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She listened to a day-old podcast interview given by one of Rory’s bandmates.

When queried about his cohorts, he was notably vague about Rory.

His phrasing set alarm bells ringing in Kate’s head, and she rubbed the spot between her eyes to chase off the headache about to start.

She had lots of experience with the artful language of avoidance.

Rory was hiding.

That was the takeaway from the interview with the lead singer and guitarist. But hiding from what? She spent another hour trying to find out but came up with nothing, which only increased the tension in her shoulders. She despised scandal.

With all her stone-cold heart.

It’s why she moved here to Hazard, bought the inn, and was creating a new life for herself—so her cynical heart could heal. So she could lose the skepticism and that hard edge she had crafted within herself just to make it through each day of working for her father.

Had her old life chased her down? Was it, even now, grasping at her ankles to trip her up and drag her backwards kicking and howling into the realm she had finally shucked off?

Her very first guest belonged to that world. How could this be happening?

She needed a break, and decided a brisk walk would do her good.

She grabbed a light jacket, locked up the inn, and took a stroll around the green.

It wasn’t hard to keep a brisk pace. Wind gusted, hustling her along like it knew just where she should go.

As she came upon the cute little chocolate shop she had yet to visit, she reached for the curved brass door handle and the wind pushed her on, urging her past it.

“Oh, not that way?” Kate said to the wind in a moment of whimsy.

“All righty then.” Gusts rushed her along, past the local bar, Toby and Mac’s, toward Community Projects, the local thrift store.

When she moved to enter it, thinking she could learn a bit about the town’s current funding of local nonprofits, the wind propelled her on, and she kept going, making her way around the square, past Throckmorton grocery, the Town Hall, and Leo’s Diner, until she came to the florist.

The wind died down instantly, so Kate took that as a sign.

Walking in, she entered into a veritable jungle of plants and blossoms. She blinked at the botanical menagerie before her, breathing in the amazing scents of roses and chrysanthemums combined with an earthiness from the plants towering around her.

It was remarkably appealing. She wound her way over to the counter and greeted Lydia LaFleur.

Standing rigidly straight with a solemn expression, she nodded at Kate. “Welcome, how can I help you?”

“I was just out for a walk, but now that I’m here, can I open an account?” It was an impulse born of the moment, but Kate longed to add a bit of this place to her inn.

“For the inn? Of course, what are you thinking?”

“To start, I’d like a weekly arrangement of fresh flowers for the dining room, something seasonal and grand to brighten it up each week.”

After a long discussion, Kate worked out a plan with Lydia for a weekly arrangement in a particular price range to be delivered every Thursday.

She would start with that. If the inn did well, she could expand into more fresh flowers, perhaps for the entry and the parlor.

She decided she could justify the expense starting now since she had the one guest. Besides, she knew the flowers would cheer her, and she needed the pick-me-up.

Pleased, Kate left. Wind quickly gusted her next door to the tea shop.

She entered to the delightful tinkling of a door chime swinging on a dark green, velvet ribbon.

A teenage girl with a name tag that read Rebecca escorted her to a table where she had a view of the square through a large plate-glass window.

Kate settled gratefully into a padded, floral-patterned, chintz chair with a curved wooden back.

She gazed out at the trees swaying in the breeze, and some of her tension left just from surveying the serene setting.

Leaves in bright yellow and orange swirled merrily to the ground as she became aware of the teenage chatter coming from the table next to hers, and Kate turned her focus there.

A pretty strawberry blonde gushed, “Becca, Becca, how did you get a job here? This place is the best .” Two brunettes nodded in agreement, waving Rebecca over. One added, “You should come to homecoming with us.”

The server blinked, surprised and pleased. “Thanks, Marik.”

Naturally this started a discussion on what they all would wear.

Kate smiled to herself, envying the carefree days of youth, as Ivy swung by her table with an orange teapot in the shape of a pumpkin in a sunny yellow cozy. She set a white-on-white Lenox teacup before her. What will it be?

“Scone of the day?” Kate asked.

“You bet,” Ivy said, and breezed off as the chime tinkled again.

Customers bearing shopping bags abounded as they settled in to take a break.

Kate took a moment to enjoy the chrysanthemums bopping in the window box outside.

While the day stretched on lazily, she watched the man with the Scottie dog take a jaunt around the square. Ivy came to stand and watch with her.

“That’s Jaxon,” she said on a long, breathy sigh.

“Yes, from Langford Architectural Enterprise, but, ah, he’s your Jaxon, I take it.”

Ivy grinned. The crowd thinned out as a large group hustled out the door, so with a quick glance around, Ivy dropped into the chair across from Kate.

She nodded at the teapot. “How did you like this one? I blended it as a contender for your signature blend.”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Kate took another sip, savoring it. “But I still favor the autumn blend you made up. It’s the one. I just need a name. You really won’t help with that?”

Ivy shook her head. “No, hard enough to christen my tea shop blends. But Jaxon’s good at naming. He helped.”

“Can you tell me about Rory?” Kate hadn’t meant to blurt out the words, but they came of their own volition.

Ivy tilted her head. “Like what?”

“You’ve known him a long time.”

