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  “And the others?” Georgia asked.

  “A man named Alfred Hawthorn will be in suite five. He is a new client for Kate, but I think he has already published several novels. He writes traditional-style whodunit mysteries that remind me a lot of Sherlock Holmes or Murder, She Wrote. The most interesting thing about him is that he used to be a doctor and didn’t decide to try his hand at writing until after he retired from medicine.”

  “So, he must be an older gentleman?”

  “I’d say he is in his late sixties, maybe early seventies,” I answered.

  “He sounds like an interesting guy.”

  I nodded. “I’ve never met him, but Kate speaks very highly of him. She not only went on and on about what an interesting man he was, but she was very impressed with his writing. She sent me one of his novels, and it was really very good. And of course, he has the forensic stuff nailed, which makes everything all that much more believable. I’m really looking forward to meeting him.”

  “Me too,” Georgia agreed. “He does sound like a fascinating man. So, who did you put in suite four?”

  “A woman named Piper Jensen. I’d say Piper is in her twenties. She has yet to publish, but Kate is over-the-moon excited about her potential. She signed her after reading only the first three chapters of her novel, which she never does. Kate seemed really enthusiastic about Piper’s potential. In fact, she said that Piper’s story gripped her more than anything has in a long time.”

  “Is her work a mystery as well?”

  “I haven’t read her yet, but Kate indicated that her first novel is a thriller about a serial killer. Or maybe it was a story about a victim of a serial killer. Or perhaps a witness. Honestly, while Kate was enthusiastic about the story, she was also sort of vague.”

  “Well, I’m anxious to meet this woman. I’m sure it is not easy to totally blow away an agent who has been in the publishing industry for as long as Kate.”

  “I totally agree. This Piper must be something special.”

  “And the others?” she asked.

  “On the second floor, we have two double occupancies. Sisters Connie Chase and Silvia Carrington, are in suite three, and Laverne and Larry Larson are in suite two. Connie and Silvia are both divorced and suffering from empty nest syndrome after their youngest children went off to college a year ago. It seems the siblings have decided to write cozy mysteries with a healthy dose of family dynamics woven into the stories. They are working on their second novel. The first published this past Christmas.”

  “And Larry and Laverne?” Georgia asked. “I take it they are a married couple?”

  I nodded. “They are. They have actually been self-publishing for a while now and have a pretty solid following. They wanted to try their hand at traditional publishing, so they signed with Kate. I’m not sure how much they’ll benefit from this gathering, but Kate thought it would be good for them to get to know some of her other new clients.”

  “And suite one?” Georgia asked as she grabbed a box from the pantry to transport the spices she’d already chosen and set out on the counter.

  “Hazel Garwood. Hazel is a first-time novelist in her early eighties. She started off with the idea of writing her memoir but ended up writing a fantasy story about a time-traveling nun.”

  “A time-traveling nun sounds wonderful.” Georgia smiled. “I can’t wait to read her.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Me too. I love the fact that she decided to become something new at such an advanced age. I think that it is someone like Hazel, who is proof that it is never too late to be who you might have been.”

  “That’s nice. Did you read that in a book?”

  “Thought-of-the day calendar.”

  She chuckled.

  “So now you know as much as I do,” I continued. “Everyone will check in on Wednesday and check out on Monday. Kate and Dax have everything planned, so we don’t need to provide any entertainment. We are responsible for a breakfast buffet each morning between eight and nine, a light lunch around one, and dinner between six and seven, although Kate did indicate it was fine to be flexible with the times if need be.”

  “Okay. That sounds great.” Georgia glanced at the clock and then picked up her bag. “I need to run.”

  “And I’m going to head out for my walk with Ramos and Molly.” Ramos was Georgia’s Newfoundland, and Molly was a terrier mix I’d adopted from the local shelter this past summer. She was an older dog who’d been having a hard time finding her forever family until I’d decided to bring her home.

