"Oh, that teddy bear fabric is so sweet!" Margot exclaimed. "Is it new?"

Evelyn nodded. "Just came in on Monday. But I didn't know we'd sold any yet."

"Madelyn bought it while you were at lunch with Charlie," Virginia replied. "I was sort of hoping she'd decided to start quilting after all. But this is the next best thing. Who wants to help?"

Margot ran her hand over the yardage and said, "I love making baby quilts."

Poor Margot. She was bright, beautiful, cheerful, and, nearing her fortieth birthday, single. She loves children and wants a family of her own, but there seems to be no sign of a husband or babies on her horizon. I remembered what that felt like to want a baby so badly but be afraid you'd never have one of your own.

The wistful tone in Margot's voice pulled me up short. My mom always used to say, "Enjoy the little things in life, Tessa. One day you may look back and realize they were the big things." I was so lucky to have Josh. And Lee. And friends.

"I'll help with Angela's quilt," I said.

"Me too," Margot said in a deliberately cheerful voice.

The others echoed her and, in less time than it takes to unsew a seam, were chattering about the fabric, sketching out patterns, and having a wonderful time. Even me. I told Madelyn that I'd come to the quilt shop to quilt, eat, and forget my problems, and that's exactly what happened.

Sometimes, if you're lucky, you realize that the little things are really the big things. Or, as Lee might say, "Broke I may be. Poor I am not."

42.

Madelyn March It was March 20, the first day of spring. I wonder if Tessa realized that when she chose that date to close For the Love of Lavender? There was a certain irony, even poetry, to closing a shop devoted to all things herbal just as the earth was stirring, waking to a season of growth. With all she had on her mind, I doubt she'd given much thought to the significance of the date or the fact that our birthdays were coming up later in the week. It didn't matter. I had memory enough for us both.

It was a Sat.u.r.day morning and two of my rooms were filled-the first time I'd ever had more than one room occupied at a time. At the moment, the most notable feature in my reservation book was a lot of white s.p.a.ce, but I hoped warmer temperatures would change that.

So far, I'd experienced a few b.u.mps on the road-the occasional leaking toilet or burned breakfast, a broken coffeepot, the guest who ignored the prominently placed sign on the hearth stating that the fireplace was only ornamental but, using several rolled-up magazines for fuel, tried to light a fire anyway, another who stayed out until two in the morning, lost his key, and was nearly arrested when a neighbor caught him trying to jimmy open a back window and called the police. But those few missteps aside, things were going well. My guest book was filled with praise from my customers as well as promises to come back soon and spread the word. I hoped they were telling the truth.

The easiest way to reach my target audience would be to advertise, preferably in the New York Times. But that was way, way beyond my means. Instead, I had to settle for a sixth of a page display ad in Pa.s.sport magazine, which was distributed free of charge at restaurants, museums, boutiques, and anywhere else tourists might frequent-the same magazine my guest had used as fuel for the forbidden fire. Evelyn's son, Garrett, had designed a basic website for me, offering information, pretty pictures, and a phone number to call for reservations. Other than that, I had to rely on luck, word of mouth, and my new brochures, which had just arrived from the printer.

After feeding my guests, doing the dishes, cleaning the rooms, and changing the sheets, I planned to drop off a stack of brochures at the visitor information booth on the Green, then stop in at For the Love of Lavender to give Tessa her birthday present and a big dose of moral support. Jake said he'd stop by around noon to watch the office for me. The moment I could afford it, I had to hire some part-time help. I couldn't keep imposing on Jake.

I use a back corner of the kitchen for my office. That's where Jake found me when he arrived. He greeted me and grabbed one of the leftover breakfast m.u.f.fins from a platter on the countertop.

"You're going to get fat if you keep that up."

"Think so?" he asked, glancing down at his stomach with a grin.

I laughed. "You are so irritating."

The phone rang. It was Angela Radnovich, calling to thank me for the baby quilt.

"You're welcome, Angela. But you should be thanking the women over at Cobbled Court. They did all the work. I just bought the fabric."

