The Single Dad Next Door. Jessica Keller

stories. Each piece held a history worth remembering. Half the furniture that filled the rooms in the inn were pieces she’d saved from the curbside—stuff others were going to throw away. People were so set on making things modern or redesigning perfectly functional homes. They lost sight of the wonder of remembering days long ago when life was slower. Safer. Better.

      She rolled onto her side and stared at her nightstand. The old trunk set on its narrow end had belonged to her grandmother and still smelled like Gran’s lilac lotion whenever Maggie opened it up. On top of the makeshift nightstand rested her cherished family heirlooms—her father’s favorite timepiece, the brooch her mother had always worn to church, as well as a photo of her sister, Sarah. All people who had left the world—left her—far too early.

      Now she’d have to find something of Ida’s to place there. Maggie rubbed her palm over the ache in her chest.

      Seeing those belongings each morning made her feel a little less alone. She knew their owners were gone but cherished remembering them all the same.

      “Why’d you have to go, Ida? Why?” Maggie sat up in bed and pressed her fingers against her eyes. Maggie had revisited that day a month ago a hundred times in her mind, wondering if there was some way she could have saved her elderly neighbor. But the doctor said the heart attack had been quick. Too quick. That nothing could have been done to change things.

      Once again, Maggie had been powerless to help the people she loved. At least now there was no one left to fail.

      Ida Ashby hadn’t been related to Maggie by blood, but the bond had been just as strong. For the past couple years Ida had been the only family she had left after Caleb, her late sister’s widower, had remarried.

      She couldn’t focus on her losses anymore. Taking stock would only depress her. Maggie refused to let herself feel that way. Besides, thinking about Ida brought to light the fact that the very room she was lying in at the moment might no longer belong to her. Not that it belonged to her in a monetary sense, but Ida had let her stay in the residential portion of the inn even though Ida owned it. What if the new owner kicked her to the curb?

      Stop. Thinking like that would lead to no good.

      Flopping back onto the pillows, she tugged her blanket to her chin again and scrunched her eyes shut. She pulled back her dream—the one she’d had a thousand times since high school. Okay, she wasn’t asleep again—it was too late for that—but she could picture everything as if she were.

      Wearing a white, flowing dress, she stood barefoot in a valley as an army of dark characters stalked toward her. Her dream self let out a scream. As usual, a man riding a white horse, brandishing a sword, appeared at the top of the hill. Turning his steed, he charged down the steep cliff and leaned over to effortlessly scoop Maggie up into his arms and carry her away from danger. Every inch of her felt alive. She was safe in the arms of her hero—her knight in shining armor.

      Just like always, he rode with her to a field of wildflowers and then slowed his horse. Slipping down, he gathered her in his arms and set her on the cool earth. Maggie leaned forward to lift up his helmet, to offer him a kiss.

      Outside the inn, another car door slammed.

      “No! No!” Maggie moaned, releasing the pillow she was snuggling with. In the years the dream had reoccurred, not once had she seen the face of her rescuer. If only...

      Maggie shook that thought away and finally shoved out of bed.

      Prince Charming was never coming. For the first few years of her thirties, she’d joked that he was only lost along the way to finding her and—so like a man—wouldn’t ask for directions. But Maggie had long stopped repeating that line. It hurt knowing that not even a lost prince was coming, but there it was. She might as well get used to the imaginary man in the shiny helmet, because he would be the only champion she’d ever have.

      Voices sounded outside. They were closer than people walking on the sidewalk, which meant she possibly had drive-by business and someone wanted to book one of the open rooms for tonight.

      Shoving her blinds apart, she squinted out the window. No vehicles were parked in the small lot in front of the inn. But then, where?

      Her vision narrowed in on a green Subaru wagon parked in front of the home next door—Ida Ashby’s cottage. The home had stayed empty since her funeral. No one at the wake had known whom she’d left her house to, and Maggie had been too afraid to ask—fearing that knowing would lead to her being evicted from the inn quicker. And that couldn’t happen.

      She fisted her hands.

      The old West Mansion should be hers. After all, Maggie was the only West left. As a member of the town’s founding family, she should have a right to the home. Even if she couldn’t afford the place. When she almost lost it, Ida had swooped in and saved her. Ida purchased the mansion and proposed the idea of a bed-and-breakfast, offering to let Maggie live in a portion that would be converted for residential use and run the place. Most people in Goose Harbor still thought Maggie owned the place, and Ida hadn’t minded them assuming that. With Maggie’s culinary background, it had been the perfect solution.

      Would the new owner announce that she was basically a squatter? It would ruin her reputation in town. Poor Maggie. All her family is gone and she couldn’t even hang on to her inheritance.

      Maggie hadn’t been invited to the reading of the will, but she knew Ida hadn’t left the inn to her. She’d been foolish to assume Ida would. Ida had family to give her things to—even if that family had never visited her. Even if Maggie had been the one to take care of Ida every day since Mr. Ashby had passed away. A lawyer showed up on Maggie’s doorstep a week after the funeral and told her she was allowed to stay...for now. That was it.

      Real comforting.

      Why hadn’t she been saving money for an event like this? With not much in her savings, she didn’t have many options if she was told to vacate the inn. If she hadn’t given her money...

      She shook her head. Thinking of him wouldn’t help. It never did.

      Her hair probably looked fearsome. Thirty-some odd years of life hadn’t been long enough to learn how to tame her curls. No matter. She would just pin it here and there and put on some jeans and head over to meet whoever was in Ida’s home. Perhaps they were just stopping in to check on the place. Or maybe they’d turn her out on the street the instant they met her.

      On second thought...her bed still looked like a pretty good place to spend the day.

      No. Be strong. Put on a brave face. Like always. Don’t let them see fear.

      She needed to stop hiding.

      She needed to see how bad her future was about to become.

      * * *

      Kellen Ashby couldn’t stop groaning.

      When the lawyer contacted him to say he’d inherited all of his aunt’s belongings—including her home in the picturesque tourist town of Goose Harbor—he’d envisioned something grander than a cottage. Much grander. The squatty house with its low ceiling looked as though it belonged on the set of the movie The Hobbit. Rounded front door included. Thick vine plants snaked over the side of the house and up onto the roof. If he took a machete to those, would they grow right back? Being raised in Arizona and then living in Southern California gave him little experience when it came to vine tending. Or any sort of greenery, come to think of it.

      What had he gotten himself into?

      Kellen scrubbed his hand down his face.

      Would moving to Michigan just be one more mistake in his life? First rejecting the upbringing and religion of his parents, and then leaving home with his band to tour. The parties.

      He shook his head.

      The groupies—at least the one. Cynthia. Trusting that she cared about him had been his biggest mistake. She’d wanted his money. Wanted the fame that was within the band’s grasp. But not him. And