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Synopsis
" Hope Springs on Main Street is a warm, tender story overflowing with emotion. With strong, memorable characters and a delightful small town, this book will surely work its way into your heart. Olivia Miles weaves a beautiful story of healing and second chances." -- RaeAnne Thayne, New York Times bestselling author Sometimes love is where you least expect it . . . What do you do when your cheating husband proposes to the "other woman"? For Jane Madison, it means you keep calm, carry on, and sneak candy bars and wine for dinner. Jane's grateful for her adorable little girl, yet she yearns for the love that was missing from her marriage. Only one man ever really "got" Jane-and she's stunned when he returns to Briar Creek. But a single mom can't date her ex's best friend . . . can she? Jane's still kind, beautiful-and far too good for the buddy Henry Birch tried to stop her from marrying years ago. Laying eyes on her now is like a much-needed ray of sunshine. Back in town to sell his family's old house, Henry wants to close a bad chapter in his life and move on. But time with Jane and her sweet daughter has him flirting with the idea of happily ever after-if he can convince her to take a second chance on love . . .
Release date: October 27, 2015
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 356
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Hope Springs on Main Street
Olivia Miles
I have something to tell you, Mommy.” The words were whispered, almost shyly. “I’m in love.”
The light ahead turned yellow, and Jane Madison hit the brakes a little harder than she’d intended. Looking up, she caught her five-year-old daughter’s reflection in the rearview mirror and tried not to show her amusement. “Oh really? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie replied simply. “But we’re in love.”
“I see.” Was it already starting? Trading in dolls for boys? Jane glanced into the mirror once more, noticing the multiple strands of pink princess jewelry roped around her daughter’s neck and the clip-on plastic earrings that had been part of a set from her birthday last month. Sophie was still her sweet little girl, albeit a slightly boy-crazy one. Perhaps they watched too many cartoon movies where the prince swept the peasant girl off her feet, whisking her away to the castle where they would live happily ever after…
As much as she hated to rob her child of such a beautiful fantasy, it might be time to introduce a new message, one where the girl goes to college, finds a career, and doesn’t pin her entire life on one man. A man who could just leave her in the end.
Well, at least she had some good things to count on, like ice cream for dinner when Sophie wasn’t home, trash TV when the evenings became too quiet, and the twisted comfort of knowing she didn’t have to bother taking the time to shave her legs anymore, unless the urge struck—and more and more often, it didn’t. And she had Sophie, of course. That was all that really mattered.
Jane waited for the light to switch and then eased down the winding roads, slick from three days of rain. The leaves had started to turn, and the strong winds from the past week had blown them in her path, dotting the pavement with bursts of orange and gold. It was a gray day, a dreary day, some might say, but not for Jane. It was the perfect night to curl up with a bowl of homemade soup and catch up with her daughter. Though Sophie had been at her father’s house for only one night in the last week, Jane had spent all of the hours last night when she wasn’t watching reality television or scraping the bottom of the ice cream container counting the hours until the house was again filled with endless chatter and peals of laughter.
“So tell me, Sophie. How do you know you’re in love?”
“He pushed me on the swings at recess today,” Sophie explained. “That’s called true love.”
If only it were that simple. She pulled onto their street, waved at the neighbors she’d come to know in the six years she’d lived on the block, and felt the same sense of calm she always did when her house came into view. The orange-and-white berry wreath she and Sophie had picked out last weekend hung from the hunter-green front door, secured by a twine ribbon, and the colorful red, purple, and orange mums they’d sprinkled throughout the landscaping were downright cheerful; there was no denying that. But just as she began to perk up at how nice the fall decorations looked, she felt the familiar dull heaviness settle over her chest—it was still happening, nine months after her husband had moved out.
“Well, he sounds like a very special young man,” Jane said with a grin, and then stopped with a start as she considered something. The new music teacher at Briar Creek Elementary was pretty cute, and Sophie had developed a fierce crush on her seventeen-year-old camp counselor over the summer—Jane had barely been able to keep from gasping the time Sophie had tried to tickle poor Andrew, giggling the entire time. Yes, her daughter was a natural flirt. Where’d she get that from? Her father, Jane thought ruefully. “Is he… as tall as you?” she ventured.
Sophie nodded eagerly as Jane released her from the booster seat and grabbed her sparkly unicorn backpack. “Although, actually.” Sophie froze and put a finger to her mouth. “He might be just a little bit shorter.”
Jane laughed. “Come on,” she said, pulling the overnight bag from the trunk. “I made you some chocolate chip cookies last night. Your favorite!”
“Oh, yummy! Kristy made me some, too.”
Jane flinched, but said nothing. She took her time opening the door, trying not to think of the woman her husband had left her for as she turned the lock and flicked on the light. The soup she’d left simmering in the slow cooker all afternoon filled the house with warmth and spices, but it did little to touch the emptiness that lingered in her heart.
Sophie made a mad dash for the kitchen, ignoring Jane’s cries to take off her rain boots first. Jane sighed as she hung her coat on the hook in the mudroom. She could already hear Sophie peeling the foil off the plate of cookies. Next she’d be telling her how much better Kristy’s cookies were. It wasn’t enough for the woman to steal her husband. Now she was trying to win over her daughter’s affections, too.
