harsh this far north, even if they were still in the southern part of Maine.

“Might do a bit of traveling before we settle down.” Ava looked at her, her motherly concern still worrying her brown eyes. “But we’ll come back during the summers. And we’ll stay in touch. We’ll only be a phone call or email away—not to mention all the current technology. What’s it called? Swipe?”

That made Riley laugh. “The world must be coming to an end then, if I’m going to finally get you two to go online and actually answer emails.”

“You’ll manage just fine, my dear.” Ava got to her feet and Jack followed suit. “If anything, you might finally get the funds to do all those things you’ve been wanting to do here at the Siren. Change is good.”

“When? When will the sale be finalized?” Riley’s breath hitched as she waited for an answer. She’d come here every summer as a child, worked at the inn during her vacations once she’d turned eighteen, and then full-time straight out of college. It was where she’d grown up, where she’d fallen in love for the first time. It was all she knew, all she loved—and she’d given it her all.

“In two weeks. And don’t worry—we’ll tell the others.” Ava gave her a big hug. “Just remember, this will always be the Siren Song Inn. As long as you’re here, the heart of it will never change.”

“I hope you’re right.” She couldn’t bear to think of the Siren changing so much it no longer felt like home.

Riley waited for Jack and Ava to leave her office and then collapsed into her chair, tears stinging her eyes as she tried to swallow down the golf ball-sized lump in her throat. She knew they’d been looking to retire, but she hadn’t expected them to sell the place. Not that she held it against them—all their money was tied up in the inn, and they’d never be able to retire without freeing up those funds.

She thought of what the Siren meant to so many people. Cultivated over the years to be an artist’s retreat, there was a long list of people who came year after year to meet with other like-minded folks, and be inspired by the rugged natural beauty and colorful town.

Unlike other places that catered only to the rich and well off, Mermaid Isle was more approachable and far more unique than any other resort town Riley had ever been to, especially given its long history. Legend had it that thieves and pirates had stashed their plunder in one of the many caves that could be found on the island, and later, it was settled by a small group of women who’d come north to escape the witch trials that reached far past Salem. Add to that the commune that blossomed in the sixties and the artisans that flocked to it in the last few decades, and it would be impossible to duplicate the character of the island and its people.

But with the Siren under new ownership, everything might change, and it could easily devastate the island’s economy. There were a handful of small bed and breakfasts, but the inn was at the heart of the island and it was their constant influx of guests that kept the money flowing—guests that could appreciate the island’s quirky nature.

She’d just have to make sure she held onto the reins. There was more at stake than just the inn or her job.

Checking the time, she went to the front desk and grabbed the keys to the van, hoping that the drive into town would help clear her head. “I’ll go grab the next group of visitors coming in on the ferry.”

Logan gave her a small frown, his blue eyes filled with worry, though handsome as he was, he even made devastation look good. He stepped away from the front counter where’d he’d been dealing with some paperwork, and pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I just heard. I’m really sorry, Riley. But it could be good, right?”

She managed a smile, knowing it was important to stay positive for the troops. Slipping out of the comfort of his arms, she did her best to push her concerns and apprehensions aside. “Exactly. Everything will work out fine. And just think of all the things we can do if we have a bit of money coming in. Might finally be able to give the rooms that remodel we’ve been dreaming of.”

She’d have to make it work. Failure wasn’t an option—not when there was so much on the line. She’d put far too much of herself into the inn to have it all go to hell. And if Holt Enterprises thought they could just come in and bulldoze everything she’d worked so hard to build and care for, then they had better get ready for a fight.

Stay positive , she reminded herself. It didn’t have to be all doom and gloom. Holt might only make a few changes while providing a good infusion of much-needed cash to remodel the place.

With new plans and ideas running through her head, Riley drove the van down to the center of town, taking in the late summer sun and the bustling shops as she made her way to the port. It really was a special place, the brightly colored shingled cottages playing up against the blue sky and sea, while riots of flowers poured out of window boxes. She pulled up by the landing just as the ferry docked and started to unload its passengers. Perfect timing.

There were two ways to get to Mermaid Isle. There was a ferry that left Portland and was convenient for those guests coming from Boston or other points south, and then there was a bridge that connected the island to the mainland an hour north of Portland. During the summer, most opted for the ferry. Some even brought their cars, though most made do with the hotel’s bikes or rented a scooter from a shop in town. But in the winter time, Riley usually recommended the bridge since the winter seas could be rough and unpredictable, and service was limited.

With the hotel’s name emblazoned on the side of the van, she waited for her group to arrive, clipboard in hand. One newlywed couple, three writers who’d signed up for their Romancing the Isle writer’s workshop, and two other individuals who had booked separately. Watching the crowds come in off the ferry, Riley knew there would be a fair number of people who would day-trip it, and take the evening ferry home, but it was the ones who stayed, even just a night or two, who usually came back time and again.

A group of women, ranging from their forties to sixties, laughed and chatted their way off the boat and wandered over, wide-brimmed straw hats atop each head and sundresses flowing in the summer breeze. Her romance writers—the ones who had been to the inn previously and decided to add a few days to their workshop by coming early. “Welcome to Mermaid Isle. Jan, Pat, Diane—so nice to see you again.”