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Just the thought of her late friend made Emily’s heart ache. But Melissa had made it clear she wouldn’t want that. Get on with your life and your dreams, she’d written in her final letter. Don’t let anything hold you back.
Don’t let anything—even a For Sale sign?
Emily’s hand went to her belly again. She had to do this. Not just for herself, but for Pea, too. Sure, she could afford to stay at a hotel, even jet to Italy and spend a week in a villa, but that wasn’t where Emily’s heart lay. It wasn’t the place she needed so desperately to be right now.
Emily glanced down at her hand, at the ornate diamond ring in its platinum setting. She slid it off and tucked it in her pocket. It was time to accept that she was moving on.
Away from Cole.
The front door of the inn opened, and a petite gray-haired woman came out onto the porch. She had on a deep orange apron with yellow edging, a pale pink T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts and sneakers that had seen better days. Emily’s face broke into a grin, and she crossed the drive in fast strides. “Carol!”
The inn owner’s face lit with recognition and she came hurrying down the steps. “Emily Watson? Oh my goodness, I can’t believe it’s you!”
The two women embraced, a long hearty hug, the kind that came from years of friendship. Emily had spent so much time at the inn in the summers of her childhood that Carol seemed more like an aunt or an extra grandmother than the owner. She still carried the scent of home-baked bread, as if everything good about the world surrounded Carol Parsons.
A wet nose nudged at Emily’s jeans. She grinned and looked down at a golden shaggy dog that had a little Golden in her, a little something else. “Is this Wesley’s daughter?”
Carol nodded. “Meet Harper. She’s a bit of a mutt, but she’s lovable and goofy and all the things you want in a dog.”
Emily bent down and ruffled Harper’s ears. “You’ve got a heck of a reputation to live up to, missy.”
The dog wagged her tail, lolled her tongue and looked about as unworried as a retriever mix could look. Then she turned and bounded off into the woods, barking an invitation to play at a squirrel.
Emily rose. “I’m so glad you’re still here, Carol. When I saw the For Sale sign, I was afraid...”
“Don’t you worry. I’m still here. Hanging on by a thread, but here. Anyway, that’s a sad story for another day.” Carol gestured toward the inn. “Do you want to come in? Stay a while?”
“Actually...” Emily pointed toward the bag in the back of her car. “I was hoping to stay a long while.”
Carol’s green eyes searched Emily’s, and then her face filled with compassion, understanding. “You stay as long as you want, dear. There’s always a room for you here.”
That was what Emily loved about Carol. She’d never asked questions, never pried. Merely offered a helping hand and a shoulder to cry on, whenever one was needed. Emily hadn’t had that kind of bond with her own mother, or heck, any of the female relatives in her family. But she had with Carol, and had looked forward to her summers here as much as she looked forward to sunshine after a cloudy day. She’d spent more time in the kitchen of the inn, helping Carol knead bread and peel potatoes, than probably anywhere else in the world.
The two of them headed inside the inn. The porch creaked a warning as Emily crossed the rotting floorboards. The swing needed a coat of paint, and several of the balustrades had fallen to the ground below. The front door still had the large beveled glass panel that defined its elegance, but inside, everything else looked old, tired, worn. The hardwood floor of the foyer had darkened with age, and one of the parlor’s windows rattled against the breeze trying to make its way under the sill. A water stain on the ceiling spoke of plumbing trouble above, while the steam radiators hissed and sputtered a weak wave of heat to break fall’s chill.
Emily stowed her bag by the door, then followed Carol into the kitchen. This room, too, had been hit hard by time. The once-bright and happy sunflower wallpaper was peeling, and the white vinyl floor was scuffed and torn in some places. The same long maple table dominated the center of the kitchen, flanked by eight chairs, enough for the help to have dinner, or a few up-too-late teenage girls to grab a midnight snack.
Carol crossed to the coffeepot. “Do you want a cup? I’ve also got some bread that just came out of the oven. It’s warm, if you want a slice.”
“No coffee, but I’d love some bread. Who can turn down that bit of heaven? Do you have honey for it?”