"I'm sending two thank-you notes, one for you and one to your friends. I love the quilt. It's already in the crib, ready for the big day."

"It'll be here before you know it. How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected, considering my husband's publicist just sent out a press release announcing his wedding to the next Mrs. Radnovich. Their timing is good, mid-May. The baby will just avoid being born illegitimate."

"What? How can he do that? Your divorce isn't final yet, is it?"

"It will be at the end of April. Mike wants this wedding to go forward on schedule. He accepted my first settlement offer without batting an eye. I get the apartment in New York, the house in Vail, two million a year in child support, and twenty-five million in cash. After all he's put me through, I should have asked for fifty," she said in a voice dripping with loathing.

"Anyway, it's all but done. I don't want to talk about it. I just called to thank you and, believe it or not, to talk to you about a wedding."

Reading my thoughts, Angela barked out a bitter little laugh and said, "No, not mine. I've sworn off men forever. But my personal a.s.sistant, Kerry, just got engaged. I told her not to do it, that all men are lying sacks of sc.u.m, but she won't listen. Anyway, I want to throw her a wedding. . . ."

"Angela, that is so sweet of you!"

"No, it's not. This is purely out of self-interest. She wanted three weeks off to go home to California for a wedding and honeymoon trip. I can't spare her that long, not with the baby coming, so I offered to fly her family out here, pay for the wedding, plus a five-day honeymoon in Vermont. This way she won't be gone more than a week.

"We'll need to book all your guest rooms," Angela said. "We can have the ceremony out in your herb garden, a.s.suming the weather is good, and the reception in the living room. I'm willing to pay another thousand for use of the garden and public rooms and five hundred more for helping coordinate the details. We'll need a caterer, florist, and photographer, but I'm sure you have contacts. So? What do you say? Do you have a weekend open in May or June?"

I wedged the telephone between my ear and shoulder and frantically flipped through the calendar, looking for a completely open weekend, mentally kicking myself for letting people book single rooms for single nights during tourist season.

"Wait! What about the third weekend in May? We're wide open."

"The same time as Mike's wedding," Angela said flatly. "How ironic. I'll send a deposit. Kerry will call you on Monday."

I hung up the phone, clapped my hands, and stomped my feet for joy. All five rooms booked for a weekend! Plus fees for public room rentals and wedding coordination! It added up to . . . ? I was too excited to do the math, too excited to contain myself. Without stopping to think, I let out a whoop, flung myself at Jake, and kissed him on the lips.

And Jake kissed me back.

His lips were soft, but his kiss was hard, slow, almost lazy, and so a.s.sured. His arms rested at steep angles across the small of my back and the blades of my shoulders. He spread his fingers wide and pressed them gently but firmly to my body, as if trying to leave his imprint on my flesh and in my memory.

It worked.

The certainty of his touch summoned images to my mind, memories of our first date and of a young Jake running through twin columns of light spilling from the headlamps of a borrowed car to open my door; images of Jake older and wiser and handsome, waiting on my porch steps with patience and twenty gallons of paint; of Jake leaning against a wall, watching me struggle to control and conquer the floor sander, muscled arms crossed over his chest, wanting to help but holding back because he knew I wanted to do it myself; of Jake laughing, and frowning, and listening, and telling me the truth no matter what; of the way his gla.s.s eye wandered when he was tired, the way he smiled when I entered a room. The heat of his hands warmed me, made me forget myself and my need to maintain control, made me remember myself and the spark of long-dormant desire.

I gave myself up to it, melting into the circle of his arms, leaning in, lifting up, softening my mouth and opening my lips, tasting his tongue with mine. For a few sweet moments, it felt right to forget and safe to remember. And then Jake's arms angled even lower, his fingers closed tight and his hands slid down and around the swell of my hips, and that spark of desire surged inside me, igniting an ancient and instinctual flame, an elemental longing. My hips rocked forward to meet his without permission or precaution.

He responded in kind and suddenly my brain reengaged, overriding the careless cravings of biology. I uncoiled my arms from his body and planted my palms on his shoulders to push myself back as hard and far as I could.

