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The next morning, Charlotte stood atopa ladder, her brush gliding along the cornice with the care of a seasonedartist, painting life back into the once-vibrant walls of The Crown Inn. Shepaused to admire the seafoam hue that now adorned the room, a color thatbrought the tranquility of Chesham Cove's waters indoors. Her gaze drifted tothe furniture she had meticulously repaired, the antique charm restored underher loving hands, and to the new curtains that danced gently with each breeze—awisp of elegance in the sunlit space.
"Charlotte, where have you put thecorkscrew?" Henry's voice shattered the serenity, his silhouette darkeningthe doorway.
Charlotte steadied herself on theladder, taking a deep breath to contain the irritation bubbling inside her."Top drawer by the sink," she replied without looking down, her focusremaining on the delicate task before her.
"Ah, splendid!" he exclaimed,but instead of retreating, Henry sauntered into the room, his steps carelessand unconcerned. He hummed a tuneless melody as he rifled through side tabledrawers, disrupting Charlotte's concentration once more.
"Did you see the paper thismorning? Dreadful news about the cricket match," he continued, obliviousto the disruption he caused.
"Can't say I have," Charlotteresponded tersely, dipping her brush into the paint once again. She tried toimmerse herself in the rhythm of her strokes, seeking solace in the repetitivemotion.
"Quite the shame," Henrymused aloud, leaning against the freshly painted wall, leaving a faint imprintof his shirt.
Charlotte's hand faltered, leaving anunwanted streak of paint across the smooth surface. She bit back a sigh,descended the ladder with grace that belied her frustration, and faced herfather. "I’m trying to concentrate. Could we perhaps chat later?"
"Of course, of course," Henrywaved a dismissive hand. "I'll just sit here with you. I’ll be very quiet.But I need to decant the wine. Be right back."
She watched him leave, his presencelingering like the scent of varnish on old wood—pervasive and slightlyunsettling. Decant the wine? It was barely past breakfast. At least Liamhad gone out into the garden for some air, and her guests had left for theirday’s adventures. Henry had been following her around all morning, room toroom. Charlotte turned back to the wall, her eyes tracing the imperfection leftby both the conversation and Henry’s casual lean. With a resigned breath, sheclimbed back up the ladder, her determination solidifying with each step.
Henry returned to settle in a dropcloth-covered chair, holding a wineglass and a decanter of red. He sipped andwatched Charlotte work.
Roxanne's heavy, angry steps announcedher approach before she even entered the room. Her eyes narrowed on the figureof Henry, who lounged in the armchair with a nonchalance that belied the laborsof renovation occurring around him. Charlotte thought, Here we go again…
"Henry," Roxanne began, hervoice tight with barely contained irritation, "do you not see the thatCharlotte is working herself to the bone, and you—you just waltz in here likesome carefree bachelor, sitting down to watch her but not helping?"
Henry, his gaze lingering out thewindow at the seagulls circling above the coastline, turned slowly toward hiselder daughter. His response was infuriatingly serene. "Darling Roxanne,surely there are more pressing issues in the world than my humbleinterruptions."
"Pressing issues?" Roxanne'svoice climbed, echoing off the walls adorned with freshly hung curtains."Yes, there are, and right now it's your complete disregard forCharlotte's hard work! This inn is important to her—did you offer to help?”
"Important, yes." Henrysmiled, waving a hand as if swatting away her words like pesky flies. "Butso is taking a moment to enjoy life, Roxie. Why don't you try itsometime?"
"Enjoy life?" Roxannelaughed, a sharp, sardonic sound. "You're acting like a spoiledchild!"
"Child? Oh, that's rich comingfrom you." Henry stood up, a smooth motion that contrasted with thetension crackling in the air. "You've always been so quick to judge, toassume the worst. Maybe it's you who should take a step back and look at thebigger picture."
"The bigger picture?"Roxanne’s hands balled into fists, her knuckles turning white. "The biggerpicture is that all you seem to see is an opportunity to disrupt andderail."
"Derail?" Henry scoffed,shaking his head. "You think I want to see this place fail? You think Idon't understand its importance to Charlotte—"
"Then act like it!" Roxannecut across him, her voice slicing through the air. "Show some respect! Foronce in your life, stop thinking about what Henry wants and start helping—or atleast stop hindering!"
Their voices had risen to a crescendo,the weight of years and unspoken grievances giving force to their words. Theinn itself seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds were the distant call ofthe ocean and their heated exchange.
The Crown Inn's walls echoed with theclatter of voices, a discordant symphony that reverberated through the freshlypainted hallways and across Charlotte's frayed nerves. A paintbrush in her handdripped cerulean blue onto the canvas of drop cloths below, forgotten in themidst of Henry and Roxanne's crescendoing argument.
"Enough!" The word burst fromCharlotte like a dam breaking, her voice a sharp crack against the hum ofcontention. She stood there, framed by the large bay window, her silhouetteetched against the softening glow of the twilight sky. The paintbrush fell tothe floor with a soft thud, a punctuation to her proclamation.
"Both of you," she said, herchest heaving with the effort of keeping composure, "are acting likechildren!" Her gaze, fierce and unwavering, flitted between her father andsister. "You two, with your bickering and your ceaselessinterruptions—you're undoing all of my calm."
Henry leaned back against the antiquesideboard, his expression a mix of bemusement and indignation. "Charlotte,I—"
"No, Henry," she cut him off,a rare edge sharpening her usually calm voice. "I don't need your excusesor your distractions. What I need is space—to work, to breathe. And Roxanne,you need to chill out. Remember what I asked? Try to pull back on theover-the-top reactions!"
Roxanne's face, moments ago flushedwith anger, now paled under the weight of Charlotte's scolding. It was as ifthe inn itself had gone still, the sea breeze that danced through the openwindows pausing to witness the fracture of familial bonds. Even the walls,gleaming with their new coat of paint, seemed to hold their breath, a silentaudience to the unraveling scene.
"Charlotte," Roxanne began,her voice quivering with an emotion far different than the irritation of mereminutes before. "Are you saying... are you really taking his side? Afterall these years, after everything he's put us through?"
Charlotte's heart clenched at the rawhurt in Roxanne's eyes, but her own frustration was a living thing, clawing itsway out and leaving little room for empathy. "This isn't about takingsides, Roxanne. This is about respect. Respect for what I'm trying to dohere!"