Sophie looked up as Jane entered the kitchen. “These are a lot better than Kristy’s cookies. Hers are all burned around the edges, and they stick to the inside of your mouth. She uses applesauce instead of butter. Aunt Anna made a face when I told her that.”
Jane turned to her daughter with interest, a slow smile creeping over her face. “You don’t say,” she murmured as she pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge, her spirits lifted all at once.
“I told her I liked them, but when she wasn’t looking, I fed my cookie to the cat. You’re not mad, are you, Mommy?”
Joyful might be a better word. Jane pressed her lips firmly shut as she handed the glass of milk to her daughter. “You did the polite thing, Sophie, but as for feeding the cat, it’s probably better to stuff the cookie in your pocket next time.” Or flush it down the toilet. “Chocolate isn’t good for animals. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and unpack your bag while I finish getting dinner ready?”
“Can we have a pajama party tonight?” Sophie asked excitedly as she hopped off the counter stool.
Jane glanced at the clock to see it was only ten past five. On the days she didn’t work, the party sometimes started as early as four. “That sounds like a great idea.” She sighed at the mere thought of removing the ballet tights that clung to her waist under the yoga pants, leaving an unflattering imprint on her skin. Fall session had started today after a three-week break since summer boot camp—in less than a month she had forgotten how confining and itchy a leotard could be.
She thought of the two empty ice cream containers buried deep in the trash can. Maybe she should start baking her cookies with applesauce, too.
Taking her daughter’s hand, they raced up the stairs, quickly changing into their comfy cozies, as Sophie called them. While Sophie busied herself with a coloring book at the art table in her bedroom, Jane started a load of laundry, humming under her breath, until the doorbell rang and everything stopped.
Her heart began to pound. Who the heck would drop by at this hour? But right, it wasn’t even five thirty. And she was robed in pink and purple plaid pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and—God help her—no bra. Hot faced with embarrassment, Jane ran through her mental list of possible visitors. A Girl Scout selling cookies, perhaps? Or a door-to-door salesman? She could claim she was under the weather; that would explain her choice of late afternoon attire, though not Sophie’s nightgown… She bit on her nail. The worst scenario would be her ex-husband—actually, no, the worst would be his girlfriend—dropping off something that Sophie had forgotten. The bell rang again, and Jane began frantically rifling through the laundry basket, looking for something that wasn’t stained or wrinkled or didn’t smell, anything that was more appropriate than what she was wearing. The bell rang a third time. Jane stepped away from the laundry pile. She was a mess either way, but at least this way she was clean.
Anxiety tightened its grip as she rounded the corner, and she chastised herself for not holding out for at least another hour—six was a far more acceptable time for pajamas, sort of… She edged to the door, holding her breath, and then sighed in relief when she saw her older sister through the glass panel.
“Grace! Come on in!” She smiled, ignoring the way Grace’s expression folded in confusion as she swept her eyes down to Jane’s feet, cozily covered in oversized bunny slippers. Jane felt the heat in her cheeks rise. She’d forgotten about those.
“Off to bed already?” Grace laughed, but the insinuation stung, and Jane told herself that this particular part of her weekday routine really needed to stop. And it would. Soon. Sure, it was more comfortable to live in pajamas, but the day was still young enough for people to stop by—people who were fully clothed and, unlike her, willing to go out in public.
“It’s a dreary day,” she explained good-naturedly, taking Grace’s umbrella from her hand. “I have homemade minestrone soup if you’d like to stay for dinner.”
Grace nodded and followed her into the kitchen. “Luke has a board of education meeting tonight,” she explained as she set her bag on the floor and slid onto a counter stool. From above them there was a thump and a scamper of feet. Grace laughed and pointed to the ceiling. “Is she dancing?”
“I love my daughter, but I don’t think the Moscow Ballet is in her future,” Jane said with a rueful grin.
“How was class today?”
“Good,” Jane said pensively. It had actually been very quiet compared to previous sessions. She should probably view that as a good thing, considering how rambunctious the girls in one of her summer classes had been. Between the squealing and jumping, she’d had to start carrying a bottle of ibuprofen in her dance bag.
Grace raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem very sure about that. Has Rosemary been trying to set you up on more dates?”
“Jeez, no.” Jane laughed. She’d allowed her boss to set her up on a series of eye-opening dates last spring, all of which confirmed her belief that she was better off alone. One of her dates hadn’t liked children and had consumed so much booze she’d had to tell the hostess to take his keys. Then there had been Brian. She had pinned so much hope on the man pitched as a bespectacled doctor. He was sweet, even if he had turned out to be a male nurse instead of a surgeon, but he didn’t make her heart flutter, and besides, he had now been in a long-term relationship since about a week after their dinner date. She’d tried to tell herself that was for the best, that she hadn’t felt that spark, but she couldn’t deny the part of her that felt the sting of rejection. The lack of attraction had clearly been mutual.
So, yes, she was alone. Not by choice, but she would embrace it. What other choice did she have?
“Rosemary thankfully hung up her matchmaking hat after she finally got Anna and Mark back together,” Jane said, smiling at the thought of her sister and Rosemary’s nephew living so happily together after years of stubborn silence. “If my little string of dates taught me anything, it’s that dating is no fun at all.”
