Don’t let anything—even a For Sale sign?
Emily’s hand went to her belly again. She had to do this. Not just for herself, but for Pea, too. Sure, she could afford to stay at a hotel, even jet to Italy and spend a week in a villa, but that wasn’t where Emily’s heart lay. It wasn’t the place she needed so desperately to be right now.
Emily glanced down at her hand, at the ornate diamond ring in its platinum setting. She slid it off and tucked it in her pocket. It was time to accept that she was moving on.
Away from Cole.
The front door of the inn opened, and a petite gray-haired woman came out onto the porch. She had on a deep orange apron with yellow edging, a pale pink T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts and sneakers that had seen better days. Emily’s face broke into a grin, and she crossed the drive in fast strides. “Carol!”
The inn owner’s face lit with recognition and she came hurrying down the steps. “Emily Watson? Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it’s you!”
The two women embraced, a long hearty hug, the kind that came from years of friendship. Emily had spent so much time at the inn in the summers of her childhood that Carol seemed more like an aunt or an extra grandmother than the owner. She still carried the scent of home-baked bread, as if everything good about the world surrounded Carol Parsons.
A wet nose nudged at Emily’s jeans. She grinned and looked down at a golden shaggy dog that had a little Golden in her, a little something else. “Is this Wesley’s daughter?”
Carol nodded. “Meet Harper. She’s a bit of a mutt, but she’s lovable and goofy and all the things you want in a dog.”
Emily bent down and ruffled Harper’s ears. “You’ve got a heck of a reputation to live up to, missy.”
The dog wagged her tail, lolled her tongue and looked about as unworried as a retriever mix could look. Then she turned and bounded off into the woods, barking an invitation to play at a squirrel.
Emily rose. “I’m so glad you’re still here, Carol. When I saw the For Sale sign, I was afraid...”
“Don’t you worry. I’m still here. Hanging on by a thread, but here. Anyway, that’s a sad story for another day.” Carol gestured toward the inn. “Do you want to come in? Stay a while?”
“Actually...” Emily pointed toward the bag in the back of her car. “I was hoping to stay a long while.”
Carol’s green eyes searched Emily’s, and then her face filled with compassion, understanding. “You stay as long as you want, dear. There’s always a room for you here.”
That was what Emily loved about Carol. She’d never asked questions, never pried. Merely offered a helping hand and a shoulder to cry on, whenever one was needed. Emily hadn’t had that kind of bond with her own mother, or heck, any of the female relatives in her family. But she had with Carol, and had looked forward to her summers here as much as she looked forward to sunshine after a cloudy day. She’d spent more time in the kitchen of the inn, helping Carol knead bread and peel potatoes, than probably anywhere else in the world.
The two of them headed inside the inn. The porch creaked a warning as Emily crossed the rotting floorboards. The swing needed a coat of paint, and several of the balustrades had fallen to the ground below. The front door still had the large beveled glass panel that defined its elegance, but inside, everything else looked old, tired, worn. The hardwood floor of the foyer had darkened with age, and one of the parlor’s windows rattled against the breeze trying to make its way under the sill. A water stain on the ceiling spoke of plumbing trouble above, while the steam radiators hissed and sputtered a weak wave of heat to break fall’s chill.
Emily stowed her bag by the door, then followed Carol into the kitchen. This room, too, had been hit hard by time. The once-bright and happy sunflower wallpaper was peeling, and the white vinyl floor was scuffed and torn in some places. The same long maple table dominated the center of the kitchen, flanked by eight chairs, enough for the help to have dinner, or a few up-too-late teenage girls to grab a midnight snack.
Carol crossed to the coffeepot. “Do you want a cup? I’ve also got some bread that just came out of the oven. It’s warm, if you want a slice.”
“No coffee, but I’d love some bread. Who can turn down that bit of heaven? Do you have honey for it?”
“I do indeed. If there’s one thing that’s still producing here, it’s the bees.” Carol grinned, but Emily could see the pain behind the facade. Carol retrieved two mugs of coffee, a plate of bread slices and some honey before returning to the table. She held her cup between her hands and let out a long sigh. “I bet you’re wondering why this place looks like this and why I have it up for sale.”
“Yeah, but I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” Emily had plenty going wrong in her own life that she wasn’t keen to discuss, either.
“It’s okay. It’s been hardest for me to tell the regular guests. Those people are like my family, and to think that the Gingerbread Inn will one day no longer exist...it just breaks my heart. But there’s only so much I can do.” Carol dropped her gaze to her coffee. “After my husband died, this place got to be too much for one person. Revenue dropped off when the economy struggled, and I just couldn’t afford to hire people to keep up with the maintenance. I love it here, I really do, but it’s got to the point now where the whole thing is too much. I don’t even know where to begin to repair and rebuild. So I put it on the market. Maybe I’ll get enough money to pay for a little cottage near the beach.”
Harper wriggled through the dog door in the kitchen, took one look at the two women and ducked under the kitchen table, her tail beating a comforting patter against the tile floor. Carol gave the dog a loving pat.
“I hate to see you sell it. I like knowing the inn is here, if...” Emily sighed. “If I ever need it.”
Carol’s green eyes met Emily’s, and her face filled with concern. She reached out, covered one of Emily’s hands with her own. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“Just a lot going on in my life right now,” Emily said. An understatement if there ever was one.
This morning, she’d walked out on her ten-year marriage. They’d already been separated for six months, but separated was a loose term when it came to Cole. He’d stopped by at least once a week, for everything from his favorite golf club to checking to make sure the lawn mower had enough gas for when the landscapers came by.
It was as if he didn’t want to accept it was over. Okay, she hadn’t made that message any clearer by sleeping with him again. One crazy night, fueled by nostalgia and memories, and she’d forgotten all the reasons they were wrong for each other. The reasons she had asked for a separation. The reasons why she couldn’t live with a man who broke her heart almost every day.
Emily finally realized that if she wanted space, she’d have to get it for herself. And with the new life inside her, she needed to have a clear head to make one big decision.
File for divorce or try one more time.
“Well, you take whatever time you need,” Carol said. “If there’s one thing this place is perfect for, it’s thinking.”
“I’m counting on that,” Emily said, then got to her feet for a second slice of bread. It didn’t help her think, but it sure helped her feel like she’d come to the right place. Something about being back at the Gingerbread Inn filled her soul, and right now, Emily Watson needed that more than anything.
* * *
Cole Watson bounded up the stairs of his house—okay, technically it wasn’t his right now, even if he was still making the mortgage payments—with a bottle of wine in one hand and a dozen roses in the other. He reached for the front door handle, then paused.
This was Emily’s house now. That meant