Take This Heart (Windy Harbor Series Book 1), page 4
“Milo said we’ve got the bones of something good here. You should see the mood boards and plans we discussed before you got here yesterday.”
Tully raises his brows, looking at Milo. “You have mood boards?”
“Your dad brought them,” Milo says quietly.
Dad grins, looking around at all of us. “Yes, I did. Because it’s happening, kids. I’m not giving up on this. If you can’t be here full-time, maybe part-time? Summers. Holidays. Weekends...”
Noah shakes his head. “My time’s not as flexible as it used to be. Grayson’s in preschool.”
Camden sighs. “We all want this place to thrive for you, Dad, but we’ve got careers…commitments.”
“I know,” Dad says, the brightness in his eyes dimming just a little. “I know. It’s just...I look at this land, and I see all of you. I see bonfires and late-night swims. I see your mom’s wind chimes on the porch. I see the life we had here, and I want that back. Not the past—just...something new that still feels like home. Working on this project together would be a huge expansion of what we’ve already had here, and it’d also be something new. New memories, new history being made.”
Something cracks in my chest at that.
We walk a little more. Nobody talks, each of us in our own thoughts. The old trail loops down toward the lake, where the remnants of the old dock jut out. Tully crouches to pick up a smooth stone, flipping it in his hand like he used to when we were kids. He used to claim he could tell fortunes with lake rocks.
“This one says we’re all doomed,” he jokes, tossing it into the water.
It skips once, twice, then sinks.
Thoughts about Milo filter in, without my permission. I watch him talking to my brothers, laughing even. But there’s something about him—something restrained, elusive. Like he’s constantly measuring what he says. Holding something back. I haven’t figured him out yet, and that unsettles me. Sometimes though, especially when he’s laughing like he is right now, I forget how much I dislike him. Just for a second.
Instead, I think about the beautiful structures he’s masterminded and wonder how his mind works. What inspires him?
It’s a lightbulb moment.
“We could do it differently,” I say, whirling around to face everyone. “Not just the wellness retreat Dad mentioned. Studio spaces. An artist’s retreat. Nature conservation internships. If we want to keep the integrity of the place, that’s one way to do it. Blend the old with the new. Have a place that inspires people whose wells are empty…or a getaway for anyone needing that extra spark and space for creativity.”
Everyone blinks at me. Milo’s eyes narrow on me. Because it’s not a bad idea and he knows it.
Dad crosses his arms. “Hmm. I’ll think about it. Seems like that would leave out the family vibes I’m thinking about. But a board of investors would eat it up.”
“Families could still vacation here. There’s room for everyone,” I say, lifting my shoulder.
“A thousand acres is something to work with, all right.” Noah whistles.
“Lots to think about, right?” Dad says. “At least let me believe you’re thinking about helping me.” He laughs. “Come on, let’s head back. I’ve got some meat in the smoker.”
We start the trek back, teasing Dad about all the cooking he’s doing now. It’s a relatively new thing for him to be cooking and he’s surprisingly good at it. The clouds shift and sunlight breaks through, warming our backs. For a moment, I just soak in the contentment of having all of us in one place. It’d be amazing to work on something like this together, but it also seems impossible that we’d all give up our careers to focus on this.
I don’t know what I want. I love this place. I love my dad. But I also love my work and my life in Minneapolis. I’m not ready to give that up.
And if Milo Lombardi were a part of it? We’d clash nonstop.
I don’t want to share anything with him, thoughts, or work…or kisses.
He catches up with me while we’re walking back.
“Smart idea back there,” he says.
“You think you’re the only one with good ideas?”
His laugh is low and rough. “You know I’m not the villain here, right?”
“You sure?”
He gets a weird expression on his face and then shakes his head. “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
“So I’ve been told. I get it honestly. Grandma Donna and Grandma Nancy gave it to me in double doses.” I glance at him and his amber eyes are dancing in the sunshine. “And you’re arrogant.”
He smirks. “Your grandmothers don’t seem to mind, yet you’re insistent on finding something wrong with me.”
“Guess you’ll have to prove me wrong.”
“Guess I will.”
He walks ahead, leaving me to stare at his perfect backside.
Definitely nothing wrong with him there.
By the time we get back to the house, everyone’s dragging a little. The porch creaks under our boots, the screen door groaning from the lack of use. Every time I come here, I ache for my mother, but that also goes for the Summit house. I see her everywhere, but I miss her physical presence with every bone in my body.
I rub my hands together to shake off the chill and sink onto the edge of the couch.
Tully leaves the room, muttering that he needs paper to sketch some things out. He’s a professional hockey player, but he might be the most artistic of all of us. My grandmas busy themselves in the kitchen, while Dad flops into his chair, and Dylan lays back on the couch next to me. Camden scrolls on his phone, kicking his boots off.
“Is it warmer than usual in here?” Noah asks, moving toward the thermostat.
There’s a thud from farther back in the house. We all look at Dad and he frowns.
“I found this in your office, Dad. What the hell is this?” Tully’s voice slices through the air.
