Local Hero

she’d been far too trusting and humiliatingly shocked when Jonathan told her he would be announcing his engagement—to someone else—the next day.
    Humiliatingly shocked, she thought again, particularly as they’d been naked and in her bed at the time.
    Then again, he’d been shocked too when she’d ordered him to get the hell out. He genuinely hadn’t understood why anything between them should change.
    That single moment ushered in a lot of change.
    Now she was Inn BoonsBoro’s innkeeper, living in a small town in Western Maryland, a good clip from the bright lights of the big city.
    She didn’t spend what free time she had planning clever little dinner parties, or shopping in the boutiques for the perfect shoes for the perfect dress for the next event.
    Did she miss all that? Her go-to boutique, her favorite lunch spot, the lovely high ceilings and flower-framed little patio of her own town house? Or the pressure and excitement of preparing the hotel for visits from dignitaries, celebrities, business moguls?
    Sometimes, she admitted. But not as often as she’d expected to, and not as much as she’d assumed she would.
    Because she had been content in her personal life, challenged in her professional one, and the Wickham had been her place. But she’d discovered something in the last few months. Here, she wasn’t just content, but happy. The inn wasn’t just her place, it was
home
.
    She had her friends to thank for that, and the Montgomery brothers along with their mother. Justine Montgomery had hired her on the spot. At the time Hope hadn’t known Justine well enough to be surprised by her quick offer. But she did know herself and continued to be surprised at her own fast, impulsive acceptance.
    Zero to sixty? More like zero to ninety and still going.
    She didn’t regret the impulse, the decision, the move.
    Fresh starts hadn’t been in the plan, but she was good at adjusting plans. Thanks to the Montgomerys, the lovingly—and effortfully—restored inn was now her home and her career.
    She wandered the porch, checking the hanging planters, adjusting—minutely—the angle of a bistro chair.
    “And I love every square inch of it,” she murmured.
    One of the porch doors leading out from Elizabeth and Darcy opened. The scent of honeysuckle drifted on the night air.
    Someone else was restless, Hope thought. Then again, she didn’t know if ghosts slept. She doubted if the spirit Beckett had named Elizabeth for the room she favored would tell her if she asked. Thus far Lizzy hadn’t deigned to speak to her inn-mate.
    Hope smiled at the term, sipped her wine.
    “Lovely night. I was just thinking how different my life is now, and all things considered, how glad I am it is.” She spoke in an easy, friendly way. After all, the research she and Owen had done—so far—on their permanent guest had proven Lizzy—or Eliza Ford, when she’d been alive—was one of Hope’s ancestors.
    Family, to Hope’s mind, ought to be easy and friendly.
    “We have newlyweds in W&B. They look so happy, so fresh and new somehow. The couple in N&N are here celebrating her fifty-eighth birthday. They don’t look new, but they do look happy, and so nice and comfortable. I like giving them a special place to stay, a special experience. It’s what I’m good at.”
    Silence held, but Hope could
feel
the presence. Companionable, she realized. Oddly companionable. Just a couple of women up late, looking out at the night.
    “Carolee will be here early. She’s doing breakfast tomorrow, and I have the morning off. So.” She lifted her glass. “Some wine, some introspection, some feeling sorry for myself circling around to realizing I have nothing to feel sorry for myself about.” With a smile, Hope sipped again. “So, a good glass of wine.
    “Now that I’ve accomplished all that, I should get to bed.”
    Still she lingered a little longer in the quiet summer night, with the scent of honeysuckle drifting around her.
    ***
    When Hope came down in the morning, the scent of fresh coffee, grilled bacon, and, if her nose didn’t deceive her, Carolee’s apple cinnamon pancakes. She heard easy conversation in The Dining Room. Donna and Max, talking about poking around town before driving home.
    Hope went down the hall, circled to the kitchen to see if Carolee needed a hand. Justine’s sister had her bright blond hair clipped short for summer, with the addition of flirty bangs over her cheerful hazel eyes. They beamed at