"Stop it," I gasped.

Jake frowned, doubting me. I took a step back and dropped my arms to my side, taking in a deep, slow breath through my mouth and exhaling raggedly but deliberately.

Jake spread out his hands. "Why?"

"Because I know what happens next. I know where this goes. And I'm not going there again, not ever. Every mistake of my life has begun by tumbling into bed with someone. I like you too much to add you to my list of regrets."

He gave me a long, appraising look.

"Wow. That's the smoothest brush-off I've ever received. Did you make that up as you went along? Or have you been practicing? What comes next? Are you going to tell me you 'just want to be friends'? Don't play games with me, Madelyn."

"I don't know what comes next, Jake. I haven't the slightest idea how all this works. But let me ask you something. Where is the 'just' in friends? I've never wanted to be friends with a man before, never. Do you know how big a deal that is for me? Up until now I've only seen men in terms of what they could do for me or buy for me or get for me. I don't feel that way about you."

"Really? Well, for somebody who wasn't looking to get anything out of me, you seem to have taken a lot-a newly roofed house, sanded floors, snowplowed driveway, somebody to watch your phones . . ."

He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. I'd wounded him and so he wanted to wound me back. And he had. His words were cruel and his insinuation was insulting. I'd never have taken that from a man I liked less than Jake, but I did like him. I was only just beginning to realize how much. And so instead of throwing him out of my house and my life, I stood my ground.

"That's not fair, Jake. You've done a lot for me, much more than I could ever have expected or asked. But everything you did for me-the roof, the discounts, the snowplowing, and all the rest-was your idea and you know it. I never asked you for anything. Even so, I went to some effort to repay you for your unsolicited kindness to me. The m.u.f.fins? The anniversary getaway for your sister? My insistence that we go dutch on our dinner dates? That was my way of trying to keep our relationship friendly rather than romantic, and I think you know that too. That was the unspoken agreement. In fact, we did speak of it-or you did. Be honest. You understood my concerns. When we started going out to dinner together, you a.s.sured me that we were just going as friends, that you weren't trying to lure me into bed, remember?

"And I took you at your word, Jake. I was relieved because I value our relationship too much to let it become s.e.xual. s.e.x always ruins everything."

"I see," he said sharply. "So I should be honored that your feelings toward me are platonic? Now who's not being honest?"

He pointed a finger at me, all but poked it into my chest. "You kissed me first, Madelyn. And don't try to tell me that you didn't mean anything by it, that you just got carried away. You didn't give me a peck, or a smooch. That was a kiss, an incredible one. I didn't know you could kiss like that. You sure didn't in high school. So don't try to pretend there's no s.e.xual spark between us, because we both know it isn't true."

"I didn't say that," I retorted, not bothering to let him know I'd been about to say all of those things. People who can demolish your arguments before you even give voice to them are irritating enough; it's not necessary to let them know how right they are.

"Of course there's a s.e.xual attraction between us. We'd hardly be human if there wasn't. But that doesn't mean we have to give into it, does it? Remember what you told me about Beth? About waiting for the real thing?"

"I have been waiting! I didn't want to pressure you. I've been waiting months for you to make a move so I'd know you felt . . ."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, but I was just . . . I lost my mind for a minute, okay? Let's not ruin a really good thing because I went crazy for thirty seconds. Think about it, Jake. You've already had two failed marriages and probably five times as many failed relationships in your life. I'm not that far behind you. Do you really want to add ours to the list?"

Jake hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans and stared at me for a moment, his posture less defensive but no less angry.

"It really doesn't matter what I want, does it? You've decided for both of us."

"I want to keep being friends, Jake," I said quietly. "You matter to me."

"Yeah? Well, I guess that should make me feel better. But somehow it doesn't."

He pulled his truck keys out of the pocket of his jeans and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned toward me and inclined his head in farewell. Or good-bye?

It took all my resolve not to run after him, to grab him by the arm and ask him to stay, to kiss him again. But I was resolved. And I was right. Of that I was sure.

43.