I jerk upright. My heart pounds before he even storms into the living room, a thick folder clutched in one hand.
Dad stiffens across the room, his whole body going rigid.
“It’s nothing,” he says, too fast. “Please keep it down. I don’t want them overhearing this.” He tilts his head toward the kitchen where my grandmothers and Grayson are laughing.
Tully flips open the folder. His jaw tightens as he reads, his hand shaking slightly.
“No, it’s not nothing,” he says, his voice low and shaky. “It’s hospital paperwork. Tests. A biopsy. Surgery consults.” He lifts his head, eyes locking on Dad. “You have cancer?”
The room sways a little around me. I push off the couch and step closer to Dad, my legs stiff.
“What is he talking about?” I whisper, looking at Dad.
His face is pale, drawn tight like a seams-about-to-burst suitcase. His hand scrapes over his jaw, a telltale sign that he’s stalling for time.
“It’s early,” he says gruffly. “They caught it early. It’s a tumor on my pancreas. Operable. Treatable.”
“But it’s cancer.” Tully’s voice is flat.
Dad nods. “Yes.”
Dylan swears under his breath, a sharp sound in the silence.
Noah crosses his arms over his chest, his face working through a dozen emotions at once.
Even Milo looks shaken.
And I just stand there, staring at Dad like he might break before my very eyes.
“When were you going to tell us?” I croak out.
Dad’s eyes, so much like Noah’s and Camden’s, flick to me. I see it then—the weight he’s been carrying alone.
“I didn’t want to ruin the weekend. I wanted to talk to you about the land. About dreams, not…” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. “Not about hospitals and treatment plans.”
“But we want to know what’s going on with you, Dad,” Camden says. His voice cracks halfway through. “We need to know.”
“I know,” Dad says, closing his eyes for a second. “I just…I needed to hold onto normal for a little while longer. And your grandmothers have been through too much the past couple of years. I’ll tell them eventually. Just give me some time.”
The clock ticks too loudly on the mantel. Someone’s breathing raggedly. I think it’s me. I step into Dad’s space and wrap my arms around him. His hands come up slowly, pulling me in tight.
One by one, my brothers close in. We crush Dad between us, Whitman hearts banding together without a word.
I’m terrified. Already lost just imagining a world without my dad.
No, don’t go there. Do not go there.
“I’ll do whatever you want, Dad,” Camden says, voice broken. “It may take a few months, but I’ll visit…and I’ll work on handing things over to my manager so I can get here as soon as possible.”
“Same,” Dylan says.
Noah nods. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take me, but I’ll come every chance I get.”
“Me too,” I say, wiping my face.
Tully takes a deep breath and his fingers grip my shoulder and Noah’s as he stares at Dad. “I’ll hold off on signing any new contracts. May as well go out on a high note.”
“Absolutely not,” Dad says to Tully. “You’re not quitting hockey. I can’t ask any of you to do this,” Dad says, his face streaming with tears. “It was different when I was trying to get you here to work on this project. That would’ve been your choice because you wanted this opportunity and were excited about the possibilities, not because you feel obligated to be with me.”
“We’re not leaving you to go through this alone,” Noah says. “And the project will be a bonus. Something to get our minds off of what’s going on with you.”
My dad still looks distraught.
“Ultimately, it could be a huge addition to each of our careers, if we all put our skills toward this one endeavor,” Camden says. “You’ll need a Michelin-star level restaurant with this new resort, right?”
Dad snorts out a laugh, wiping his cheeks. “Right.”
“We’ll get through this, Dad,” I tell him. “Together.”
CHAPTER SIX
FAMILY TIES
MILO
Fuck. I can’t believe Everett has cancer. Why does it always happen to the good ones?
I’m out on the deck, looking at the lake and trying to give Everett and his family privacy, when my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s my uncle.
Of course it is.
I glance back through the big windows where the Whitmans sit inside. Goldie’s silhouette stands out the most, perched on the arm of the couch, one knee pulled up, a wine glass dangling from her fingers. She’s laughing at something her brother said, her head tipping back, and my gut twists.
I’m glad she’s laughing. It hurt to see the tears falling down her cheeks earlier.
I ignore the call, but it just rings again a few seconds later.
I answer.
“Milo!”
“Hey, Bruce,” I mutter, already regretting answering.
“What, I’m not Uncle Bruce anymore?”
“I think I stopped calling you that the first time I did a job with you.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. I miss it though. Any updates? You had your meeting yet? What’s the scoop?”
I stare at the stars reflected in the black water below. I rub the back of my neck, feeling like I might be sick.
“You said the land you were interested in was farther north,” I say. “Not Windy Harbor.”
“Same difference,” he says breezily. “Just nudge the guy. Tell him it’ll be too expensive, too much work to restore.”
“You didn’t say it was this land,” I say again, my voice rough. My heart hammers against my ribs. I hear the echo of Everett’s voice earlier today, talking about how much this place means to him. How he wants to leave it better than he found it. “Why didn’t you tell me it was the Whitmans you were bidding against?”
Bruce’s laugh grates in my ear. “Didn’t know it mattered.”