“You just haven’t found the right guy yet,” Grace encouraged.
“Show me someone who is uncomplicated, committed, emotionally available, and crazy in love with me and my daughter, and then I’ll reconsider. Until then, I’m happy right here.”
“At home in your pajamas.” Grace held her gaze.
“That’s right.” Jane nodded. “I’ve had enough dating for one lifetime, thank you very much.”
Grace gave her a stern look. “You know how I feel about that.”
Yes, Jane did, and she wasn’t about to continue this conversation. Now that Grace was getting married and Anna was equally in love, it seemed both sisters were more focused than ever on seeing their younger sister settled down and happy.
“Yes, well, my classes were fine today,” Jane said briskly. She paused, wondering why she felt so bothered by the day. Enrollment capped at ten students per class, but her three forty-five Intro to Pointe class had just four students, and Rosemary had been unusually quiet when she’d left for the day.
Oh, well, the session was just beginning, and seasonal colds were already going around. Perhaps a few of the girls had been sick or would be late joiners. Surely they’d want to audition for The Nutcracker.
“It was very calm. Very… stress-free.”
“With Rosemary?” Grace didn’t look convinced, and Jane had to laugh at that. Her boss could be demanding, but Jane was too grateful for the work to complain. If Rosemary hadn’t stepped in and offered her a teaching position at the studio last winter, she wasn’t sure she would have had the nerve to confront Adam about the affair. It was just the ray of hope she needed to prove to herself that she could stand on her own two feet. She’d given up any hope of a ballet career—not to mention a college education—to get married and settle down. Her husband had been her life, and now she had to live one without him in it.
Jane took a loaf of sourdough bread from a bag and set the oven to preheat. “So, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Grace’s eyes twinkled as she gave a slow smile. “I found Sophie’s flower girl dress.”
“For real this time?” Grace had already changed her mind on her own wedding gown six times, and she was yet to commit to the flower arrangements, even with the big event only a few weeks away.
“I just want it to be perfect.”
“I know.” Jane felt bad for giving her sister a hard time. She’d been a bride herself once, caught up in all the little details that seemed so trivial now. She should have spent less time worrying about flowers and more time worrying about her future husband and the little voice that kept warning her to walk away… “Let me see what you picked out.”
Jane hurried to the island and leaned in as Grace rummaged through a glossy bridal magazine, stopping at a picture of a little girl wearing a deep crimson ball gown in raw silk, with a thick ivory bow at the waist. After the chocolate brown option Grace had proposed last week, Jane knew that Sophie would be thrilled with the idea of wearing this dress.
“Should we get Sophie?” she asked, grinning.
“She had better like it,” Grace said. “These dresses take at least three weeks to arrive. I’m really cutting it close.”
Jane grinned. “Sophie! Sophie, come on downstairs. Aunt Grace has something to show you!”
Soon there was a thump, heavy enough to make the sisters wince and then giggle, followed by a pounding of small feet down the wooden stairs.
“What is it, what is it?” Sophie announced breathlessly as she scampered into the kitchen.
“You’re in your pajamas, too, I see,” Grace remarked, taking in the pink nightgown with the ruffle trim. She gave Jane a pointed look, and Jane pulled in a deep breath, telling herself not to let it get to her. So, yes, she had become a bit of a hermit in the months since Adam had moved in with his girlfriend, but could anyone blame her? Her husband had cheated on her, lied to her, and then proceeded to move in with his mistress just three miles across town. Briar Creek was small and word traveled fast. Even if she was the wronged party, and even if she did have the support of many, she didn’t need the sympathy. Or the reminder. She just wanted… She popped the bread into the oven and set the timer. She just wanted to feel safe, she supposed. And what better way to feel that way than to stay home, surrounded only by those you let in?
“Sophie, look at this dress,” Jane said. “Do you want to wear that when you’re a flower girl?”
Sophie jutted her chin at the picture Grace held up and shook her head. “I’m going to wear a blue flower girl dress.”
Jane and Grace exchanged a look of alarm. This was at least the eleventh dress Grace had fallen in love with, usually before finding one she loved even more the next day or, in the case of the chocolate brown gown, having it boycotted by the flower girl herself. Time was running out for further indecision. This dress was going to have to work.
“But honey, Grace and Luke are having fall colors for their wedding. Remember how we looked at those pretty red and orange flowers?” And the green ones, and the purple ones…
“But my flower girl dress is blue! Blue velvet! Kristy said so.”
Jane slid her eyes to Grace, who stared at her, not blinking.
“What do you mean, Kristy said so?” Grace pressed gently when it became clear Jane was unable to ask.
“Kristy showed me my dress. It’s blue velvet with flowers around the neck.”
Jane was having trouble breathing. Her chest felt tight, and her heart was pounding. She stared at Grace, willing her oldest sister to make this right, to clear this up. Grace bit down on her lip, studying her niece, confusion knitting her brow.
“Kristy said you’re going to wear a blue dress for my wedding?”
“No! For her wedding!” Sophie cried, frustration causing her plump little cheeks to grow pink. “When she marries Daddy!”
