He hesitated, looking at her hopeful face. “Still thinking about it.” Wes wasn’t at all comfortable with letting his nine-year-old go that far away from home that summer but right now he did not have the heart to break hers with the truth.

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Googling “wood rot” and seeing the photos of termites was all it took to have Sarah reconsidering her free accommodations at Dove’s Nest. The wood tunnels around the baseboards in the downstairs main bathroom looked like the perfect home for these insects, and they weren’t exactly the guests she wanted to share a B&B with. Sitting on the deck, she was about to call the local five-star hotel’s reservations desk when a car turned into the circular driveway.

She smiled for the first time that day, seeing her best friends, Jessica and Whitney, climbing out of Whitney’s banana-yellow Miata convertible. Whitney had bought the car a month ago, and it was perfect for the spirited, upbeat woman. No one would dare mention that it lacked a back seat for all the kids Whitney’s fiancé, Trent, insisted they wanted.

Sarah put her phone back in her pocket and met them at the top of the deck stairs. “I thought I wouldn’t see you guys until tomorrow,” she said, hugging them both at the same time. They had wanted to give her time with her family while they were still in town for her grandmother’s funeral, but seeing them now brought a rush of tears. Growing up, Jessica and Whitney had been more than friends; they were her sisters by heart. It was tough the last few days being in town and not seeing them, but they were here now, and she wasn’t sure if the tears were joy at seeing them or at finally being able to let go and grieve her grandmother. Maybe both.

“We couldn’t wait any longer,” Whitney said.

“And when we got your text that you’d inherited Dove’s Nest, we wanted to make sure you didn’t walk straight into the ocean,” Jessica said.

She didn’t admit that for a heartbeat or two, she had contemplated doing just that. “It’s tempting,” she said. “What’s with the bowling shirt?” Jessica’s shirt was white with bold red sleeves and a single red stripe down the front, with an embroidered logo on the left-hand side that read Bay’s Singles.

“She joined a coed league,” Whitney said, the eye roll implied in her tone. “As if dart club and competitive ax throwing weren’t extracurricular activity enough.”

Jessica shot her a look. “It was supposed to be a singles team, but apparently, ‘single’ just meant ‘not married.’ So now I’m stuck carrying an awful team with two actively not single couples and Bert Elliott.”

“The hardware store guy?” Bert had worked the paint counter for years. “Isn’t he married?”