Sam pulled back, eyes wide. “Really?”
“Really. Now go enjoy this. Mingle. Let people tell you how talented you are.”
The reception started at four, and by four-thirty the great room was full. Locals mixed with guests, everyone holding cups of warm cider and plates of cheese and fruit. Through the windows, the late afternoon light caught the mountains, the green slopes just barely touched with the first whispers of autumn color.
Ryan had brought three of his friends from school, teenage boys who immediately gravitated toward the food table and stayed there, talking and occasionally remembering to compliment the adults on the inn. Emily and Evan arrived with Grace, who at seven months old was happy to be passed from arm to arm and admired by strangers.
Ally stood near the window, adjusting one of her flower arrangements and answering questions from a guest about growing dahlias. She’d worn a new dress for the occasion—dark green, bringing out the hazel in her eyes—and Tara noticed her checking her phone more than once, her gaze drifting toward the door.
“Expecting someone?” Tara asked, sidling up to her.
“What? No, I mean—” Ally flushed. “Colton texted earlier. Said he might come to town for a few days.”
“Colton Matthews is coming to the opening?”
“He said might. Don’t make a thing of it.”
“Ally—”
“Mom, please.” Ally’s voice dropped. “I don’t even know if he’ll show. He’s been in New York for months. He probably has better things to do than fly out here for an inn opening.”
But her eyes kept going to the door.
Christina was still at the front desk, Violet awake now and watching the party with wide eyes. Tara detoured that way, carrying two plates of food.
“Eat,” she said, setting one in front of her daughter. “Mother’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“Same authority, less medical training.”
Christina smiled—a real smile, the kind that had been rare these past few months—and picked up a sandwich. “It’s going really well, isn’t it? The opening.”
“Better than I hoped.” Tara looked around at the crowded room, the guests mingling with locals, the afternoon light streaming through windows they’d argued about for weeks.
Violet let out a small cry, her face scrunching. Christina was already reaching for her, lifting her from the carrier.
“I’ve got her,” Tara said. “Go get some fresh air. Stretch your legs.”
“Mom—”
“Five minutes. I’ll bring her to you if she needs feeding.”
Christina hesitated, then handed Violet over. “Five minutes.”
“I know. I’ve done this before, remember? Many times.”
Violet settled into Tara’s arms with a small sigh, her eyes focusing on her grandmother’s face. Those eyes—still that newborn blue-gray, though Tara had started noticing something shifting at the edges, a warmth that didn’t quite match the Singleton coloring.
She didn’t ask Christina about it. She’d learned not to ask about certain things—the father, the future, the plan. Christina would tell her when she was ready.
“Come on, little one,” she murmured, walking toward the windows where the afternoon light was soft and golden. “Let me show you off to everyone.”
Outside, the mountains rose against a September sky, and guests wandered through Patty’s Garden, and somewhere in the kitchen someone was laughing. Tara caught Will’s eye across the room, and he raised his cider cup in a silent toast. She nodded back, Violet warm in her arms. Through the window, she could see Christina on the porch, leaning against the railing, her face tilted up toward the mountains. Peaceful—more peaceful than she’d seemed in months.
The caterer appeared at Tara’s elbow. “We’re running low on the brie, and I wanted to ask about the wine-and-cheese hour setup. Should we use the same table arrangement, or?—”
“Let’s use the smaller tables by the windows. More intimate.” Tara shifted Violet to her other arm. “And check if we have more of that local goat cheese—the Hendersons seemed to love it.”