Jane felt the blood rush from her face, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. Or faint. She slumped into a chair, listening to Grace make cheerful conversation with Sophie in a blatant attempt to smooth over the situation, but her mind was spinning. Adam was getting married—to the woman he had left her for! He had strayed from their marriage, ripped apart their family, and yet he was ready to settle down with a new wife, live the life they should have shared and could have—if he’d loved her.
Tears prickled the back of her eyes, but she blinked quickly, refusing to let them fall in front of Sophie. There would be plenty of time to cry tonight—God knew she wouldn’t get any sleep now, ultrasoft flannel pajama pants or not.
It was so easy for Adam. He’d gotten bored of one wife and quickly found another. He didn’t have to live with an emptiness in his heart, or think of something funny that had happened that day and find there was no one in the bedroom to tell it to—and that it was too late to pick up the phone and call someone. He didn’t have to stand at the playground on a Saturday afternoon and watch other smiling couples push their children on the swings, feeling like his heart was twisting with each breath—because Adam was actually one of those happy couples!
He’d moved on. He’d found someone. He didn’t have to go on dates, try on new people, see if they fit. While she… she was still trying—in vain, it would seem—to make sense of her new life, the life she hadn’t chosen, and to forget the one that had been taken from her.
“Jane?” Grace’s voice was overly bright, her smile bared, her green eyes electric. “Why don’t we have some of that delicious soup?”
“I’ll set the table!” Sophie volunteered. She took three placemats from the basket on the counter and began arranging them on the pedestal table. “Daddy said it’s important for me to help, so I can show a good example.”
What was she talking about? Jane moved slowly to the slow cooker and lifted the lid, feeling her stomach stir from the aroma. She couldn’t eat if she tried. Adam was living the easy life, wasn’t he? No harm done, on he went. No regard for her, or the damage he had caused. No glance back. Must be nice. Must be nice indeed.
“Daddy said I’ll have lots of responsibility when the new baby comes.”
The glass lid fell from Jane’s hand, shattering in the ceramic sink. Grace’s hands were on hers instantly, but she wasn’t cut. Not physically at least.
“What did you just say, Sophie?” she managed, even though she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know anything.
“There’s going to be a baby, Mommy!” Sophie’s eyes danced with excitement. “I get to be a flower girl! And a big sister!”
Jane swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to process everything, waiting for the wounds to seal shut again. She’d told herself she was better off alone, that she preferred it that way. If she didn’t give her heart away, it couldn’t be broken. This was a fresh reminder.
Grace’s hand was still tight on hers. “You sure you don’t want to give dating another try?” she asked half-heartedly, but concern darkened her eyes.
Jane nodded firmly, but the tug in her heart said otherwise.
Henry Birch stood in the middle of the perfectly landscaped town square, his travel-sized umbrella hanging at his side despite the light drizzle that filtered through the golden oak leaves. He roved his eyes over Main Street, up around Cedar Lane, and down Chestnut, past the fat pumpkins squatting at the base of each shop door, and the cornstalks wrapped around every iron lamppost, considering how he might summarize his hometown of Briar Creek.
With its quaint shops and cobblestone streets, it is easy to be lured in by the charm of this small Vermont town, but do plan on limiting your visit to a three-day weekend, lest the locals get too friendly…
He rolled back on his heels, lips thinning, and popped open his umbrella. Just ahead, smack in the center of the square, was the white gazebo, freshly painted last spring, no doubt just like it was every year. Wet leaves stuck to its wide stairs, where he’d sat many a day watching a festival, chatting with friends. Back then, his gaze was always off in the distance, his attention only half present as anxiety churned in his gut, looking for a hint of a problem, an issue he’d have to deal with or hide, until inevitably it presented itself and he’d have to leave. It always ended the same way—his face burning with shame as the curious stares followed him until he was safely out of sight.
He tightened his grip on the plastic umbrella handle and turned back to Main Street, trying to ignore the acid that burned his stomach. There was no sense wasting time on memory lane.
He crossed the street and headed deeper into town, scanning for a quiet place to work on his latest assignment. Most of the shops had turned over since he’d moved away more than six years ago, reminding him that even in Briar Creek, things did grow and change. He frowned as he caught his reflection in the window of a new restaurant called Rosemary and Thyme. The travel writer in him forced to admit it looked half decent, at least from the outside, with its tall paned windows and a hint of thick velvet curtains and dark wood. He scanned the menu behind a glass case, impressed, and then glanced away before he invited trouble. That was just the problem with Briar Creek: If you stood still long enough, you were bound to run into someone who knew you way back when, someone who would want to know how you’d been and what you’d been up to—Didn’t you get married?—someone wanting to offer condolences, who would lower their tone when they mentioned why…
Well, he didn’t need their damn pity any more than he needed their inquisitions. He dodged through the rain, ducking under awnings, falling back on the few places he knew. Quickly deciding his options were Hastings, the local diner, or an armchair at Main Street Books, he decided on the latter. Hastings would no doubt be filled with locals wanting to chat, and he wasn’t here to catch up.
