Back in the living room, Annie sat in the rocker, and wrapped herself in Ellen Sutton’s quilt the way that Donna had. Annie thumbed through the pages of her past again, thought about the people she had lost and who, in a sense, had made way for the new ones she now had. Including John. The man she was going to marry.

After a while she climbed into the twin bed in the corner of the room, covered herself once again with the quilt, and wondered how it happened that life’s joys and sorrows often came at the same time.

* * *

Monday morning, Annie woke up to the sound of rain and the knowledge that a rainy spring would make for lovely early summer greening, lush plants, and vibrant flowers. Exactly the kind of look that would enhance the beauty of their property.

With a small sigh, she turned her head toward the window; she could barely see the Inn through the fog. It was the kind of day that she relished for writing, its grayness offering permission to tune out the world and escape to her inner calm. To “make stuff up,” as Kevin liked to joke. Sometimes Annie liked to walk on the beach in the rain, the break of the waves frothy and energetic, the thwacks and claps onto the shoreline muffled by the mist. But that morning she’d be drenched, even if she donned her yellow slicker.

She made tea and checked the time: six-forty-five. Georgia Nelson had said she’d arrive “mid-morning.” Until then, Annie could work. So she set her laptop on the table.

But she couldn’t write. She thought about John, about marriage, about where they would live. His townhouse didn’t have a separate space she could use as a writing room. Could she live at John’s, let Kevin take the cottage, then come over to work at the Inn every day—maybe use the space over the workshop to write when business at the Inn was slow?

“It would look good on paper,” she said to herself, and was surprised that Murphy made no comment. Maybe she was sleeping late, as Donna no doubt would be.

But Annie knew she also needed freedom to sit down whenever the muses spoke, even if they arrived in the middle of the night. Would John be okay with that once they were living together?

After a while she gave up overthinking. And pretending to work. She moved through the bedroom, into the shower, and dressed, all while being quiet so she wouldn’t disturb Donna. Then she returned to the kitchen, sat down, and texted Kevin. But he didn’t reply. Perhaps he was already up and hammering again. Or painting, because the hammering was finally done, wasn’t it?