Her bold words echoed in the empty kitchen of her childhood home, disappearing beneath the hum of the refrigerator.
Olivia squared her shoulders, refusing to allow any more darkness in her heart this morning. Losing her job didn’t have to be a bad thing. Nor did she have to regret finding out her ex-boyfriend only thought of her as a convenience. Better to know before she agreed to marry him, instead of after.
Olivia dropped her forehead to the kitchen table, squeezed her eyes shut and drew in several long, calming breaths.
Moving back to Colorado from Jacksonville, Florida, could be a blessing in disguise. The very nudge she needed to stop dreaming about opening her own tearoom and start making it happen.
Step one: make a plan.
Olivia lifted her head, turned on her laptop and looked around the kitchen while the machine booted up. Nothing had changed. The white enameled sink still had the long crack in the middle. The golden handles on the dark cabinets were original, as was the terra-cotta tile floor at her feet. This had been her mother’s domain, where she’d taught Olivia natural ingredients were always the best.
She really missed her mother.
Sighing, Olivia turned her attention back to the computer screen, clicked on the Village Green’s Chamber of Commerce official website and scrolled through the registry of businesses.
Some were new. Most had been around for generations.
She clicked on the link to a chocolate shop, frowned when she saw it had gone out of business six months ago and sat back in her chair. Wasn’t that interesting?
She returned to the search engine, typed in the words Colorado and Chocolatier and—
A wet nose nudged her hand.
Looking down, she steeled her heart against large, pleading brown eyes. “No, Baloo, I can’t go for a walk right now.”
Leash clamped between his teeth, her brother’s ancient black Lab shivered from head to toe. “No, really, I can’t. Maybe later, I’ll...”
Well, why not?
What better way to organize the ideas swirling around in her head? It wouldn’t hurt to avoid her two brothers, either, or their questions concerning her sudden arrival last night.
Losing her job had only been the first painful loss she’d endured before coming home. She hadn’t planned to bunk in her childhood bed, in the house she and her brothers had inherited when their parents died in a car crash ten years ago. Yet here she was.
A canine whine pulled her thoughts back to the present. Olivia made a face at the fifty-pound dog. “I’m not fooled, you know. I just let you out a half hour ago.”
The dog danced sideways to the back door, gave a pitiful swish of his tail, then pawed at the wood.
“All right, O impatient one.” Olivia drew the leash from his mouth and snapped it into his collar. “Let’s go.”
Once outside, instead of heading toward Main Street, she turned south. She wasn’t in a talkative mood. The fewer people she ran into this morning, the better.
It was an idyllic summer morning, in a small town straight out of a 1950s television show. Flowers bloomed in the tidy lawns along the lane. Birdsong filled the air. In the near distance, the majestic Rocky Mountains punched their craggy peaks into the clear blue sky.
She breathed in the smell of pine and fresh Colorado air.
“You’re not in Florida anymore.” That, she decided, was another blessing from her job loss.
Delighted to be outside, Baloo trotted next to her, head high. A few blocks later he stopped to sniff the base of a blue-and-white rectangle sign. Olivia didn’t have to circle around to the other side to read the words scrolled across the silhouette of a church with a tall steeple. She knew them by heart. Village Green, Colorado. Founded 1899. Population: 15,902. Elevation: 4,984.
After ten years of school and work and clawing her way up the corporate ladder, she was back where she started. A little shattered, a bit heartbroken, but not beaten.
In no particular hurry now, Olivia let the dog take the lead. He sniffed a tree, paid avid attention to several bushes, all the while tugging her in the direction of a bubbling, three-tiered fountain at the center of Hawkins Park, named after the town’s founder, Jonathan Hawkins.
Seemingly tuckered out by the time they arrived at the marble monstrosity, Baloo settled at her feet, then shut his eyes and set in for a short nap.
Olivia was about to sit on the fountain’s ledge when a puppy shot past her at lightning speed. The furry missile crested a small hill to her right, spun around, then sped back toward her.
Two young girls wearing matching white shorts and red T-shirts raced after him. “Samson, stop right now,” one of them yelled while the other girl shouted, “Come back here.”
Ears flat against his head, stubby legs pumping hard, Samson darted right, then left, then right again. In their haste to catch him, the girls tumbled over one another, landing in a heap. “Samsoooooooon.”
Ignoring the call, the animal whizzed past the pile of tangled arms and legs, his bubblegum-pink tongue flapping in the wind.
Before Olivia could grab him, the puppy took a flying leap. He cleared the fountain’s ledge and splashed down with a belly-busting splat.
He sank to the bottom like a stone.
Weren’t dogs supposed to be able to swim?
With the girls’ panicked shrieks in her ears, Olivia scooped the puppy out of the water. He came up wriggling and twisting, little legs running in the air.
“Calm down,” she ordered.
Samson continued his antics, jetting water in every direction, including across the front of Olivia’s shirt.
Laughing despite the impromptu bath, she held on tight and studied the animal through narrowed eyes. Seriously cute, she decided as she took in the plump belly, short tawny fur and adorable black face.
When he stopped thrashing she put him on the grass. Mindful of his earlier behavior, she kept her hands on his back, poised to snatch him up again if he attempted an escape.
He shook off the excess water, and immediately instigated a wrestling match with Baloo. The good-natured dog obliged the little troublemaker by rolling onto his back so Samson could climb up.
Olivia shifted her attention to the two young girls skidding to a stop beside her. By their height and size, she guessed their age to be somewhere around eight or nine years old. Nearly the same age as her ex-boyfriend’s daughter, Kenzie. The thought brought such pain Olivia had to close her eyes until the moment passed.
“You saved Samson,” one of the two sobbed.
Tears wavered in the other girl’s eyes. “We were so worried we wouldn’t catch him. He got away really fast.”
Even without the identical clothing, Olivia pegged them for twins. They had the same long, pale blond hair, pretty features and arresting golden-brown eyes.
Something about those eyes sparked a memory, one that shimmered just out of reach.
Olivia glanced around. Where were their parents? The girls were too young to be in the park alone. She plucked the puppy off Baloo and held him out. “Looking for this?”
“Oh, thank you.” Blinking away her tears, the girl on Olivia’s left took the dog, uncaring he was still wet. Now that the puppy was no longer harassing him, Baloo rolled back to his stomach and continued his nap.
“You look familiar.” The girl holding the puppy angled her head. “Do we know you?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve only just—”
“Megan,