Page 5 of Winter Beginnings
“Only for the parts,” I assured her. “Just a quick fix.”
She patted my arm. “You’re a treasure, Cass. I hear you were hired to refurbish the old Barrington place, too. Be careful, dear—that house has quite a history.”
I forced a smile. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. The new owner seems nice, though.”
Mrs. Jenkins gave me a curious look. “You keep an eye on her, will you? That place can swallow a person whole if they’re not careful.”
I thanked her for her concern and left, ignoring the knot in my gut. If only she knew how close I was to that history—closer than even I cared to admit. But I’d keep that intel to myself, at least for now.
Back in the truck, I checked my phone. Rory had texted me:
Hey Cass, do you have a minute to talk about the house? Also, do you know if the generator in the mansion is functional?
My pulse skipped. She was diving in headfirst, apparently. I tapped to call her, and she picked up on the first ring.
“Hey, Cass,” she greeted, her breath a little uneven, as if she’d been hurrying. “I’m in the mansion’s foyer right now…found the generator in the basement. It looks like it might power some lights?”
“Potentially,” I said, pulling away from Mrs. Jenkins’s driveway. “That generator was installed during the last big dispute, as I recall. Could be working or might need a tune-up. I can check it for you tomorrow.”
“Perfect,” she said, sounding relieved. “Since I’m planning to move in soon, I need at least partial electricity so I don’t freeze my butt off.” A short laugh followed. “Turns out I left most of my furniture behind in Miami, so I don’t have much to lug in. But the moving company’s delivering my personal stuff next week.”
I paused. “Wait…you’re moving in permanently? Like, full-time? Right away?”
She hesitated, as though bracing for disapproval. “That’s the plan. I’m done with Florida. I was a real estate agent down there, but after…everything that happened, I want to start over. The mansion isn’t just a flip for me. I want to live here and,eventually, turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. A place folks can come year-round.”
A mild shock rippled through me. “You’re serious? Not flipping it for a profit?”
Her voice warmed, threaded with passion. “No way. This is my new home. I might have been a realtor, but I’m not in the mood for a quick sale. I want to keep it, run it, own it. I was thinking of naming it the ‘Evergreen Inn.’” She gave a little laugh. “It just came to me—forests, new beginnings…plus it sounds cute, right? Better than Barrington anything.”
Despite my initial surprise, a grin tugged my lips. “Evergreen Inn,” I repeated, tasting the name. “I love it. Feels fresh. Definitely better than sticking with the Barrington baggage.”
She exhaled happily. “I was hoping you’d say that. Anyway, do you have a second to swing by? Or do you want to talk details tomorrow?”
I checked the time. “I can come by in an hour or so. Need to pick up some supplies and then I’m free.”
“Great! I’d like to maybe ask maybe a million questions about how I can help with the reno, if that’s okay. Since I plan on living on-site even as we fix it up, so if you’re willing to teach me stuff, I can help with at least some of the grunt work.”
A chuckle escaped me. “You sure you’re up for that? Home reno can get messy.”
She scoffed lightly. “I used to stage and prep houses for sale as part of my real estate gig. I’m not clueless, I promise. Show me what to do, and I’ll roll up my sleeves.”
The mental image of her in dusty tight jeans, maybe paint streaked across her cheek, rummaging through old rooms, sent a jolt of warmth through my belly. “All right,” I said, trying tosound casual. “I’ll see you soon. We can talk about next steps. And maybe check that generator so you have at least partial power.”
She ended the call with a bright note in her voice. I stared at my phone, half smiling. Underneath that coat and hat, Rory Lancaster had some fire.
The sun sat lower on the horizon when I pulled back onto the Barrington property. Golden light stretched across the snow, turning everything into a gentle glow. Rory’s red SUV was parked near the porch. My breath fogged the truck’s window as I surveyed the house. In the dusk, it actually looked…romantic, in a gothic sort of way.
I climbed out, crunching over the icy gravel. She emerged onto the porch, waving. A rush of surprise flickered through me—she’d changed from her earlier outfit to a warmer look: heavy boots, thick jeans, a flannel shirt beneath a puffy jacket, and that signature purple beanie perched on her dark hair.
“Hey,” she called, stepping carefully down the creaking steps. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem,” I said, my gaze sweeping over her. She looked flushed, possibly from rummaging around in the cold. “You surviving in there?”
She rolled her eyes with a grin. “Barely. But the good news is, the generator actually fired up for a minute. I turned it off because I didn’t want to blow anything, but it’s definitely not dead.”
“That’s promising,” I agreed. “If it’s functional, we can wire up some space heaters and a few lights for you. Enough so you won’t freeze until we get a proper system installed.”
She seemed excited, nodding vigorously. “I’m hoping that means I can move in once my boxes arrive next week. I don’t have real furniture anymore—I left most of it in Miami with Julian, my ex-fiancé and business partner. We co-owned a condo, and to be honest, I didn’t want reminders of that life. So I’ll just buy fresh pieces. I thought it might be fun to pick up antiques or vintage stuff that fits the mansion’s old vibe.”