Page 65 of Claiming Lily

“Well,” Cole says, clapping his hands together. “The best way to get acclimated is to dig in. Lily, you and I have tiles to lay while Hudson and Gage paint.”

“I’ve never tiled anything in my life,” I confess.

“Lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.” Cole’s grin turns wicked, clearly his mind going to the gutter, and my cheeks heat. “Come on, Red. Let’s make you dangerous with power tools.”

Hudson shakes his head. “Maybe start her with hand tools first.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Cole throws an arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the bathroom while Hudson and Gage head for the bedrooms with paint supplies.

The hallway bathroom is smaller than the others, but Cole’s marked everything out with precision. Stacks of timeless white subway tiles sit waiting, along with buckets of adhesive and more tools than I can identify.

“First lesson,” Cole says, handing me a trowel. “Spreading the mud is all about pressure and angle. Too much pressure and you’ll scrape it all off and your tiles won’t stick.”

He demonstrates on a small section of shower wall, his movements fluid and confident. When he hands the trowel back to me, his fingers brush mine, sending electricity up my arm.

“Your turn.”

I try to mimic his technique, but the adhesive spreads unevenly across the wall. Cole steps behind me, his chest pressing against my back as his hands cover mine on the trowel. Butterflies take flight in my belly.

“Like this.” His breath tickles my ear as he guides my movements. “Feel how the angle changes the spread?”

I can barely focus on the wall with him this close. His cologne, woodsy and clean, muddles my senses. My pulse races at the steady warmth of his body against mine.

“Got it?” His tone is lower now, rougher.

“I think so.” My voice comes out breathy and embarrassing.

If Cole notices my flustered state, he doesn’t call me on it. Instead, he steps back and watches as I work through another section on my own. This time, the adhesive comes out mostly even.

“Perfect. Now comes the fun part.” He hands me a tile. “Press it in, give it a little wiggle to set it, then use the spacers to keep everything aligned.”

For the next hour, we work in a comfortable rhythm. Cole shows me how to measure and mark tiles for cutting, how to use the wet saw without losing a finger, and how to handle the tricky corners where nothing wants to line up properly.

“So what’s the plan with this place?” Cole asks as I position another tile. “Are you going to live here, or sell it, or what?”

I pause, the tile halfway to the wall. “Actually, my mom always dreamed of turning it into a bed and breakfast. Not a short-term rental like half the other places around here, but something special. A place where guests are treated like family. Home-cooked meals, guided tours of Big Ridge, hiking recommendations.” I set the tile carefully, using the spacers to align it. “She wanted people to experience mountain life, not just pass through it.”

“That sounds amazing. Very your mom.” Cole grins as he measures another tile for cutting. “So you’re going to run it?”

The question sits heavy in the small bathroom. I focus intently on the next tile, trying to buy myself time to figure out how to answer. “I, uh, yeah, that’s the plan.”

“You don’t sound very convinced.”

I sigh, sitting back on my heels. “Is it terrible that I don’t really want to host people? Like, at all?” The confession tumbles out before I can stop it. “Mom was the social butterfly. She could make anyone feel welcome, turn strangers into friends within minutes. I sell houses for a living, sure, but that’s different. That’s business. This would be so personal. Opening up my home, cooking for people I don’t know, making small talk over breakfast every morning.” I shake my head. “I’m not built for that.”

He looks at me, expression thoughtful. “But you feel like you have to do it anyway?”

“She was so excited about this dream before she got sick, this is all she talked about.” She always thought I’d want to work here with her, and I never had the heart to tell her I didn’t want to. Does that make me a bad daughter?

We work in silence for a few minutes, the oppressive silence skitters across my skin. I focus on laying tiles, trying to push down the guilt and confusion swirling in my chest.

“Lily, I’m sorry if I upset you.”

I glance at Cole. “It’s not you. It’s everything. I feel like I’m supposed to do this one last thing for her, you know? Like it would honor her or something. But the thought of actually running a bed and breakfast makes me want to hide under the covers.”

Cole sets down his tile and turns to face me fully. “Can I ask you something?”

I nod.