And then there was the Jeep. Would Donna be appalled that Annie no longer drove a Lexus but a Wrangler? The hard top seemed to offer better protection against winter winds than canvas—would Donna at least laud her for being smart about that? Or would she be disappointed . . . and disapproving?

And why on earth did Annie care?

Rabbit hole! You know better than to go down there!

Murphy’s voice was followed by three quick raps on the door—Earl’s special knock. Annie kicked off the covers, pulled on her fleece robe, and stepped into her slippers, grateful that Earl, like Murphy, had become one of Annie’s saviors from herself.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

“I heard your mother’s coming.”

Annie set the coffeepot on the woodstove and wrapped her robe closer around her. The morning had brought a spiteful April chill. “Looks that way.” Rubbing her hands together, she stared at the classic eight-cup pot as if that would help it percolate. Donna no doubt owned a Keurig. Or one of those fancy Italian things.

“Hello?” Earl asked. “Are you awake?”

Annie tucked her hair behind her ears. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well. Too much on my mind.”

He pulled out a chair and sat at the small wood table. “If you wanted less to think about, you should have stayed in Boston and been content to write your books.”

“My dad used to say I had a perpetual game of ping-pong going on inside my brain,” she said as she grabbed two mugs from a natural hickory cabinet. She was glad she’d nixed her original idea for trendy, high-gloss acrylic that wouldn’t have belonged in the cottage, though it looked great at the Inn. Cozy and home-like for her; sleek and fashionable for guests.

Annie had to admit that once they’d figured out a plan, they‘d done a great job—especially when revamping the house. An architect had showed them how to use the original footprint and preserve the vintage details from the 1940s, while designing the contemporary kitchen and baths. They were also adding new flooring and a massive Vineyard stone fireplace in the great room. The seven bedrooms, the great room, the reading room, and the media room would be true to the look and feel of the island. After all, the Inn would not merely be a getaway for tourists—it also would have affordable rooms for islanders off season, with three reserved for year-round residents. In short, The Vineyard Inn—or #TheVineyardInn—would offer something for everyone.

Which reminded Annie, once again, about her overlooked task. “Damn,” she blurted out as she plunked a cinnamon roll on a small plate and set it in front of Earl in what once had been their morning routine before building the Inn had interrupted. She sat down across from him. “I keep forgetting I have to decorate the rooms.”