The door to the bookstore jingled when he pushed it open, and he set his umbrella in the overflowing stand, wiping his feet on the coir mat before walking over to a display table to peruse the new releases. The smell of coffee and sweet cinnamon pulled at his attention, and he glanced to the right, grinning as he ventured into the adjacent café. His sister had mentioned that the Madison girls had recently spruced up the place, but this was a complete renovation. A bakery counter lined the far wall, filled with scones, pastries, and muffins, and clusters of farm tables filled the space near the large paned window. Despite the addition being new, the floorboards were wide and stained a rich mahogany to match those of the bookstore, and instead of modern track lighting, wrought iron chandeliers and sconces lit the room they called the Annex.
It was just the kind of local gem he liked to highlight in his articles. If he was writing an article on Briar Creek, that was. And he wasn’t. Most definitely not.
Henry grinned as he dropped his bag from his shoulder with a thud. This was officially home for the next few weeks he was stuck in this damn town.
A few people he mercifully didn’t recognize sipped cappuccinos and read books or chatted in low voices. Henry walked to the counter, glancing around for someone who worked there, and waited with growing impatience. The last thing he needed was to be standing around when someone came in and recognized him. Then he’d be forced through the usual song and dance, the one he’d already been through just about every time he dared to leave the Main Street Bed and Breakfast, when all he wanted to do was get in and out and on with his day. Alone.
He gritted his teeth and looked around the café. He was just about to step into the bookstore itself when a flush-faced and frazzled-looking woman came through a back door, tying an apron at her waist. The color in her cheeks rose when she met his steady gaze, and after a beat, she gave a genuine smile, but it did little to mask the trepidation in her eyes.
“Henry! This is a surprise!”
He felt his grin widen as he scanned her shocked expression. With her flushed face and bright smile, Jane Madison looked just as beautiful as she had on her wedding day. He remembered the day clearly; couldn’t forget it if he tried. And oh, had he.
“Jane! Wow… Jane!” He shook himself back to the present, pushing back the thumping of his chest, and he took in that smile. He reached out awkwardly to embrace her, but the counter was wide, and the opening was a few feet down. After they shared a laugh, he stuck out his hand, holding hers in both of his. “It’s so good to see. . .
The light ahead turned yellow, and Jane Madison hit the brakes a little harder than she’d intended. Looking up, she caught her five-year-old daughter’s reflection in the rearview mirror and tried not to show her amusement. “Oh really? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie replied simply. “But we’re in love.”
“I see.” Was it already starting? Trading in dolls for boys? Jane glanced into the mirror once more, noticing the multiple strands of pink princess jewelry roped around her daughter’s neck and the clip-on plastic earrings that had been part of a set from her birthday last month. Sophie was still her sweet little girl, albeit a slightly boy-crazy one. Perhaps they watched too many cartoon movies where the prince swept the peasant girl off her feet, whisking her away to the castle where they would live happily ever after…
As much as she hated to rob her child of such a beautiful fantasy, it might be time to introduce a new message, one where the girl goes to college, finds a career, and doesn’t pin her entire life on one man. A man who could just leave her in the end.
Well, at least she had some good things to count on, like ice cream for dinner when Sophie wasn’t home, trash TV when the evenings became too quiet, and the twisted comfort of knowing she didn’t have to bother taking the time to shave her legs anymore, unless the urge struck—and more and more often, it didn’t. And she had Sophie, of course. That was all that really mattered.
Jane waited for the light to switch and then eased down the winding roads, slick from three days of rain. The leaves had started to turn, and the strong winds from the past week had blown them in her path, dotting the pavement with bursts of orange and gold. It was a gray day, a dreary day, some might say, but not for Jane. It was the perfect night to curl up with a bowl of homemade soup and catch up with her daughter. Though Sophie had been at her father’s house for only one night in the last week, Jane had spent all of the hours last night when she wasn’t watching reality television or scraping the bottom of the ice cream container counting the hours until the house was again filled with endless chatter and peals of laughter.
“So tell me, Sophie. How do you know you’re in love?”
“He pushed me on the swings at recess today,” Sophie explained. “That’s called true love.”
If only it were that simple. She pulled onto their street, waved at the neighbors she’d come to know in the six years she’d lived on the block, and felt the same sense of calm she always did when her house came into view. The orange-and-white berry wreath she and Sophie had picked out last weekend hung from the hunter-green front door, secured by a twine ribbon, and the colorful red, purple, and orange mums they’d sprinkled throughout the landscaping were downright cheerful; there was no denying that. But just as she began to perk up at how nice the fall decorations looked, she felt the familiar dull heaviness settle over her chest—it was still happening, nine months after her husband had moved out.
“Well, he sounds like a very special young man,” Jane said with a grin, and then stopped with a start as she considered something. The new music teacher at Briar Creek Elementary was pretty cute, and Sophie had developed a fierce crush on her seventeen-year-old camp counselor over the summer—Jane had barely been able to keep from gasping the time Sophie had tried to tickle poor Andrew, giggling the entire time. Yes, her daughter was a natural flirt. Where’d she get that from? Her father, Jane thought ruefully. “Is he… as tall as you?” she ventured.
Sophie nodded eagerly as Jane released her from the booster seat and grabbed her sparkly unicorn backpack. “Although, actually.” Sophie froze and put a finger to her mouth. “He might be just a little bit shorter.”
Jane laughed. “Come on,” she said, pulling the overnight bag from the trunk. “I made you some chocolate chip cookies last night. Your favorite!”