“I get the impression that there’s a lot of tension between you and Everett and I find it suspicious that you didn’t tell me any of this.”
He barks out a laugh and my skin crawls. “Where have you been, Milo? Can you seriously say you know nothing about the Whitman/Granger divide?”
I frown and start pacing. “What are you talking about?”
He sighs. “Goddamn it, Milo. This goes way back. And if you want to be part of this family, you’ll help me put the Whitmans in their place once and for all.”
“No, I don’t want any part of whatever this is.”
“Too late. You were part of this before you were ever born.”
“This is ridiculous. Everett’s a good man. And business is business. I’m not going to ruin my reputation over some silly family feud.”
“This goes deeper than that.”
He hangs up and I stare at my phone in confusion.
The stars blur, and for a second, the ground feels like it’s tipping. I sit heavily on one of the deck chairs, dropping my head into my hands.
This is a goddamn disaster.
Everett Whitman has cancer.
It’s awful. On the outside, the man seems to be the epitome of good health. And he’s certainly loved. Through the window, his family still looks like they’re on the brink of tears. Goldie’s face went white when she heard, like someone punched her.
No one but Everett knew until today.
I shouldn’t be here. The asshole who’s been working against them without even realizing it. The enemy.
I rake my hands through my hair, tugging hard, like pain might help this make sense.
I was so damn eager for the project. Speaking to Everett yesterday before the family arrived, he’d gotten me fully invested. Now that I’ve seen the property, I feel even more so.
Bruce is my mom’s brother. He’s a complicated man and we rarely see eye to eye, but when he mentioned an exciting opportunity to revitalize underused lakefront land up north, I didn’t see any reason to not pursue it. I had no idea he wanted this land.
And what the fuck is the Whitman/Granger divide?
The door creaks open behind me.
Light footsteps and a soft, familiar scent drifts on the breeze.
Goldie.
“Hey,” she says, voice cautious.
I force myself to turn and meet her gaze. Her eyes search mine.
“You okay?” she asks. “You don’t have to stay out here.”
“I know. I just…didn’t want to intrude. I’m really sorry about your dad.”
Her face softens, her eyes filling with tears. She wraps her arms around herself. “It’s serious, but there’s treatment. Hopefully they caught it in time.”
I stare out at the dark water, guilt tightening around my ribs until it’s hard to breathe.
I hope there’s time for Everett to do all he dreams of doing.
If no one rips it out from under him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, running a hand through my hair. “I just…need some air.”
“You’re already outside,” she says gently.
But she doesn’t stop me when I go.
I pace down the steps, gravel crunching under my boots, the air slamming into my overheated skin.
I fish out my phone again, thumb hovering over Bruce’s name.
Calling him won’t fix it.
I turn in a slow circle, heading back to the house. I don’t know what to do. I need to find out more about our families and what Bruce plans to do. Maybe I can encourage him to look elsewhere for land. Bruce is an ass, but he’s powerful. He’s got lawyers on standby. I need to think this through.
The door creaks as I step inside. The conversation has quieted, everyone scattered around the room, tired and heavy from the news.
Goldie’s standing at the fireplace, staring at an old photo on the mantel. It’s of her as a little girl, hair in pigtails, sitting on her dad’s shoulders.
God, the way she looks at him. Like he’s her hero.
I swallow hard.
Everett’s sitting in his recliner, a blanket draped over his lap. I don’t know if it’s the heaviness of what he’s shared with his family or if it’s the sickness, but all too quickly, he looks exhausted and pale.
I make my way over, heart hammering.
“Everett?” I say quietly.
He looks up, eyes sharp despite the weariness dragging his face down.
“Count me in. For all of it. Whatever you need. With the property. With your plans. I want to help as much as you want.”
His face breaks out into a huge smile. “Thank you, Milo. It’s great to have you officially onboard.”
I have no idea how I’m going to clear this up with Bruce, but I meet Everett’s gaze and say the one thing I know is true.
“You believe in this place and I believe in you.”
He claps his hand on my shoulder. “All right then. I believe in you too. Have from day one.”
Later, after the house is quiet, I can’t sleep. I sit on the deck with my laptop open, light from the screen making me squint. I go back through all the emails from Bruce. There’s nothing in there about this particular piece of property, so that must be a relatively new development. I just hope and pray that Everett gets this land, not Bruce. If Goldie thought I was an opportunist out to squash history with the new and flashy, she’ll really despise my uncle’s vision. He’ll have gold statues leading to the golden brick path to a massive resort if he gets his hands on it.
A crack of light shines across the deck, and I hear the door shut.
Goldie pads out, barefoot in leggings and a hoodie. Her hair’s loose, haloed by the moonlight. She curls into the chair next to me without speaking.
We sit in silence for a long time, the waves lapping against the rocks.
Finally, she says, “Thank you.”
I look at her, startled. “For what?”
Her smile is small and sad. “For being here. I know my dad must really like you for him to invite you here this weekend while the rest of us are here. It says a lot that he wants you around. He doesn’t allow just anyone in…”
