Chapters (75)
- Cover
- Back Cover Text
- Praise
- Booklist
- About the Author
- Dedication
- Quote
- Prologue
- Part One
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- Part Two
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- Part Three
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- Part Four
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- Part Five
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- Part Six
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- Part Seven
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Part Eight
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- Part Nine
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- Part Ten
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- Part Eleven
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- Part Twelve
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- Part Thirteen
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR NOTE
- Reader’s Guide
- Questions for Discussion
- The Heirloom Garden
- Abby
“I pulled a few strings to have it made so quickly,” she says. “That’s why I wanted to look around your inn first. I wanted this plaque to match the others. I thought you needed one for your own suite.” She stops, and I swear I can hear her voice waver just a touch. “I thought the rule breaker needed to add one of her own to her family’s.”
ADIE LOU’S COTTAGE RULE
ALWAYS BE AN UNCONVENTIONAL WOMAN!
“It’s perfect,” I say. “Thank you.”
“It is,” she says with a nod.
Impulsively, I grab Iris and hug her with all my might.
“Are you okay?” she asks loudly.
I release her and turn to see her minions watching us, their mouths open, as if they’ve come across two unicorns crossing the road.
“She was choking,” Iris says. “I saved her life.”
The women nod and exhale with relief, my near-death experience more believable than a hug from the Dragoon Lady.
“Come on, ladies, we have a fund-raiser at seven,” Iris says, continuing to cover, “and we are not leaving until we’ve hit our $10,000 goal.”
As Iris exits, she turns and gives me another wink.
To unconventional women! she mouths.
THIRTY-THREE
My gratefulness is short-lived.
The first morning of my inn’s dry run is in full swing, and I am drenched in sweat and could already use a strong drink. All of the local innkeepers I spoke to urged me to hold a full weekend run-through before officially opening, like when restaurants do a soft opening. I invited dear friends from Chicago and Saugatuck for the weekend, and some of Scooter’s workers and clients filled the rest of the inn. I told them to take the weekend seriously, to act as if they don’t know me, and—so far—everyone has turned in an Oscar-caliber performance.
I nod at each of my pretend guests who are gathered in the dining room eating breakfast and nod politely before rushing out onto the porch, hiding behind the arborvitae hedge and screaming into a dish towel.
“You have eggs in your hair.”
I look up, and Trish is smiling at me, her head and coffee cup cocked at ironic angles.
I manage a small laugh. “These are my friends,” I say. “What is a cottage filled with paying strangers going to be like?”
“Lord of the Flies,” Trish says, “but just a touch more civilized.” She stops. “Sort of like your marriage.”
I smile and sigh. “This is way harder than I imagined,” I say. “Do you know the woman I hired to help with breakfast service and cleanup didn’t show this morning, or even bother to call? And the person I hired to clean rooms and do laundry texted and said she was going to be two hours late because her car wouldn’t start.”