“Oh, yummy! Kristy made me some, too.”
Jane flinched, but said nothing. She took her time opening the door, trying not to think of the woman her husband had left her for as she turned the lock and flicked on the light. The soup she’d left simmering in the slow cooker all afternoon filled the house with warmth and spices, but it did little to touch the emptiness that lingered in her heart.
Sophie made a mad dash for the kitchen, ignoring Jane’s cries to take off her rain boots first. Jane sighed as she hung her coat on the hook in the mudroom. She could already hear Sophie peeling the foil off the plate of cookies. Next she’d be telling her how much better Kristy’s cookies were. It wasn’t enough for the woman to steal her husband. Now she was trying to win over her daughter’s affections, too.
Sophie looked up as Jane entered the kitchen. “These are a lot better than Kristy’s cookies. Hers are all burned around the edges, and they stick to the inside of your mouth. She uses applesauce instead of butter. Aunt Anna made a face when I told her that.”
Jane turned to her daughter with interest, a slow smile creeping over her face. “You don’t say,” she murmured as she pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge, her spirits lifted all at once.
“I told her I liked them, but when she wasn’t looking, I fed my cookie to the cat. You’re not mad, are you, Mommy?”
Joyful might be a better word. Jane pressed her lips firmly shut as she handed the glass of milk to her daughter. “You did the polite thing, Sophie, but as for feeding the cat, it’s probably better to stuff the cookie in your pocket next time.” Or flush it down the toilet. “Chocolate isn’t good for animals. Now, why don’t you go upstairs and unpack your bag while I finish getting dinner ready?”
“Can we have a pajama party tonight?” Sophie asked excitedly as she hopped off the counter stool.
Jane glanced at the clock to see it was only ten past five. On the days she didn’t work, the party sometimes started as early as four. “That sounds like a great idea.” She sighed at the mere thought of removing the ballet tights that clung to her waist under the yoga pants, leaving an unflattering imprint on her skin. Fall session had started today after a three-week break since summer boot camp—in less than a month she had forgotten how confining and itchy a leotard could be.
She thought of the two empty ice cream containers buried deep in the trash can. Maybe she should start baking her cookies with applesauce, too.
Taking her daughter’s hand, they raced up the stairs, quickly changing into their comfy cozies, as Sophie called them. While Sophie busied herself with a coloring book at the art table in her bedroom, Jane started a load of laundry, humming under her breath, until the doorbell rang and everything stopped.
Her heart began to pound. Who the heck would drop by at this hour? But right, it wasn’t even five thirty. And she was robed in pink and purple plaid pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and—God help her—no bra. Hot faced with embarrassment, Jane ran through her mental list of possible visitors. A Girl Scout selling cookies, perhaps? Or a door-to-door salesman? She could claim she was under the weather; that would explain her choice of late afternoon attire, though not Sophie’s nightgown… She bit on her nail. The worst scenario would be her ex-husband—actually, no, the worst would be his girlfriend—dropping off something that Sophie had forgotten. The bell rang again, and Jane began frantically rifling through the laundry basket, looking for something that wasn’t stained or wrinkled or didn’t smell, anything that was more appropriate than what she was wearing. The bell rang a third time. Jane stepped away from the laundry pile. She was a mess either way, but at least this way she was clean.
Anxiety tightened its grip as she rounded the corner, and she chastised herself for not holding out for at least another hour—six was a far more acceptable time for pajamas, sort of… She edged to the door, holding her breath, and then sighed in relief when she saw her older sister through the glass panel.
“Grace! Come on in!” She smiled, ignoring the way Grace’s expression folded in confusion as she swept her eyes down to Jane’s feet, cozily covered in oversized bunny slippers. Jane felt the heat in her cheeks rise. She’d forgotten about those.
“Off to bed already?” Grace laughed, but the insinuation stung, and Jane told herself that this particular part of her weekday routine really needed to stop. And it would. Soon. Sure, it was more comfortable to live in pajamas, but the day was still young enough for people to stop by—people who were fully clothed and, unlike her, willing to go out in public.
“It’s a dreary day,” she explained good-naturedly, taking Grace’s umbrella from her hand. “I have homemade minestrone soup if you’d like to stay for dinner.”
Grace nodded and followed her into the kitchen. “Luke has a board of education meeting tonight,” she explained as she set her bag on the floor and slid onto a counter stool. From above them there was a thump and a scamper of feet. Grace laughed and pointed to the ceiling. “Is she dancing?”
“I love my daughter, but I don’t think the Moscow Ballet is in her future,” Jane said with a rueful grin.
“How was class today?”
“Good,” Jane said pensively. It had actually been very quiet compared to previous sessions. She should probably view that as a good thing, considering how rambunctious the girls in one of her summer classes had been. Between the squealing and jumping, she’d had to start carrying a bottle of ibuprofen in her dance bag.
Grace raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem very sure about that. Has Rosemary been trying to set you up on more dates?”
