WHEN HOPE CAME down in the morning, the scent was 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 Hope even as she wagged a finger.

“What are you doing down here, young lady?”

“It’s nearly ten.”

“And your morning off.”

“Which I spent—so far—sleeping until eight, doing yoga, and putzing.” She helped herself to a mug of coffee, closed her own deep brown eyes as she sipped. “My first cup of the day. Why is it always the best?”

“I wish I knew. I’m still trying to switch to tea. My Darla’s on a health kick and doing her best to drag me along.” Carolee spoke of her daughter with affection laced with exasperation. “I really like our Titania and Oberon blend. But … it’s not coffee.”

“Nothing is but coffee.”

“You said it. She can’t wait for the new gym to open. She says if I don’t sign up for yoga classes, she’s signing me up and carting me over there.”

“You’ll love yoga.” Hope laughed at the doubt—and anxiety—on Carolee’s face. “Honest.”

“Hmm.” Carolee lifted the dishcloth again, went back to polishing the granite countertop. “The Vargases loved the room, and as usual the bathroom—starring the magic toilet—got raves. I haven’t heard a peep out of the newlyweds yet.”

“I’d be disappointed in them if you had.” Hope brushed at her hair. Unlike Carolee, she was experimenting with letting it grow out of the short, sharp wedge she’d sported the last two years. The dark, glossy ends hit her jaw now, just in between enough to be annoying.

“I’m going to go check on Donna and Max, see if they want anything.”

“Let me do it,” Hope said. “I want to say good morning anyway, and I think I’ll run down to TTP, say hi to Clare while it’s still my morning off.”

“I saw her last night at the book club. She’s got the cutest baby bump. Oh, I’ve got plenty of batter if the newlyweds want more pancakes.”

“I’ll let them know.”

She slipped into The Dining Room, chatted with the guests while she subtly checked to be sure there was still plenty of fresh summer berries, coffee, juice.

Once she’d satisfied herself her guests were happy, she started back upstairs to grab her purse—and ran into the newlyweds as they entered from the rear porch.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, good morning.” The new bride carried the afterglow of a honeymoon morning well spent. “That’s the most beautiful room. I love everything about it. I felt like a princess bride.”

“As you wish,” Hope said and made them both laugh.

“It’s so clever the way each room’s named and decorated for romantic couples.”

“Couples with happy endings,” Troy reminded her, and got a slow, dreamy smile from his bride.

“Like us. We want to thank you so much for making our wedding night so special. It was everything I wanted. Just perfect.”

“That’s what we do here.”

“But … we wondered. We know we’re supposed to check out soon. …”

“If you’d like a later checkout, I can arrange it …” Hope began.

“Well, actually …”

“We’re hoping we can stay another night.” Troy slid his arm around April’s shoulders, drew her close. “We really love it here. We were going to drive down into Virginia, just pick our spots as we went, but … we really like it right here. We’ll take any room that’s available, if there is one.”

“We’d love to have you, and your room’s open tonight.”

“Really?” April bounced on her toes. “Oh, this is better than perfect. Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure. I’m glad you’re enjoying your stay.”

Happy guests made for happy innkeepers, Hope thought as she dashed upstairs for her bag. She dashed back down again, into her office to change the reservation, and with the scents and voices behind her, hurried out the back through Reception.

She skirted the side of the building, glancing across the street at Vesta. She knew Avery’s and Clare’s schedules nearly as well as her own. Avery would be prepping for opening this morning, and Clare should be back from her early doctor’s appointment.

The sonogram. With luck, they’d know by now if Clare was carrying the girl she hoped for.

As she waited for the walk light at the corner, she looked down Main Street. There Ryder Montgomery stood in front of the building Montgomery Family Contractors was currently rehabbing. Nearly done, she thought, and soon the town would have a bakery again.

He wore jeans torn at the left knee and splattered with drips of paint or drywall compound or whatever else splattered on job sites. His tool belt hung low, like an old-time sheriff’s gun belt—at least to her eye. Dark hair curled shaggily from under his ball cap. Sunglasses covered eyes she knew to be a gold-flecked green.

He consulted with a couple of his crew, pointed up, circling a finger, shaking his head, all while he stood in that hip-shot way of his.