  “Don’t book any flights while I’m gone,” Georgia called out as she exited the door.

  I knew she was kidding, but I had to admit I was still tempted. I looked at my Maine Coon cat, Rufus. He was a big orange bundle of fur I simply adored. “Do you want to come along?” Rufus liked to go on walks with the dogs in the summer, but not so much in the snow.

  “Meow.” He turned and trotted into my bedroom, I assumed to have a nap on my bed. Not that I blamed him. It was blustery out today.

  I pulled on a heavy down jacket, a bright blue knit scarf, and matching knit gloves and headed out the door. This was my second winter in Holiday Bay, but I could swear it hadn’t been this cold last year. Or maybe it had been, and I’d just forgotten the bracing cold as a storm blew in from the sea. I loved living along the coast of Maine, but the winters were a lot different here from what I’d been used to, having lived in San Francisco for most of my life. I’d had a good life in California and don’t remember ever wanting to live anywhere else, but there was something about this little strip of coastal heaven that spoke to my heart.

  I’d come here to heal after the deaths of my husband and son. When I’d arrived at the dilapidated old house on the bluff overlooking the sea, I’d been a shattered woman. But then I’d entered the house and realized its potential, and somehow everything got just a tiny bit better. I’d needed a project to occupy my mind and tire my body, and renovating the house with the help of my contractor, Lonnie Parker, had turned out to be just the therapy my broken soul needed.

  I could still remember the first time I’d really noticed the view. I’d been checking out the cottage behind the inn and had wandered into the bedroom I now called my own. I’d opened the sliding door and stepped out onto the deck. The lush green forest covered with a layer of snow bordered the dark gray of the winter bay, producing an absolutely stunning contrast. I remember the feeling of peace that wrapped itself around me like a warm hug. I’d always found the sea to have a calming effect on my nerves even during the worst of times, and in that moment I knew that it would be here, along this gorgeous shoreline, that I’d find the courage I’d need to heal my heart and rebuild my life.

  I thought back to the woman I was when I had first stood on that deck. Things had changed so much for me in the past year. There had been a few bumps along the way, but most of the changes were for the better. I’d somehow managed to repair my relationship with my sister, Annie, and the anger and resentment that had once defined us had been replaced with cautious affection. I’d made new friends and had found a way to let others into a heart that was at one point so shattered I was sure I’d never be able to love again. I had a full and busy life. I had good friends and a real future, which was saying a lot after everything I’d been through.

  I turned and headed back toward the cottage. The wind was picking up, which caused the waves below me to crash onto the rocks with enough velocity to send moisture from the sea up onto the trail. I’d seen the sea when it was so calm that it appeared to have barely a ripple, and I’d seen it so angry as to appear ready to swallow anything in its path. I wasn’t sure what we could expect in terms of surge in the upcoming days, but I suspected that with the wind speeds predicted, we were going to get some flooding along the coast road.

  When I returned to the cottage, I fed and watered the dogs, then put on a pot of coffee. I glanced at my laptop, tempted to resume my search for tropical vacation destinations. But as temptin
g as it was to simply not deal with the confusing emotions I’d been suppressing for years, I knew Georgia was right. I wasn’t the sort to run from my problems. As scared as I was to face whatever feelings seeing Dax might stir up, I knew that facing him was exactly what I was going to do.

  Chapter 2

  The snow started not ten minutes after our last guest arrived. Dax had shown up early, and Georgia had checked him in while I was in my room, writing. So far, I’d managed to avoid him, but I’d promised to meet the group for dinner, so my reprieve was only temporary. I’d spoken to Kate, who planned to Skype with the writers during the first group gathering. She liked to attend these gatherings when she could, but she had a conflict this year and had known she wouldn’t be in attendance from the beginning. Kate and Dax were close—closer even than Kate and me—and she’d shared with me that she felt totally comfortable that he could handle whatever might arise. I was about to make my move from the cottage to the inn but decided to call to check in with Kate in the event she had any news or updates.