“Jeez, no.” Jane laughed. She’d allowed her boss to set her up on a series of eye-opening dates last spring, all of which confirmed her belief that she was better off alone. One of her dates hadn’t liked children and had consumed so much booze she’d had to tell the hostess to take his keys. Then there had been Brian. She had pinned so much hope on the man pitched as a bespectacled doctor. He was sweet, even if he had turned out to be a male nurse instead of a surgeon, but he didn’t make her heart flutter, and besides, he had now been in a long-term relationship since about a week after their dinner date. She’d tried to tell herself that was for the best, that she hadn’t felt that spark, but she couldn’t deny the part of her that felt the sting of rejection. The lack of attraction had clearly been mutual.
So, yes, she was alone. Not by choice, but she would embrace it. What other choice did she have?
“Rosemary thankfully hung up her matchmaking hat after she finally got Anna and Mark back together,” Jane said, smiling at the thought of her sister and Rosemary’s nephew living so happily together after years of stubborn silence. “If my little string of dates taught me anything, it’s that dating is no fun at all.”
“You just haven’t found the right guy yet,” Grace encouraged.
“Show me someone who is uncomplicated, committed, emotionally available, and crazy in love with me and my daughter, and then I’ll reconsider. Until then, I’m happy right here.”
“At home in your pajamas.” Grace held her gaze.
“That’s right.” Jane nodded. “I’ve had enough dating for one lifetime, thank you very much.”
Grace gave her a stern look. “You know how I feel about that.”
Yes, Jane did, and she wasn’t about to continue this conversation. Now that Grace was getting married and Anna was equally in love, it seemed both sisters were more focused than ever on seeing their younger sister settled down and happy.
“Yes, well, my classes were fine today,” Jane said briskly. She paused, wondering why she felt so bothered by the day. Enrollment capped at ten students per class, but her three forty-five Intro to Pointe class had just four students, and Rosemary had been unusually quiet when she’d left for the day.
Oh, well, the session was just beginning, and seasonal colds were already going around. Perhaps a few of the girls had been sick or would be late joiners. Surely they’d want to audition for The Nutcracker.
“It was very calm. Very… stress-free.”
“With Rosemary?” Grace didn’t look convinced, and Jane had to laugh at that. Her boss could be demanding, but Jane was too grateful for the work to complain. If Rosemary hadn’t stepped in and offered her a teaching position at the studio last winter, she wasn’t sure she would have had the nerve to confront Adam about the affair. It was just the ray of hope she needed to prove to herself that she could stand on her own two feet. She’d given up any hope of a ballet career—not to mention a college education—to get married and settle down. Her husband had been her life, and now she had to live one without him in it.
Jane took a loaf of sourdough bread from a bag and set the oven to preheat. “So, to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Grace’s eyes twinkled as she gave a slow smile. “I found Sophie’s flower girl dress.”
“For real this time?” Grace had already changed her mind on her own wedding gown six times, and she was yet to commit to the flower arrangements, even with the big event only a few weeks away.
“I just want it to be perfect.”
“I know.” Jane felt bad for giving her sister a hard time. She’d been a bride herself once, caught up in all the little details that seemed so trivial now. She should have spent less time worrying about flowers and more time worrying about her future husband and the little voice that kept warning her to walk away… “Let me see what you picked out.”
Jane hurried to the island and leaned in as Grace rummaged through a glossy bridal magazine, stopping at a picture of a little girl wearing a deep crimson ball gown in raw silk, with a thick ivory bow at the waist. After the chocolate brown option Grace had proposed last week, Jane knew that Sophie would be thrilled with the idea of wearing this dress.
“Should we get Sophie?” she asked, grinning.
“She had better like it,” Grace said. “These dresses take at least three weeks to arrive. I’m really cutting it close.”
Jane grinned. “Sophie! Sophie, come on downstairs. Aunt Grace has something to show you!”
Soon there was a thump, heavy enough to make the sisters wince and then giggle, followed by a pounding of small feet down the wooden stairs.
“What is it, what is it?” Sophie announced breathlessly as she scampered into the kitchen.
“You’re in your pajamas, too, I see,” Grace remarked, taking in the pink nightgown with the ruffle trim. She gave Jane a pointed look, and Jane pulled in a deep breath, telling herself not to let it get to her. So, yes, she had become a bit of a hermit in the months since Adam had moved in with his girlfriend, but could anyone blame her? Her husband had cheated on her, lied to her, and then proceeded to move in with his mistress just three miles across town. Briar Creek was small and word traveled fast. Even if she was the wronged party, and even if she did have the support of many, she didn’t need the sympathy. Or the reminder. She just wanted… She popped the bread into the oven and set the timer. She just wanted to feel safe, she supposed. And what better way to feel that way than to stay home, surrounded only by those you let in?
“Sophie, look at this dress,” Jane said. “Do you want to wear that when you’re a flower girl?”
Sophie jutted her chin at the picture Grace held up and shook her head. “I’m going to wear a blue flower girl dress.”
Jane and Grace exchanged a look of alarm. This was at least the eleventh dress Grace had fallen in love with, usually before finding one she loved even more the next day or, in the case of the chocolate brown gown, having it boycotted by the flower girl herself. Time was running out for further indecision. This dress was going to have to work.
“But honey, Grace and Luke are having fall colors for their wedding. Remember how we looked at those pretty red and orange flowers?” And the green ones, and the purple ones…
“But my flower girl dress is blue! Blue velvet! Kristy said so.”
Jane slid her eyes to Grace, who stared at her, not blinking.
