Honk!

What?

Honk honk!

There was a line of cars on the highway behind me that didn’t care for my joie de vivre. Loins of Endearment had been set in wartime Paris, so I had French on the brain. And by French I mean a great war hero, member of the resistance, and the owner of his own very ample baguette. He had taken his lover up against the counter in a bakery, and when he pushed into her, taking her virginity for God and country, the moment was frozen in time. Never mind the bombs falling, never mind the countryside wracked with woe, this was here. And now. And the only thing that could stop the invasion into her heart was the—

Honk honk!

“I’m going, I’m going!” I yelled out the window, pushing the damned car to fifty-five, causing the entire frame to shake and shimmy. Baguette, indeed.

I spied the town of Mendocino in the distance, and pushed it to fifty-seven. Now we were talking!

My GPS took me straight to the coffee shop on the main drag where I was meeting Mr. Montgomery, the attorney who had contacted me. I gazed in wonder at the beautiful town, noting the Victorian homes and neat-as-a-pin front lawns. Cottages large and small dotted the twisting streets, built to take advantage of the natural landscape and picture-perfect ocean views. Set high on a cliff, the town looked down onto the sea below.

With a wide grin, I pulled into the parking lot near the coffee shop. Stretching out after my long drive after an even longer plane ride, I then headed toward a row of rocking chairs on a long porch where a gentleman sat.

He smiled at my approach, standing. “Ms. Franklin, I presume?”

Who says that anymore?

“Just Viv, please. Nice to meet you, Mr. Montgomery.” I smiled, shaking his hand. He was tall and stately, his black suit and tie seeming at odds with the casual atmosphere of this little artsy village. But his smile was genuine, and his blue eyes danced. I looked down at my ripped jeans, combat boots, and sauce stained T-shirt, and zipped up my leather jacket. “Turbulence. Not great for eating pasta at thirty thousand feet,” I explained.

“Not to worry. I’m sure once you get settled in at the house, you’ll be able to relax and clean up a bit. Shall we take care of this business so you can be on your way? I’m sure you’re anxious to see everything.” He gestured toward a table and chairs where he had some paperwork set up, and I nodded. As we sat down, a pretty woman with dark blond hair crammed unsuccessfully into a ball cap approached.

“Any coffee for you?” she asked, and as I looked down I saw that Mr. Montgomery did indeed have a coffee there. I looked around her to the restaurant we were seated outside. Cliffside Coffee was the sign on the door, and now that I noticed, on her ball cap too.

“Oh, um, yeah that’d be great. Black. Thanks.”

“Sure. You the Franklin girl who’s taking over Maude Perkins’ place?”

Surprised, I looked at her with narrowed eyes. “How’d you know about that?”

“Small town. Coffee shop. I know everything.” She grinned. She had an easy way about her, pretty face, good energy, unfazed by my piercings—you never know how some people will react. “Been out to the house yet?”

“Literally just got into town, but you already knew that?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“I totally did—just making conversation. I’ll be right back with your coffee,” she said, heading back inside. “Name’s Jessica, by the way,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared through the swinging door.

I looked back at Mr. Montgomery, who merely smiled and readied the papers for me to sign.

Frickin’ Mayberry.

I liked Mayberry.

“Any idea what you’re going to do with the property, now that you’re the sole owner?” he asked a few moments later, after I’d signed my name with a flourish.

“Not sure yet. Right now the only thing I can think about is a shower and a nap. In exactly that order.” I groaned, feeling the grit of the day literally beginning to settle into my skin. But I would be taking a little tour of my new homestead, grit be damned.

I imagined the way this bit of coastline must have looked back in the 1850s when the town was first settled. Men and women, drawn west by the promise of gold, had arrived with only what could be carried in the back of a covered wagon. Moved by a sense of purpose and adventure that I now shared, did the women stare at the ocean with excitement? With wonder? Covered in actual trail grit, would they be too tired when their husbands, weary but journey strong, cast their eyes toward them with longing? And when the last waning sunbeam from across the ancient Pacific cast its luscious golden light upon her cascading bosom, did he push her back against the wagon wheel with a lusty groan, spilling kisses across her salty skin? And when he had tethered his oxen team to feast upon the fragrant sea grass, did he return to the wagon to unleash his own pair of—

“Ms. Franklin?”

I shook my head to clear it, punchy from my travels and more than a little worked up now. Sick, sick, sick in the head. I smiled innocently at Mr. Montgomery.

“Sorry, daydreaming.”

“You’ve had quite a busy day. I think you’ve waited long enough. Shall we head over there now?” he asked.

“No need, just point me in the right direction and I can take it from there.” I was used to handling things by myself, and while I appreciated the offer, I didn’t really want anyone else there when I saw the house for the first time in years. In my head, it was all very dramatic.