CHAPTER ONE
“Hard to believe the inn has four guests even in the offseason,” Jane said, sharing a contented smile with her sister, Andie.
Earlier that year, when their mother had fallen ill, Jane had doubted her ability to manage the family inn, Tides. Now, the inn was thriving, a testament to her perseverance.
Andie looked into the dining room, where four women were enjoying breakfast. “They seem like they’re having a good time.”
“They are,” Jane affirmed. She caught a glimpse of the ocean beyond, a serene backdrop that never grew old. “They grew up here, I guess, and were best friends. Now, they come back for Prelude every year to catch up.”
“That’s nice.” Andie smiled in at the ladies. “Do you need any help with things here?”
Jane shook her head. “No, I’ve got Brenda in the kitchen and Liz up front. You have your own business to tend to.”
“I don’t mind helping out. I did just get in some interesting items from an estate sale that I’m dying to pick through, though. Found some old trunks up in an attic.”
Jane could see the excited gleam in her sister’s eye. Andie used to be an antique curator at a high-end auction house buthad come back home when their mom got sick. Now she had her own antique store right in town. “Then you should get to it. Could be a treasure in there.”
Andie laughed and hugged Jane. “Let’s hope! Give me a shout if you need anything.”
Jane watched her sister leave and then picked up the coffee carafe and entered the dining room. The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the scent of bacon and eggs. “Would anyone like a top-off?”
Four heads turned, their faces breaking into smiles. Susan, her short gray bob impeccably styled, held out her cup with manicured fingers. “Oh, yes, dear, please,” she said.
As Jane went around refilling mugs, Betty’s eyes met hers. “How is your mother, Addie? We remember she was such a gracious hostess. A true gem of Lobster Bay.”
Jane felt her chest tighten briefly but masked it with a smile. “She’s well. Thank you for asking. She’s in a memory-care unit at an assisted living facility. She’s comfortable and well taken care of.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear about the memory care,” Susan said, sympathy filling her eyes. “But it’s good she’s in a safe place.”
“Thank you.” Jane nodded, eager to lift the mood. “So, you all grew up here in town? I bet it hasn’t changed much.”
The four of them laughed.
“It really hasn’t,” said Carol, tall and elegant with striking snow-white hair. “That’s a good thing. The town is charming. I grew up over on Willow Street, and there are a few new houses but not much else different.”
Susan, wearing a blouse that spoke of her penchant for meticulous order, picked up the thread. “And I was on Harbor Lane. Still pretty much the same there.”
Betty’s eyes were a soft green, almost the color of sea foam, framed by wavy salt-and-pepper hair. She wore a comfortable, oversized knit sweater and a chunky silver charm bracelet on her right wrist. “I grew up on Elm Street. It was a lovely place until….” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes grew sad.
Carol reached over and patted her hand.
Jane stood there awkwardly until Betty sighed and looked up. “My sister, Heidi, died when she was seventeen. Car accident. I was only fifteen and adored her. I never got to say goodbye. We had such a happy life in that house until then.”
“I’m so sorry.” Jane’s heart ached for Betty.
Betty waved her hand dismissively and smiled. “Well, that was long ago, and I’ve come to terms. Still, I do always hope she’ll give me some sort of sign when I’m back here.”
“Lobster Bay has its own way of sending signs. Who knows? Maybe this visit will be special.”
“I hope so,” Betty said then deftly changed the subject. “Anyway, we’ve all had quite varied careers since then. I went into marine biology.”
“And I became a stewardess—flew all over the world!” Carol said, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
“That sounds amazing,” Jane said.
“I didn’t do anything quite so exciting. I became an accountant,” Susan added, a playful glint in her eyes. “Someone had to make sense of the numbers.”
“Very true,” Jane nodded.
