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she’d taken over, how fortunate he was that it had fallen to her understanding and careful hands, and not to some developer who might have simply torn it down and started over.
    She’d honor his ancestors’ intent and put her own stamp on the place. She’d bookend what he’d started. He’d see that for himself in time, and she could only hope he’d approve.
    She turned back to the wide plank door, smiling as she noted the throng of small white buoys hanging from the oversized handle, each banded with a different colorful stripe, or rather what once had been bright and colorful, but had clearly seen their share of ocean action. Pot buoys, she knew they were called, for the lobster pots they marked all over the bay. They were a symbol she’d noticed hanging proudly on countless buildings and posts all around Pelican Bay and Blueberry Cove. Most noticeably, they were in the harbor area, so charming and true to the local fishing heritage.
    All in all, Brodie had made a really good start with his boathouse renovation, a fine beginning to the daunting task he had ahead. Well, it could do with a bit of landscaping, she thought. Some shrubbery, a flower garden to cheer up and soften the overwhelming masculinity of it all wouldn’t have been out of place, but what did she know from boatbuilding businesses?
    â€œAbout as much as you do about innkeeping,” she murmured under her breath. Not that he has to know about that.

Chapter 3
    B rodie had left the large sliding door partially open, but Grace knocked on the plank closest to the gap just the same. No response. A small brass ship bell had been mounted to the frame of the door panel, but ringing it seemed a bit overkill since he was expecting her. She stuck her head inside, but didn’t see man or her traitorous beast. She did, however, see the remarkable transformation of the wide-open interior and eased inside to take a better look.
    She turned in a slow circle and took in the smart use of space, the corner work area, and the cypress planking used for the flooring. Original to the place, she knew, as her boathouse had the same. She’d been planning on replacing it, thinking the boards beyond salvation, but whoever had restored these had done a stunning job. The golden wood glowed with renewed warmth and a rich glossy finish. She made a mental note to ask him whom he’d used. Like he’d tell me . She sighed, hoping they could sort out their issues without involving anyone else—namely lawyers. Well, more lawyers.
    Still caught up in the structure of the place, she moved to the beautiful piece of circular stair ironwork that led up to the thoughtfully executed loft space running across about a third of the open-to-the-rafters interior space. Also cypress planking, she noted, looking up at the loft flooring, absently wondering where the ironwork had been done or if it was original to the old boathouse structure before the renovation. She stepped back and looked up, and noticed the black wrought iron continued across the open edge of the loft space, creating a simple, yet beautiful railing. So, it was new to the renovation, she thought, making another note to look into local tradesmen and see if it had been done by someone in the area.
    The railing itself had been turned into art by the addition of a circular opening in the middle, which had been fitted with a vintage-style brass medallion the size of a dinner plate.
    Without thinking, she climbed a few steps to get a closer look at the piece, and realized that while the wrought iron was new, the medallion was not. The patina had turned it a deep sea green, and the brass was pockmarked and pitted from excessive exposure to salt water and weather. The engraved clipper ship, the same as on the painted emblem representing the Monaghan shipbuilding legacy, was no less majestic for the wear and tear. Was it some kind of logo, a stamp of sorts, that they’d put on their ships,