“I do indeed. If there’s one thing that’s still producing here, it’s the bees.” Carol grinned, but Emily could see the pain behind the facade. Carol retrieved two mugs of coffee, a plate of bread slices and some honey before returning to the table. She held her cup between her hands and let out a long sigh. “I bet you’re wondering why this place looks like this and why I have it up for sale.”
“Yeah, but I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.” Emily had plenty going wrong in her own life that she wasn’t keen to discuss, either.
“It’s okay. It’s been hardest for me to tell the regular guests. Those people are like my family, and to think that the Gingerbread Inn will one day no longer exist...it just breaks my heart. But there’s only so much I can do.” Carol dropped her gaze to her coffee. “After my husband died, this place got to be too much for one person. Revenue dropped off when the economy struggled, and I just couldn’t afford to hire people to keep up with the maintenance. I love it here, I really do, but it’s got to the point now where the whole thing is too much. I don’t even know where to begin to repair and rebuild. So I put it on the market. Maybe I’ll get enough money to pay for a little cottage near the beach.”
Harper wriggled through the dog door in the kitchen, took one look at the two women and ducked under the kitchen table, her tail beating a comforting patter against the tile floor. Carol gave the dog a loving pat.
“I hate to see you sell it. I like knowing the inn is here, if...” Emily sighed. “If I ever need it.”
Carol’s green eyes met Emily’s, and her face filled with concern. She reached out, covered one of Emily’s hands with her own. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“Just a lot going on in my life right now,” Emily said. An understatement if there ever was one.
This morning, she’d walked out on her ten-year marriage. They’d already been separated for six months, but separated was a loose term when it came to Cole. He’d stopped by at least once a week, for everything from his favorite golf club to checking to make sure the lawn mower had enough gas for when the landscapers came by.
It was as if he didn’t want to accept it was over. Okay, she hadn’t made that message any clearer by sleeping with him again. One crazy night, fueled by nostalgia and memories, and she’d forgotten all the reasons they were wrong for each other. The reasons she had asked for a separation. The reasons why she couldn’t live with a man who broke her heart almost every day.
Emily finally realized that if she wanted space, she’d have to get it for herself. And with the new life inside her, she needed to have a clear head to make one big decision.
File for divorce or try one more time.
“Well, you take whatever time you need,” Carol said. “If there’s one thing this place is perfect for, it’s thinking.”
“I’m counting on that,” Emily said, then got to her feet for a second slice of bread. It didn’t help her think, but it sure helped her feel like she’d come to the right place. Something about being back at the Gingerbread Inn filled her soul, and right now, Emily Watson needed that more than anything.
* * *
Cole Watson bounded up the stairs of his house—okay, technically it wasn’t his right now, even if he was still making the mortgage payments—with a bottle of wine in one hand and a dozen roses in the other. He reached for the front door handle, then paused.
This was Emily’s house now. That meant no barging in, something she’d made clear more than once. He lived in a condo across town. A space of his own that was as empty as a cavern, and still echoed loneliness when he walked in at the end of the day. That was his home, like it or not, and this place no longer was, which meant he had to stop acting like he could barge in, grab the remote and prop his feet on the coffee table. He rang the bell, even though it felt weirder than hell to ring the bell of a house he still wrote a check for every month. Waited. No answer. Rang it again.
Nothing.
He fished out his key—she’d never changed the locks, something he had taken as a good sign—unlocked the door and went inside, pausing in the vast two-story foyer. Even fully furnished, professionally decorated, the massive house felt empty, sad. Seven thousand square feet of gleaming marble and granite, and it seemed...
Forlorn.
The same copper bowl he remembered them buying on a trip to Mexico sat on the foyer table, waiting for his keys. A neat stack of mail addressed to Cole sat beside the bowl under the Tiffany lamp he had bought for their first anniversary. In the parlor to the right, the same white love seat and armchairs that Emily had hated and he had bought anyway sat, facing the east garden. And down the hall, he could see the wrought-iron kitchen table and chairs, a gift from his mother years ago.
The house was the same, but...different. Off, somehow.
Then Cole spied the slip of paper atop the mail and realized why. He laid the wine and roses on the foyer table and picked up the note.
Went out of town. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t call me. I need some time to think. To figure out my next step.