  “Abby. Did everyone arrive all right?”

  “They have all arrived,” I answered. “I’ve been working all day and haven’t had a chance to speak to anyone yet, but I’m about to head over to the inn now. I wanted to check in with you before I went.”

  “Actually, I’m glad you called. Dax and I were chatting earlier and decided to pair up the writers. That way, each one will have a critique partner as well as someone to bounce ideas off. The problem is, we have seven writers, which is an odd number. Dax volunteered to partner with someone to even things out, but I think he needs to stay free to work with everyone. You don’t know of anyone who’d want to participate as a critique partner, do you? Maybe Georgia?”

  “I’m sure Georgia would be happy to help out, but she is very busy right now between her cooking show and running the inn. But maybe Jeremy. He helps out at the inn, and while he is normally busy with the niece who lives with him during the afternoons, Annabelle is visiting her mother, who is home from her job overseas for two weeks, so he won’t need to drive her to and from school and afternoon activities. I’m not sure he’s ever written anything, but he likes to read, and he and I have discussed the various novels he’s read on several occasions. He lives at the inn, which helps because he will be around whenever he might be needed, so he makes sense from that perspective as well. If you’d like, I can ask him.”

  “Yes. Do ask him. He sounds perfect. If he’s willing, let Dax know, and he’ll assign him a partner. Will he be at the dinner tonight?”

  “Jeremy, Georgia, and I all plan to be there.”

  “Wonderful. Dax will be handing out partner assignments during his introduction.”

  “If Jeremy can’t do it for some reason, I’ll ask my neighbor, Nikki,” I offered. “She works part-time at the inn, but she has another job as well, so she’s only here a few hours a day, which is why I think Jeremy would be a better choice. I’ll call you later to let you know how it all worked out.”

  “That would be wonderful, and thank you again for providing the inn at the last minute.”

  “Thank you for booking all the rooms during an off week, when we were looking at total vacancies,” I countered.

  “I doubt you’ll have that situation much longer. I’m hearing rave reviews about your place. I think you have a real gold mine on your hands. Did you see the article in the travel section of the Times?”

  “I did.” I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of the glowing words. “We had a blogger stay with us over Christmas. I think the series of articles he wrote has put us on the map. We’ve been booking rooms like crazy since he was here, and he’s coming back this spring to do a spread about Holiday Bay being the perfect wedding venue, which I’m hoping will help with our high-season bookings as well.”

  “I’d say you really lucked out when you booked that particular guest.”

  In more ways than one, I thought to myself. Riley Camden was currently in Europe with Mylie Sanders, a guest he met during his stay at the inn. Mylie had come to the inn to find her one true love. I wasn’t sure Riley was the man Mylie hoped to find, but the two had hit it off, and from the postcards they’d been sending to Georgia and me, it appeared they were having a wonderful time.

  After I hung up with Kate, I headed out to find Jeremy. The last I’d seen him, he’d been shoveling the walks that meandered throughout the property. During the summer, the walkways that flowed here and there were popular with the guests, but during the winter, they provided a lot of cement to keep clear.

  “Oh good, I found you,” I said to Jeremy when I ran into him at the old carriage house where we kept the larger equipment, such as the lawn tractor and snowblower. “I have a favor to ask you.”

  He tipped the gas can into the snowblower, pouring it slowly so as not to spill. “Sure. Whatever you need.”

  “Kate wants to pair up the writers for critiques, but she has an odd number and needs to find someone to even things out.”

  He raised a brow. “You want me to join the group?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.” I paused as he set the gas can aside and replaced the cap. “We really just need someone to offer critiques and maybe provide a sounding board to generate ideas,” I continued. “You don’t have to actually write anything if you don’t want to.”

  “I’d love to join the others, and I do have something I can work on during the event.”

  Now it was my turn to raise my brows. “You do?”