Since a dull wash of primer currently covered the front of the building, she assumed they discussed the finish colors.

One of the crew let out a bray of laughter, and Ryder responded with a flash of grin and a shrug.

The shrug, like the stance, was another habit of his, she mused.

The Montgomery brothers were an attractive breed, but in her opinion, her two friends had plucked the pick of the crop. She found Ryder a little surly, marginally unsociable.

And, okay, sexy—in a primitive, rough-edged sort of way.

Not her type, not remotely.

As she started across the street, a long, exaggerated wolf whistle shrilled out. Knowing it to be a joke, she tipped her face back toward the bakery, added a smoldering smile—then a wave to Jake, one of the painters. He and the laborer beside him waved back.

But not Ryder Montgomery, of course, she thought. He simply hooked his thumb in his pocket, watched her. Unsociable, she thought again. He couldn’t even stir himself for a casual wave.

She accepted the slow kindling in her belly as the natural reaction of a healthy woman to a long, shaded stare delivered by a sexy—if surly—man.

Particularly a woman who hadn’t had any serious male contact in—God—a year. A little more than a year. But who’s counting?

Her own fault, her own choice, so why think about it?

She reached the other side of Main Street, turned right toward the bookstore just as Clare stepped out onto its pretty covered porch.

She waved again as Clare stood a moment, one hand on the baby bump under her breezy summer dress. Clare had her long sunny hair pulled back in a tail, with blue-framed sunglasses softening the glare of the bold morning sun.

“I was just coming over to check on you,” Hope called out.

Clare held up her phone. “I was just texting you.” She slipped the phone back in her pocket, left her hand there a moment as she came down the steps to the sidewalk.

“Well?” Hope scanned her friend’s face. “Everything good?”

“Yeah. Good. We got back just a few minutes ago. Beckett …” She glanced over her shoulder. “He’s driving around to the back of the bakery. He’s got his tools.”

“Okay.” Mildly concerned, Hope laid a hand on Clare’s arm. “Honey, you had the sonogram, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Oh. Let’s walk up to Vesta. I’ll tell you and Avery at the same time. Beckett’s going to call his mother, tell his brothers. I need to call my parents.”

“The baby’s all right?”

“Absolutely.” She patted her purse as they walked. “I have pictures.”

“I have to see!”

“I’ll be showing them off for days. Weeks. It’s amazing.”

Avery popped out the front door of the restaurant, a white bib apron covering capris and a T-shirt. She bounced on purple Crocs. The sun speared into her Scot’s warrior-queen hair, sent the short ends to glimmering.

“Are we thinking pink?”

“Are you opening alone?” Clare countered.

“Yeah, it’s just me. Fran’s not due in for twenty. Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s absolutely perfectly wonderfully okay. But I want to sit down.”

With her friends exchanging looks behind her back, Clare walked in and went straight to the counter, then dropped onto a stool. Sighed. “It’s the first time I’ve been pregnant with three boys fresh out of school for the summer. It’s challenging.”

“You’re a little pale,” Avery commented.

“Just tired.”

“Want something cold?”

“With my entire being.”

As Avery went to the cooler, Hope sat down, narrowed her eyes at Clare’s face. “You’re stalling. If nothing’s wrong—”

“Nothing’s wrong, and maybe I’m stalling a little. It’s a big announcement.” She laughed to herself, took the chilled ginger ale Avery offered.

“So here I am, with my two closest friends, in Avery’s pretty restaurant that already smells of pizza sauce.”

“You’ll have this in a pizzeria.” Avery passed Hope a bottle of water. Then she crossed her arms, scanned Clare’s face. “It’s a girl. Ballet shoes and hair ribbons!”

Clare shook her head. “I appear to specialize in boys. Make that baseball gloves and action figures.”

“A boy?” Hope leaned over, touched Avery’s hand. “Are you disappointed?”

“Not even the tiniest bit.” She opened her purse. “Want to see?”

“Are you kidding?” Avery made a grab, but Clare snatched the envelope out of reach. “Does he look like you? Like Beck? Like a fish? No offense, but they always look like a fish to me.”

“Which one?”

“Which one what?”

“There are two.”

“Two?” Hope nearly bobbled the water. “Twins? You’re having twins?”