Emily
The cold, stark words hit him hard. They were separated. Did he think she was going to leave him some gushy love note? Still, the reality stung, and reminded him that the marriage he thought he had and the one he did have were two very different things.
Went out of town. Where? Why? With someone?
That thought pained him the most, and drove home the other fact that Cole had yet to face. If he and Emily couldn’t repair their marriage, then at some point she would move on, find someone else. Another man would see her smile, make her laugh, hold her in the dark of night.
And rightly so, because they were over and had been for a long time. Didn’t matter if Cole was having trouble accepting the fact.
Against his hip, his cell phone buzzed. He flipped it out and answered the call. “Cole here.”
“We’ve got a wrinkle in the product launch,” said Doug, his project manager. “There was a bad storm in Japan, and the plant that’s supposed to make the screens for us was damaged pretty heavily. They aren’t sure when they’ll be back online.”
“Call someone else.”
“I did. There’s a backlog on the materials. Seems we wiped out the inventory. It’ll be two weeks before they can produce more—”
“I’ll take care of it. Get me on the first flight to...” Cole fingered the note in his hands. I need some time to think. To figure out my next step.
The next step. There were only two options—get back together or get divorced. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which way Emily was leaning.
Don’t call me.
She didn’t want him to contact her. The bridge he’d hoped might still be there between them, the connection he’d been counting on when he’d shown up with wine and roses, was gone. She’d underlined the words. Made it clear she didn’t want him coming close.
His marriage was over.
“Cole? Did you want a flight to the plant in Japan? Or to the manufacturer in Poland?”
Cole Watson, who had never had an indecisive moment in his life, stood in the empty foyer of the house he no longer lived in and wavered. “Uh...”
He glanced at the note again. Figure out the next step.
Then he glanced at his left hand. At the gold band that still sat there, and had for the past ten years. He imagined it gone, imagined this house gone, sold. Neither of those thoughts gave him more than a flicker of loss.
But then he glanced at the five letters at the bottom of the note. Emily.
Gone.
That thought ripped a seam in his heart. He crumpled the note in his fist and dropped it into the copper bowl. It circled the bowl, then landed with a soft plunk in the center. “The screens can wait,” he said to Doug. “I have another matter to take care of first.”
“But, but—”
“Don’t worry, Doug. I’ll handle it.” Cole could hear the panic rising in Doug’s voice. The man had a tendency to panic first, think second. “By the time I’m through, we’ll look back at this moment as a blip on the radar. A momentary setback.”
But as Cole hung up the phone and tried to figure out where in the world his wife might have gone and how he was going to deal with whatever next step was coming his way, he realized he wasn’t talking about the screens at all. He was talking about his marriage.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_73eb818e-c5a3-56a6-885a-e8d06ac7e512)
IN THE SMALL but cozy bedroom where she’d spent many a childhood summer, a blank computer screen and blinking cursor stared back at Emily, waiting for her to fill it with words. Something it had been doing for the past twenty minutes. She’d type a word, backspace, delete. Type another. Backspace, delete. What had happened to her? In college, she had been able to write short stories like a chicken producing eggs. Now when she finally had time and space to write, she couldn’t manage to get a word onto the page. This was her dream, and all she could do was stare at it.
Her focus had deserted her. Heck, it had left town months ago. She needed to get her priorities in line again. Somehow.
A light fall breeze whispered through the couple inches of open window, dancing with the white lace curtains and casting sparkles of sunshine on the white-and-blue space. The low sounds of a radio playing downstairs, probably while Carol worked, made for a harmony with the chatter of the birds outside. It was a serene, perfect setting, the kind of place any writer would love to have. Well, any writer without writer’s block, that was.
Emily crossed to her bag, and tugged out the envelope she’d tucked into the front pocket. Melissa’s last note, mailed to her, and she presumed, also to the other girls.
Dear Gingerbread Girls,
I’m laughing as I write that little nickname for us. Remember those crazy summers we had at the Gingerbread Inn? All those adventures in town and late at night? It’s no wonder someone dubbed us the Gingerbread Girls. Heck, we were always together, thick as thieves, Carol used to say.
