She’d had good, solid plans, no rush, no hurry, but solid plans. The Wickham had been her place. She’d known its rhythm, its tones, its needs. And she’d done a hell of a job for the Wickhams, and their cheating bastard son, Jonathan.

She’d planned to marry him. No, there’d been no formal engagement, no concrete promises, but marriage and future had been on the table.

She wasn’t a moron.

And all the time—or at least in the last several months—they’d been together, with him sharing her bed, or her sharing his, he’d been seeing someone else. Someone of his more elevated social strata you could say, she mused, with lingering bitterness. Someone who wouldn’t work ten- and twelve-hour days, and often more—to manage the exclusive hotel, but who’d stay there, in its most elaborate suite, of course.

No, she wasn’t a moron, but she’d been far too trusting and humiliatingly shocked when Jonathan told her he would be announcing his engagement—to someone else—the next day.

Humiliatingly shocked, she thought again, particularly as they’d been naked and in her bed at the time.

Then again, he’d been shocked, too, when she’d ordered him to get the hell out. He genuinely hadn’t understood why anything between them should change.

That single moment ushered in a lot of change.

Now she was Inn BoonsBoro’s innkeeper, living in a small town in Western Maryland, a good clip from the bright lights of the big city.

She didn’t spend what free time she had planning clever little dinner parties, or shopping in the boutiques for the perfect shoes for the perfect dress for the next event.

Did she miss all that? Her go-to boutique, her favorite lunch spot, the lovely high ceilings and flower-framed little patio of her own town house? Or the pressure and excitement of preparing the hotel for visits from dignitaries, celebrities, business moguls?

Sometimes, she admitted. But not as often as she’d expected to, and not as much as she’d assumed she would.

Because she had been content in her personal life, challenged in her professional one, and the Wickham had been her place. But she’d discovered something in the last few months. Here, she wasn’t just content, but happy. The inn wasn’t just her place, it was home.

She had her friends to thank for that, and the Montgomery brothers along with their mother. Justine Montgomery had hired her on the spot. At the time Hope hadn’t known Justine well enough to be surprised by her quick offer. But she did know herself, and continued to be surprised at her own fast, impulsive acceptance.

Zero to sixty? More like zero to ninety and still going.

She didn’t regret the impulse, the decision, the move.