Twelve miniature jars of golden honey, each one labeled with Sam’s hand-drawn designs. Wildflower. Clover. Summer Bloom. Autumn Harvest. The afternoon sun hit them at just the right angle, turning the shelf into a wall of amber light.
“She’s going to cry when she sees this,” Will said.
“Good tears, I hope.”
“The best kind.”
Tara leaned against him, letting herself imagine it. Guests coming down for breakfast, helping themselves to fresh coffee and pastries, spreading Ally’s honey on warm biscuits while they planned their day of hiking or antiquing or simply sitting by the lake. The rooms upstairs were almost ready—beds assembled, linens ordered, bathrooms tiled in a soft gray-blue she’d agonized over for weeks.
September felt like it was right around the corner. The grand opening was less than two months away, and there was still so much to do—the website needed finishing, the booking system had to be tested, she hadn’t even started thinking about staff—but standing here, in this room that smelled like fresh paint and possibility, Tara let herself believe they might actually pull it off.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Will said.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you’re making lists in your head instead of enjoying the moment.”
Tara laughed. “I can’t help it. There’s still the?—”
Her phone rang, cutting her off. She fished it out of her back pocket, expecting Ally or maybe the furniture delivery company calling to reschedule again.
Christina’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, honey. Everything okay?”
“Mom. My water broke.”
The words landed like ice water. “What? But you’re not due for two more weeks.”
“I know.” Christina’s breath came fast and uneven through the phone. “I was just—I was getting up from the couch and there was this—Mom, what do I do?”
Tara was already moving, grabbing her purse from the counter, keys jangling as she dug them out. Will read the situation instantly and headed for the front door.
“Where are you right now?”
“The cottage. I’m alone—Ryan took Angus for a walk and I can’t reach him?—”
“Okay. Stay calm. Are you having contractions?”
“I don’t—maybe? I don’t know. It just feels like horrible cramps.”
“That’s normal. That’s good.” Tara kept her voice steady. “I’m on my way. Don’t try to drive yourself—just sit down and breathe. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Mom, I’m scared.”
Tara closed her eyes for half a second. Her daughter, her baby, about to have a baby of her own.
“I know, sweetheart. But you’re going to be fine. Violet’s going to be fine. I’m coming.”
She hung up and found Will already in the truck, engine running. The sky had darkened while they’d been inside admiring wallpaper—heavy clouds rolling in from the mountains, the air thick and humid with approaching rain.
“Christina?” Will asked as she climbed in.
“Water broke. She’s at the cottage. Two weeks early.”
Will pulled out of the inn’s gravel drive, tires spitting rocks. “She’ll be okay. First babies take their time.”
“I know.” But Tara was already texting her family, fingers clumsy on the screen.
