“I couldn’t agree more. You’re going to enjoy your stay, I guarantee.”

Pretty thing, Emily thought as she led the way back to reception. A little on the thin side but without any delicate air. Long-lidded eyes, blue and deep, and hair the color of the chestnut mare Emily had pined for at ten cut very short with a side sweep of bangs. Angular, both face and body, and the hands of someone who used them to work.

Other than that moment of sadness when she’d mentioned her mother, the girl seemed alive with energy.

They chatted easily enough while they finished the paperwork. Emily didn’t ask the questions in her mind. Why Darby traveled alone, what she did for a living, what she would do for a month on her own in a strange place. If a guest wanted you to know the personal, the guest told you.

“You’re set. You can follow me to your bungalow, and I’ll walk you through.”

She took the dog, who rode with his head out the passenger side window, ears flapping, tongue lolling as if tasting the wind. A short drive, no more than a quarter mile, behind Emily’s truck. They passed a wonderful old house with a wraparound porch, lots of windows, a rambling roofline that—to Darby’s eyes—desperately needed creative landscaping.

When she pulled up at the cabin, her heart skipped. After she got out of the car, she turned a circle, turned it again.

“Oh God, it’s perfect! Perfect, just perfect.”

“Music to my ears.”

“I mean it. Oh, the views. I wanted water. Not the ocean, just something. And this lake is beyond what I imagined, even after seeing it on the website. And the mountains, the trees, this house just growing up right here. It’s just exactly exact.”

“Do you sail?”

“No.”

“Fish?”

With a laugh, Darby shook her head.

“Well, you may before the month’s up. You can rent a boat, a canoe, a kayak—no motors on the lake—in town. Or we can facilitate that for you. Same with fishing gear, the license. There’s good hiking, and maps for that in your pack.”

“I’m going to sit on that porch later with a big glass of wine and watch the sunset, watch the colors spread over the lake.”

“Now, that sounds perfect. Do you paint?”

“Not at all. You must love living here.”

“All my life.” She led the way—gravel path again—to the porch, unlocked the front door. “Welcome to your home away from home.”

It smelled of orange zest and polished wood. A fire lay, ready for the match in the stone hearth, with a big sofa covered in quiet blues and greens facing it. A deep chair for a guest and conversation, another tucked in a corner for reading.

A long table—it seemed the only kind here—provided eating space and the demarcation between living room and kitchen, a kitchen obviously updated in the last few years.

It gleamed with stainless steel, pearly white counters, deep, dark wood cabinets. On the counter sat a coffeemaker, toaster, a bright red kettle on the stove top, a blue bowl generous with fruit on the long table.

“I love it.”

“More music. You have two bedrooms, and I expect you’ll take the master. Second bath here.”

She waited for Darby to poke in.

Smallish, but adequate with its corner shower, pretty vanity, the bud vase of Asian lilies, fluffy towels.

“Second bedroom.”

That, too, would be adequate, with its white duvet–covered bed, the colorful throw artistically placed at the foot, the dresser, the closet space, the lamps with pretty white shades.

“It’s adorable.”

“It is sweet, isn’t it? Now the master.”

Her heart skipped again. The four-poster—thick posts—faced a wide window. The lake, and the mountains filled it.

“To wake up to that, every morning?” Darby let out a breath. “Amazing. Mrs. Keller—”

“Emily. We’re neighbors.”

“Emily, it’s just wonderful. I may not make it to the porch. I might just lie here and gawk all day.”

She wandered, skimming fingers over the duvet, the windowsill. And all but danced when she saw the bathroom.

“Pretty great?”

“Extremely great.”

It held a big oval freestanding tub, a deep shower with jets, a long counter with double vessel sinks that gleamed copper. The stone tiles held tones of earth and sun.

A pretty basket of amenities stood on the counter along with more Asian lilies. Another long, wide window opened to the view.

“We updated a few years ago,” Emily told her. “I decided to go for it.”

“You got there. You definitely got there.”

“You might want the fire in the evenings or the mornings. There’s wood on the back porch.”

She listed off other practicalities, operating systems. Darby tried to take it in, but she walked through a dream.

“If you need anything, or have questions, call the number in your packet. Why don’t I help you bring your things inside?”

“Oh, no, that’s all right. I don’t need anything but my duffle for now.”

“Then I’ll leave you to settle in. But you call if you need anything.”

“Thank you. So much.”

Alone, Darby wandered, room to room, back again, walked out on the back patio (such as it was), did a little dance, walked out to the front, did another.

The hell with waiting till sunset, she thought. She got the wine they’d stocked for her, used the provided corkscrew, poured herself that big glass.

She carried it out, sat in one of the big porch chairs. She toasted the lake, toasted herself. And toasted what might just be her future.

 

* * *

 

It seemed reasonable to take a day or two to bask and absorb. Especially when the basking and absorbing included long walks, taking note—mentally and literally—of local flora and fauna, studying the topography, analyzing the soil, getting a sense of what both homeowners and landlords chose for landscaping, gardens.

It included walking tours of the town proper, chatty conversations with shopkeepers and their customers.

People tended to chat with her, often telling her details of their lives as if she already knew them. Her mother had called her an emotional magnet. Mostly Darby just thought she was a good listener.

But she learned, in that day or two, the area held lake people and hill people. Natives and transplants, summer people and year-rounders. And, to her mind, Lakeview and its environs had plenty of room for a new business.

She spent another day or two visiting nurseries and garden centers, starting with Best Blooms on the edge of town, owned and run by a delightful couple with three grown kids, five grandkids, and a pair of twins on the way.

They’d been married for forty-three years, had been high school sweethearts. He’d proposed after the romantic picnic he’d so carefully planned had been invaded by fire ants.

People did tell her things.

She hit every garden center within fifty miles, made more notes, ran more figures, drank more wine on the porch while she worked out details in her head.

Dreams were essential, creativity a must, but details, sweat, and a business plan made dreams a reality.

By the end of the first week, she had her plan nailed down, her details lined up. She wanted to sweat, and knew just where she hoped to start.