“Well…” Ivy’s face took on a wary expression, like she wasn’t sure how much to share.

“I know he’s in a band.”

“Oh. So he told you,” she said, pleased.

“No, I found out. I…looked him up. Rory Rollins.”

Ivy pursed her lips, nodded. “He left shortly after high school, all rebellious like so many of us, but he made a success of it. His dad wanted to train him to work in the grocery business, to one day take over the management of one of the markets. Rory ran as fast as he could to escape that fate.” Ivy laughed. “Can you imagine Rory as a grocer?”

Kate pictured him in a grocery smock, overseeing his employees as they ran the registers and checked out customers and stocked produce.

She pictured him in an office looking out over his store, poring over inventory spreadsheets, scheduling staff, preparing bank deposits and balancing his books and whatever else might be involved in managing a store.

It was such an incongruous image. She shook her head. “I really can’t.”

Rory embodied an imaginative ingenuity. Being around him had sparked Kate’s own creativity.

She was attempting to play the piano again, which she had once loved.

And now she was focused on decorating the inn—even scheduling flowers to brighten it up, her mind overflowing with ideas.

Before he’d shown up at the inn, she’d been overwhelmed by the drudgery of it all…

but Ivy was sharing. Kate blinked and focused on what she was saying.

“Rory was always talented. He had copper-kettle-colored red hair as a kid. He spent tons of time indoors to escape getting sunburned, I think. He spent half his childhood at the piano. His mom had grand plans for him; wanted him to be a concert pianist. Rory must’ve felt that tug of war between his parents and their goals for him.

His mom was so elegant. She wore sleek, glittery dresses, her hair always perfectly coiffed in a French chignon.

She never really fit in here in Hazard, or with Rory’s dad who was serious and tense.

One day—I think Rory had just entered high school—she up and left. ”

Kate frowned. She’d lost her mom to cancer at a young age, so knew what it was like to grow up without having a mom around, but her mom hadn’t left by choice. Kate could only imagine how that felt for Rory. “Have you heard his music?”

“A little. The ballads are the best, and more popular than the heavier songs.”

“Is it a group effort, the songs?” Kate asked, trying to get a grip on who Rory was.

“Well, playing them, but I’m pretty sure Rory writes them all. That band’s really his baby. We’re all fans because we know him.”

“What is he hiding from?” Kate blinked at her disclosure.

“What do you mean?”

Kate took a sip of her tea to get her thoughts in order before she spoke. “I listened to a recent podcast interview of his lead singer and guitarist. They made comments about Rory dropping out of sight. Is there a scandal?” Kate’s stomach took a dip and dive at the thought.

Ivy blinked in surprise. “No, Rory’s not scandalous .

His band’s not the druggy kind. His bandmates are all serious musicians.

One got married last year, and his wife’s having a baby.

Another does charity fundraisers for cerebral palsy.

Sorry, I’m kind of a groupie. I follow all the gossip. It’s fun.”

“But nothing about a scandal?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Would it matter?”

Kate could feel Ivy’s eyes on her as she made a point to nibble unconcernedly on her truly scrumptious blackberry scone.

“Omigosh, you like him! You’re falling for Rory!” Ivy clapped her hands in delight.

Kate set her scone down and shook her head.

“Of course not. We barely know each other.” But Kate had to stop and reconsider.

They’d known each other a short time, yet already they’d experienced so much.

The top of Kate’s head began to tingle. Ivy was right.

If she wasn’t falling for Rory, why would it matter if he had any scandal in his life?

Except it did matter—a lot. It would be a terrible idea to fall for someone who spent their life on tour.

Kate moved to Hazard to put down roots, make a home, build a business.

She craved a livelihood in a peaceful community.

She didn’t dare fall for a nomad—a big, bad idea, that.

Worse still would be falling for a celebrity and all the drama they embodied.

She had worked hard to escape that scene.

She’d never willingly dive back into it.

After Ivy hopped up to serve more customers, Kate finished her scone and took her time walking back.

She moved across the green, kicking up the crunchy brown leaves in her path and watching them swirl into eddies here and there.

As she reached the center of the square, the wind calmed.

She halted before the statue of Captain Edwin Hazard, and read the inscription etched into brass near the base.

Thou who loveth. Well, that wasn’t her, because she wasn’t falling in love—unless it was with her inn.

Be blest amongst us. Blessing was good. Kate decided she could use being blessed. So, yes, she determined that she loved her inn and would accept a blessing for that.

With breath bestoweth. Hmm, she’d have to ponder that one.

Thy heart. She thought of Rory again and frowned.

Her heart was her own. Her heart, if it belonged to anyone or anything, could belong to her inn.

She gave a nod. She tilted her head and read through the inscription again.

It was lovely, but seemed incomplete somehow, like there should be more to it.

She hummed the tune from the musical score.

Walking thoughtfully now and deep in thought, she arrived outside her inn to find a tall, dark-haired man in a tailored suit on her doorstep pounding her newly installed bumble-bee-shaped knocker against her door.

Kate walked up her cement walk and stopped about five feet back.

She cleared her throat and was about to greet him, when he turned.

Something in his manner made her swallow her words.

The man loomed.