Madelyn After Jake left, I had to sit down and collect my thoughts, or rather, control them. I couldn't take time to think about Jake and me, not just then. Instead, I needed to focus on Tessa. I'd promised to come to the shop and help her get through this last day. She needed me.

Today of all days, Lee wanted to be there for her, but he'd gotten a call from a man who lived in Chicago and owned three big restaurants in Hartford. He wanted to talk to Lee about supplying his restaurants with microgreens and produce but would only be in town today and insisted they meet. Tessa understood. It was too good an opportunity to pa.s.s up, but Lee almost did, until I volunteered to stand in for him.

I couldn't let Tessa and Lee down. But I also couldn't leave the inn unattended for hours at a time. I called Tessa. She took several rings to pick up. In the background, I could hear a murmur of voices. It sounded like she had quite a crowd.

"Tessa? Jake can't watch the office, so I can't leave right now, but I'll be there just before five."

"That's fine. Don't worry. I'm too busy to be lonely. Wait a sec, will you?"

I heard a thump as Tessa put the phone down, then the ring of the cash register, the rustling of bags, and Tessa's voice thanking her customer and, I thought, nearly reminding her to come again before catching herself. When she came back on the line, her voice was almost a whisper, too soft for the customers to hear.

"It's crazy here! I'm knee-deep in bargain hunters. I guess I should be grateful, but still . . . One lady tried to buy my quilt. She took it off the wall without even asking! The vultures are out in force, Madelyn, come to pick the carca.s.s clean."

"I can come over sooner if you need me. I'll find someone to watch the office," I said, wondering who I could call. Maybe Margot? Or Ivy?

"No, I'm fine, really. Margot was here at lunch and Ivy is here now. Evelyn's coming later. She saw the crowd at my door this morning and organized a steady supply of helpers. Abigail came this morning. That was interesting."

"I'll bet," I said, echoing Tessa's soft chuckle. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure. Besides, I don't know where I'd put you if you did come now. If there were any more bodies here we'd need lubricant. Gotta run. See you around five."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Hang in there. I've got a bottle of white chilling in the refrigerator. I'm bringing it, a corkscrew, and two gla.s.ses."

"Madelyn," she sighed, "you are a mind reader."

Tessa's remark about the vultures hadn't been far off the mark.

By the time I arrived, carrying a picnic basket over my arm and a bottle of wine in my hand, the shop's bone-white shelving and display cabinets were nearly empty, picked clean as a Christmas turkey. The crowd of bargain shoppers had dissipated, there being no more bargains left to buy, and Tessa was waiting on one last customer, a woman who was buying up the last four tubes of lip balm, all peppermint flavored.

"I'm so sorry to see you close," the woman said. "It's such a lovely shop."

"Thank you," Tessa replied with a weary smile.

The woman looked around as Tessa stuffed a shopping bag with purple and lilac tissue paper, then tied the handles closed with a bow of purple, green, and natural raffia.

I smiled to myself and shook my head. It might be her last customer on her last day in business, but Tessa was going to give this woman (who was getting a seventy percent discount) the same level of service she gave to every customer. She didn't know another way. No wonder she'd been the teacher's pet when we were kids.

"I feel bad that I haven't been in before," the woman said, ducking her head. "But my husband has been out of work for more than a year. Shopping hasn't been on my agenda for a long time. I'm going to save these as birthday gifts for my daughters and daughter-in-law. Just a little something," she said with an apologetic shrug.

"You've got such a lovely shop," the woman repeated. "I'm sorry I'm not buying from you under different circ.u.mstances. . . ."

"No need to apologize," Tessa said. "I'm glad you came in today." She reached under the counter, pulled out five silvery tubes of hand cream, and slipped them into the woman's bag. "Here," she said. "Take these. There's enough for your daughters and an extra one for you."

"But . . . I . . . I don't," the woman stammered. "I mean, I can't . . ."

"Sure you can." Tessa glanced at her watch. "There's still five minutes before closing. That means I'm still the boss around here."

"Thank you," the woman replied, accepting the bag that Tessa held out to her over the counter. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome. I hope you enjoy it. It's lavender. My favorite."