I miss that. I know we’ve all got older and have gone on with our lives, but oh how I miss those summers, those connections. That’s the one big regret I have now. That we couldn’t figure out a time for a reunion and now it’s too late. I won’t get to see you all one last time.
Promise me you’ll get together. Promise me you’ll keep the Gingerbread Girls alive. Promise me you’ll all follow your dreams, the ones we talked about that day by the lake. I still have my rock. Sometimes I hold it and think back to that day.
You are all the best friends I could ever hope for and I will be forever grateful for the summers we spent together.
Melissa
Tears blurred the letter in Emily’s eyes. She drew in a shaky breath, then propped the letter beside the computer, holding it in place with a small oval stone that she had kept with her for the past fifteen years. Somewhere out there, two other matching stones sat in drawers or on desks, or somewhere. Did Andrea and Casey see the stones the same way? Did they remember that day?
The women had fallen out of touch over the years, separated by busy lives and families. Maybe it was time to get the Gingerbread Girls back together. Before Emily could think twice, she shot off a quick email to both Andrea and Casey, including her cell phone number and an invitation to come to the inn. She left off the news about the For Sale sign, because she hoped to find a way to talk Carol out of that choice.
And in the process, she would write this book, damn it. She would follow her dreams. Emily needed this do over. Needed it...a lot.
A knock sounded on the door. Emily got to her feet and opened the bedroom door to Carol. “Good timing,” Emily said with a laugh. “I’ve got writer’s block on the first word.”
“I’ve got some coffee and cookies that should help with that,” Carol said. “But first, there’s someone here to see you.”
“Someone here to see me?” How could that be? She’d told no one where she was going, and had only sent the email to the other girls a couple minutes ago. Unless they were in the driveway when they got it, there was no way either Andrea or Casey could show up that fast. No one else would be able to track her down so quickly. No one but—
“Cole.”
Carol grinned. “How’d you guess? Yes, he’s here. Waiting in the parlor to talk to you.” Then her good friend’s face fell. “Are you okay, honey? Do you want me to tell him to come back later?”
“No.” Emily knew Cole and knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. The qualities that had made him a successful businessman had made him a terrible husband. Win at all costs. That pretty much summed up Cole. When they’d been dating, she’d seen that attitude as one that meant he wanted her and their life together more than anything in the world. But she’d been wrong. What Cole wanted, more than anything or anyone, was success, regardless of the cost to attain it. Then as the years went on, he’d employed that approach to arguments, major decisions, everything. She’d had enough and walked away.
But Cole refused to get the message.
“I’ll talk to him,” Emily said. “Just give me a minute.”
“Sure, hon. Take whatever time you need. I’ll talk his ear off. Might as well make him suffer.” Carol let out a little laugh, then put an understanding hand on Emily’s arm. “If it helps, he looks miserable.”
Emily thanked Carol, then shut the door. She faced her reflection in the oval mirror that hung over the antique dresser. She was still clad in a pair of pale blue flannel pajamas, her hair in a messy topknot on her head, and her face bare of makeup. She looked a million miles away from Cole Watson’s wife.
Perfect.
Without doing so much as tucking a wayward strand of hair back into place, Emily spun on her sock-clad feet and headed out of the room and down to the parlor. She no longer cared what she looked like when she saw Cole. She was no longer going to be the woman who stressed about every crease, every spot, who worried about her public image as the CEO’s wife. She was going to be who she was—before.
Cole stood by the window, his back to her. He wore a tailored dark blue suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, tapered waist, the hours he spent in the gym. His dark hair was getting a little long and now brushed against the back of his collar. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him, just as it always had. That was one thing that had never changed—her attraction to him. Her hormones had never listened to her brain.
He turned as she approached, even though she’d made almost no sound entering the room. “What are you doing here?” he said, or rather, barked.
So much for some kind of tender moment. What had she expected, really? They were no longer together, and maybe someday her heart would get the message. “How did you find me?”
“There is only one place in the world that you have talked about missing, and it’s this place. I took a chance that’s where you’d go, and I was right.”
Well, he’d listened to her talk about the inn. Too bad he hadn’t listened to any of the other problems between them. “Where I am and what I’m doing is no longer your concern, Cole,” she said.
“You’re my wife, Emily.”
