Chapter One
ASTRID PARKER LOOKEDperfect.
Well, as perfect as shecouldlook, which these days meant a lot of concealer smoothed over the purple half-moons that had taken up residence under her eyes. But other than that bit of smoke and mirrors, she was pristine.
She hurried down the sidewalk, the April morning light lengthening her shadow along the cobblestones of downtown Bright Falls, Oregon. She couldn’t believe the sun was out, warm on her pale skin, that she’d actually been able to leave her umbrella and galoshes at home in her front closet. This was the first rainless day they’d had in two weeks.
Born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, Astrid was used to the spring rains, used to gray and drizzle, but the fact that the clouds had deigned to part—today of all days—was encouraging, to say the least. Had Astrid actually believed in signs, she might’ve gotten a bit dramatic about the timing. Instead, she stopped in front of Wake Up Coffee Company and gazed at her reflection in the large picture window.
This morning, she’d woken up an hour earlier than she needed to,washed and blown out her hair, making sure she styled her recently trimmed blond fringe exactly the way Kelsey, her stylist, had shown her. The result was... well, it was perfect. Her wavy locks fell just past her shoulders; her bangs were shaggy and chic and shiny. Her makeup was minimal yet elegant—concealer notwithstanding—and her jewelry understated and tasteful, just a pair of gold hoops swinging from her lobes.
Her dress was the real star, her favorite outfit and the most expensive thing she owned—she still didn’t dare tell her best friends Iris and Claire how much she paid for it last year after she and Spencer broke up. It was a necessary purchase, a power buy to make her feel confident and beautiful. As she took in the ivory pencil dress now, sleeveless and midi-length, her reflection confirmed it had been worth every penny. She’d paired it with her favorite strappy black three-inch heels, and even her mother couldn’t complain about the vision Astrid saw in the window right now. She was elegant and poised. Prepared.
Perfect.
Everything she should be for this meeting and first filming at the Everwood Inn. A wobbly smile settled onto her mouth as she thought about the historic inn, which was now hers to re-create. Well, not exactlyhers. But when Pru Everwood, longtime owner of the nationally beloved Victorian, had called last month and said that she was ready to renovate—and that Natasha Rojas’s super-chic HGTV show,Innside America, wanted to do an episode on the whole transformation—Astrid had nearly bitten her own tongue to keep from screaming with glee.
Glee and a good bit of terror, but that was just nerves, or so Astrid had been telling herself for the last month. Of course she was excited. Of course this was the opportunity of a lifetime.
The Everwood Inn was famous—there were countless books and documentaries about the legend of the Blue Lady, who purportedly haunted one of the upstairs bedrooms—and being featured onInnside Americacould change everything for Astrid. This was her chance togo from small-town designer with a failed engagement to something more. Something better.Someone her mother actuallyliked.
Plus, the old mansion-turned-inn was a designer’s dream—three stories of intricate eaves and gables, a wide front porch, an exterior that was currently the color of cat vomit but would shine beautifully under some lovely pastel hue, lavender or maybe a cool mint. Inside, it was a maze of dark-paneled rooms and cobwebs, but Astrid could already envision how she would lighten and brighten, the shiplap and accent walls that would replace the cherry wood wainscoting, transforming the rotting back porch into a sun-drenched solarium.
There was no doubt, the Everwood Inn was a dream project.
And currently, it was her only project.
She sighed, pushing her recent financial woes to the back of her mind, including the fact that just last week she’d let her assistantandher receptionist go because Astrid could no longer afford to pay them. Not that she’d ever tell her mother that Bright Designs was officially a one-woman show. She’d rather chew on a cactus, thanks very much, so she certainly didn’t have time for doubts or inconsistency.
Since taking over Lindy Westbrook’s design business nine years ago when the older woman had retired, Astrid usually had the perfect amount of work to keep her busy and solvent. But lately, things had been slow... and boring. There were only so many design jobs to go around in a town as tiny as Bright Falls, and if she worked on one more doctor–slash–lawyer–slash–real estate agent’s office, filling them with uncomfortable seating and abstract paintings, she was going to tear her own eyelashes out.
Not to mention, if she let the business go under now, particularly after her disaster of a failed engagement last summer, Astrid’s mother would not only tear her eyelashes out for her but would make absolutely sure Astrid knew the failure was one hundred percent her own fault, warping her professional deficiencies into intimately personal shortcomings.
Lately, this endearing quality of her mother’s had kicked into overdrive, Isabel’s lip literally curling whenever Astrid had a hair out of place or reached for a bagel. Astrid was exhausted, had slept like shit for months, her mother’s constant scrutiny and unattainable expectations playing like a film on repeat every time she closed her eyes. Surely, if anything would appease Isabel—maybe even draw out a proud hug or a glowing declaration likeI had every faith in you, darling—and give Astrid a few months of peace, it was appearing as the lead designer on a prestigious show and bringing the beloved Everwood into the modern age.
She offered her reflection one more smile and was straightening the buttery linen of her dress when a fist banged on the glass from inside. She startled, stumbling back so that her ankle very nearly buckled from the height of her heels.
“You look hot as fuck!”
A pretty redhead grinned at her through the window, then made a show of waggling her eyebrows at Astrid’s form.
“Jesus, Iris,” Astrid said, fingers pressed to her chest as she tried to calm her galloping heart. “Could younotfor one day?”
“Not what?” Iris yelled through the glass, arms propped up on the back of a turquoise-painted wooden chair.
“Not...” Astrid waved her hand around, searching for the right word. When it came to her best friend Iris Kelly, ever the middle child vying for attention, the right word rarely stuck for very long. “Never mind.”
“Get your cute ass in here already,” Iris said. “Claire and Delilah are whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears—”
“We are not!” Astrid heard her other best friend, Claire, call from somewhere behind Iris before she appeared in the window too, her brown hair up in a messy bun and her dark purple–framed glasses catching the sunlight.
“—and I’m slowly losing my will to live,” Iris went on, shoulder knocking into Claire’s.
“Don’t even pretend you don’t love it.” This from Delilah, Astrid’s stepsister and Claire’s girlfriend for the last ten months, whose presence Astrid was still getting used to in her life. She and Delilah had had a fraught childhood together, filled with resentments and misunderstandings. The healing process was long and, honestly, exhausting. They’d come a long way since last June, when Delilah arrived in town from New York City to photograph Astrid’s doomed wedding and fell in love with the maid of honor instead. Since then, Delilah had moved back to Bright Falls and proceeded to make Claire happier than Astrid had ever seen her.
As though to further prove the point, Delilah glided into view and draped a tattooed arm around Claire’s shoulder, and Claire promptly beamed up at her as though Delilah created coffee itself. Astrid felt a pang deep in her chest. Not jealousy necessarily, and she’d long realized the problems she and Delilah had growing up were just as much her fault as they were her stepsister’s, so it wasn’t discomfort or worry on her best friend’s behalf either.
No, the feeling was more akin to... nausea. She’d never, ever admit it to Claire—or Iris and her brand-new girlfriend, Jillian—that the sight of a happy couple gave her the urge to vomit, but it was true, and her roiling stomach was the proof. Ever since she and Spencer had broken up last summer, she felt physically sick just thinking about romance and dating.
