My stomach roiled at the mention of my most recent boyfriend—except he never really was. There’d been no forward momentum in the eleven months we were together. I was always passing along his excuses for not meeting my friends and family, convincing myself it was normal we’d never spent an entire weekend or holiday together.

When I finally asked why he didn’t want to spend New Year’s Eve with his girlfriend, he ogled me like I was balmy before saying, “Girlfriend? I thought we were just hanging out.” And that was that—no more Leo.

It was par for the course. Since my first date at fifteen, I’d been ghosted, benched, breadcrumbed, love-bombed, kitten-fished, and roached. I’d seen it all. One could place the blame on me—I sought out unavailable men—except the only thing they had in common was a residence within the five boroughs of New York City.

“You might be right, but if we’re staying true to form, the one unattached straight guy in Pleasant Hollow will be a single father. I’m too young to be a stepmom,” I joked. I did want kids, but not for many years—first I’d need to move out of my mom’s house. My throat constricted at the reminder that a move might happen sooner than I’d planned if we couldn’t afford to pay the rent.

“Not even a precocious little plot moppet whose birth mom died tragically?”

I could tell she regretted her words by her sharp intake of breath. After a brief moment of silence to honor the early demise of my own father, I said, “It happens sometimes. My mom could have totally starred in a real-life-inspired second-chance romance if we’d stayed in Indiana. But she moved here and had one lousy boyfriend after another.” Everything she’d done had been for me—to give me a better life.

“I bet you could find a man for Valerie in Pleasant Hollow too,” she whispered, as if testing the waters. “Maybe he’ll look like Gregory Harrison. He’s a hottie.”

“He’s too old for my mother by two decades. Maybe Cameron Mathison.”

Kate laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

I told her about my less-than-warm welcome at the B&B.

“Maybe she was unfriendly on purpose,” Kate said. “You know, like waitstaff at restaurants who are snarky as part of an act to entertain diners.”

“I’d have preferred a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows, but anything is possible.” I stared off into the distance, hoping to spy a farmer’s market or craft fair. It was a Sunday afternoon. There had to be a community gathering of some sort, right?

“Either way, who cares about the innkeeper? Focus on the hottie from the lobby.”