“Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it.” Chelsea hugged her tightly. “We're going to get through this together. The happy parts and the hard parts. That's what we do.”
Maggie held on for a moment longer than necessary, drawing strength from her friend's embrace. Then she stepped back, smiled, and headed out into the evening.
Maggie walked back to the inn, letting her thoughts wander. She thought about Beth, huge and uncomfortable and waiting for her babies. About Christopher and Becca, searching for a house that would become their home. About Lauren and Sarah and her mother, plotting their great RV adventure. About Michael and his family, who would join them for the gathering at the Andover house.
All her children, converging from different directions, drawn together by birth and loss and the invisible threads that connected them across distance and time.
The Key Lime Garden Inn glowed in the evening light, its windows warm and welcoming. She could see movement inside, guests settling in for the evening, Iris moving through the dining room with her quiet efficiency.
This was her home now. This beautiful, improbable place that she had built from grief and determination and a willingness to start over. Whatever happened in Massachusetts, whatever emotions the Andover house stirred up, she would return here. To Paolo, to the inn, to the life she had chosen.
The scent of something delicious drifted from the kitchen, garlic and herbs and the warm smell of fresh bread. Iris appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel.
“There you are. I was starting to wonder.”
“Just finalizing plans with Chelsea.” Maggie stepped inside, letting the warmth of the inn wrap around her. “Everything okay here?”
“Perfect. Dinner's almost ready, and all the guests have checked in. Oliver handled the couple in Room Four who wanted extra towels, and Millie restocked the breakfast supplies.”
“What would I do without you?”
Iris smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “You'd manage. But you don't have to, so why worry about it?”
Maggie squeezed her arm in gratitude and headed for the kitchen, where she knew Paolo would be waiting. He stood at the stove, stirring something in a large pot, and looked up when she entered.
“How is Chelsea?” he asked.
“Prepared. She has lists.”
“Of course she does.” He set down the spoon and crossed to her, taking her hands in his. “And how are you?”
Maggie looked up at him, at this man who had come into her life when she least expected it and shown her that love could bloom in the most unlikely seasons. His eyes were warm with concern, with understanding, with the steady devotion that had become the foundation of her days.
“I'm ready,” she said. “Whatever comes next, I'm ready.”
He kissed her forehead. “Then so am I.”
They stood together in the kitchen, the sounds of the inn humming around them, and Maggie let herself believe it. She was ready. For the babies, for the house, for the goodbyes and the hellos and everything in between.
Thursday was coming. And after that, nothing would be quite the same.
CHAPTER 6
Sarah Wheeler Hutchins stood in the middle of her living room and watched her youngest child attempt to scale the bookshelf for the third time that morning.
“Maggie, no.” She crossed the room in three quick strides and lifted her daughter off the bottom shelf, where she had managed to wedge one tiny foot. “We talked about this. Books are for reading, not for climbing.”
Little Maggie, who was two and a half and had opinions about everything, squirmed in her mother's arms. “Up,” she declared. “Up up up.”
“Not up. Down. Feet on the floor.”
“No floor. Up.”
Sarah set her daughter on the carpet and immediately blocked her path back to the bookshelf. This was the new phase, the climbing phase, and it showed no signs of ending anytime soon. Little Maggie had inherited her mother's determination and her father's complete lack of fear, which made for an exhausting combination.
“Sophia!” Sarah called toward the hallway. “Can you come play with your sister for a few minutes?”
A moment later, her middle child appeared in the doorway. Sophia was five, with serious brown eyes and a permanent fascination with anything that lived in the ocean. Today she wore a T-shirt with a dolphin on it and carried a picture book about sea turtles.