  He nodded. “I took a creative writing class in college. I started a novel but never finished it. After living with you all these months, I’ve been kicking around the idea of dusting it off and taking a stab at finishing it. Annabelle is with her mom until after the retreat is over, so the timing is perfect for me.”

  “Wonderful.” I smiled. “I’ll let Dax know to count you in. You can plan to attend the workshops and breakout sessions as well if you’d like. I think we can be flexible with the snow clearing. In fact, I’ve pretty much decided if the snow comes down as fast as predicted, we’ll just let it build up on most of the walkways through the garden and deal with it later. I want to keep the path from the inn to the cottage clear, as well as from the inn to the bluff trail, but other than the drive and front walkway, everything else can wait.”

  “There is still going to be a lot to keep up with,” Jeremy pointed out.

  “Maybe, but I can help you before the group meets each morning, and I’m sure there will be an afternoon break. One way or another, we can make it work so you can be a true partner to whoever you’re paired with.”

  Jeremy hugged me. “Thanks, Abby. This is going to be totally awesome.”

  “I’m glad it worked out.”

  “I’m just finishing up here, and then I planned to go in and get cleaned up so I can help Georgia with dinner. If Dax needs anything from me, just tell him I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  “I will. And thanks again.”

  Of course, the only way I was going to be able to pass Jeremy’s message on to Dax was to actually speak to the man, so I took a deep breath and headed to the inn.

  Chapter 3

  When I arrived at the inn, I greeted Georgia and then went looking for Dax, who she had seen in the library. We’d decided to set up the meeting space in the library because it was not only large enough for a conference table but had space to accommodate the large monitor Dax had brought with him as well. I also liked the fact that the workspace would be on the second floor, leaving the first floor for dining and relaxation.

  “Dax,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster when I entered the library.

  “Abby.” He grinned and opened his arms.

  I took several steps forward and hugged the man who smelled better than anyone should. “It looks like you are getting set up. Do you have everything you need?”

  “I do.” His eyes seemed to dance as he looked around. “Your place is fantastic. It is both charming and cozy. How are you se
ttling into your new life here on the East Coast?”

  “Very well, thank you. I love the inn, and I love Maine. It’s colder and snowier than California, but somehow it feels perfect.”

  He brushed his longish blond hair away from his face. “I know what you mean. I’ve traveled quite a bit, and I can unequivocally say that there are some places that resonate with you in a way other places don’t. For me, that place is Italy. I love the food, the landscape, the people, the language, and the culture. I’m not quite ready to settle down, but when I do, I think it will be there.”

  “I’ve never been to Italy, but I’ve seen photos, and I hear it’s lovely. It seems like a country steeped in romance. Have you visited recently?”

  “I was there just this summer. I spent most of my time in Rome and Naples, really drinking in the history and the culture.”

  “Is the architecture as beautiful as it appears to be in the movies?”

  “Even more so. There is this one street in the oldest part of Naples…”

  Dax shared a funny story about a tiny café and the tiny woman who owned it. He used as much description when he spoke as he did in his writing, and he soon had me both laughing and longing to make the trip myself one day. I wanted to walk the cobbled streets and lounge in the beautiful gardens. I yearned to look out over the glistening sea and stroll through the eclectic shops that lined the shore. I wanted to spend the day soaking up the culture and history as Dax had. And I found myself visualizing the two of us there together.

  When my mind wandered to romantic encounters under a full moon, I realized it was time to get my imagination in check, so I looked around the room as Dax continued to share stories of his time in Europe. It looked like he had everything under control. He’d hung the large monitor on one wall and had positioned a small table with a computer and printer in one corner. The conference table was in the middle of the room, surrounded by ten chairs, which made things snug but appeared to work adequately. Along another wall was an additional table, where I assumed he’d set up the materials he needed. Dax always had been the organized sort. I supposed that was why his novels flowed with such smooth precision.