Louisa had started her private concierge business a year ago, after spending five years as the concierge at one of Nantucket’s prestigious boutique hotels. That job had given her connections, and one day Louisa realized she didn’t want to spend her time simply catering to rich people. She wanted to make the island—and all it had to offer—accessible to everyone.

She wanted to create magic for as many people as possible.

That’s when The Good Life was born.

The idea had come to her the way all ideas did—fast and furious. She’d spent the night scribbling feverishly in her notebook, trying to keep up with the flow of possibilities. She’d gone to work the next morning exhausted but energized—and ready to hand in her resignation.

Of course, Eric was the first person she told. He wasn’t only the hotel manager; he was her boyfriend, her best friend—she’d thought. And while he’d miss having her at the hotel, mostly he’d be thrilled for her because, naturally, he’d realize he hadn’t seen her this excited about something before.

Louisa had stood in the doorway of his office, wearing a grin like the Cheshire cat, but Eric barely seemed to notice she was there.

Finally, after she cleared her throat twice, he looked up. “You’re late this morning.”

She waved him off. “I need to talk to you.”

He frowned. “Louisa, are you having one of your big-idea days?”

She hated when he did that—made her feel small for being excited. He sometimes told her she wasn’t acting professionally or like an adult should act. Usually in the moments when she was feeling spontaneous or adventurous. Eric was neither of those things.

Most of the time she’d done a good job of holding back that side of herself, but at the moment, it was hard to pretend she wasn’t excited about her new plan. She was ecstatic! She was about to do something brave and amazing!

“I do have an idea,” she said, trying not to let his attitude curb her enthusiasm. She sat across from him, on the opposite side of his desk, noticing it was neat and well-ordered. Everything in its place. By contrast, her desk was more what she referred to as “organized chaos.”

It made her wonder what it would be like to live in a house with Eric. He’d probably be horrified at the sports bras hanging from her closet doorknob.

“I’ve got a meeting in five minutes—can this wait?”

She must’ve looked sad because he reached across the desk and took her hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind. What’s your idea?”

“You sure?”

He focused his attention completely on her now. “Yes. I’m positive.”