“What do you mean, Kristy said so?” Grace pressed gently when it became clear Jane was unable to ask.
“Kristy showed me my dress. It’s blue velvet with flowers around the neck.”
Jane was having trouble breathing. Her chest felt tight, and her heart was pounding. She stared at Grace, willing her oldest sister to make this right, to clear this up. Grace bit down on her lip, studying her niece, confusion knitting her brow.
“Kristy said you’re going to wear a blue dress for my wedding?”
“No! For her wedding!” Sophie cried, frustration causing her plump little cheeks to grow pink. “When she marries Daddy!”
Jane felt the blood rush from her face, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. Or faint. She slumped into a chair, listening to Grace make cheerful conversation with Sophie in a blatant attempt to smooth over the situation, but her mind was spinning. Adam was getting married—to the woman he had left her for! He had strayed from their marriage, ripped apart their family, and yet he was ready to settle down with a new wife, live the life they should have shared and could have—if he’d loved her.
Tears prickled the back of her eyes, but she blinked quickly, refusing to let them fall in front of Sophie. There would be plenty of time to cry tonight—God knew she wouldn’t get any sleep now, ultrasoft flannel pajama pants or not.
It was so easy for Adam. He’d gotten bored of one wife and quickly found another. He didn’t have to live with an emptiness in his heart, or think of something funny that had happened that day and find there was no one in the bedroom to tell it to—and that it was too late to pick up the phone and call someone. He didn’t have to stand at the playground on a Saturday afternoon and watch other smiling couples push their children on the swings, feeling like his heart was twisting with each breath—because Adam was actually one of those happy couples!
He’d moved on. He’d found someone. He didn’t have to go on dates, try on new people, see if they fit. While she… she was still trying—in vain, it would seem—to make sense of her new life, the life she hadn’t chosen, and to forget the one that had been taken from her.
“Jane?” Grace’s voice was overly bright, her smile bared, her green eyes electric. “Why don’t we have some of that delicious soup?”
“I’ll set the table!” Sophie volunteered. She took three placemats from the basket on the counter and began arranging them on the pedestal table. “Daddy said it’s important for me to help, so I can show a good example.”
What was she talking about? Jane moved slowly to the slow cooker and lifted the lid, feeling her stomach stir from the aroma. She couldn’t eat if she tried. Adam was living the easy life, wasn’t he? No harm done, on he went. No regard for her, or the damage he had caused. No glance back. Must be nice. Must be nice indeed.
“Daddy said I’ll have lots of responsibility when the new baby comes.”
The glass lid fell from Jane’s hand, shattering in the ceramic sink. Grace’s hands were on hers instantly, but she wasn’t cut. Not physically at least.
“What did you just say, Sophie?” she managed, even though she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know anything.
“There’s going to be a baby, Mommy!” Sophie’s eyes danced with excitement. “I get to be a flower girl! And a big sister!”
Jane swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to process everything, waiting for the wounds to seal shut again. She’d told herself she was better off alone, that she preferred it that way. If she didn’t give her heart away, it couldn’t be broken. This was a fresh reminder.
Grace’s hand was still tight on hers. “You sure you don’t want to give dating another try?” she asked half-heartedly, but concern darkened her eyes.
Jane nodded firmly, but the tug in her heart said otherwise.
Henry Birch stood in the middle of the perfectly landscaped town square, his travel-sized umbrella hanging at his side despite the light drizzle that filtered through the golden oak leaves. He roved his eyes over Main Street, up around Cedar Lane, and down Chestnut, past the fat pumpkins squatting at the base of each shop door, and the cornstalks wrapped around every iron lamppost, considering how he might summarize his hometown of Briar Creek.
With its quaint shops and cobblestone streets, it is easy to be lured in by the charm of this small Vermont town, but do plan on limiting your visit to a three-day weekend, lest the locals get too friendly…
He rolled back on his heels, lips thinning, and popped open his umbrella. Just ahead, smack in the center of the square, was the white gazebo, freshly painted last spring, no doubt just like it was every year. Wet leaves stuck to its wide stairs, where he’d sat many a day watching a festival, chatting with friends. Back then, his gaze was always off in the distance, his attention only half present as anxiety churned in his gut, looking for a hint of a problem, an issue he’d have to deal with or hide, until inevitably it presented itself and he’d have to leave. It always ended the same way—his face burning with shame as the curious stares followed him until he was safely out of sight.
He tightened his grip on the plastic umbrella handle and turned back to Main Street, trying to ignore the acid that burned his stomach. There was no sense wasting time on memory lane.
He crossed the street and headed deeper into town, scanning for a quiet place to work on his latest assignment. Most of the shops had turned over since he’d moved away more than six years ago, reminding him that even in Briar Creek, things did grow and change. He frowned as he caught his reflection in the window of a new restaurant called Rosemary and Thyme. The travel writer in him forced to admit it looked half decent, at least from the outside, with its tall paned windows and a hint of thick velvet curtains and dark wood. He scanned the menu behind a glass case, impressed, and then glanced away before he invited trouble. That was just the problem with Briar Creek: If you stood still long enough, you were bound to run into someone who knew you way back when, someone who would want to know how you’d been and what you’d been up to—Didn’t you get married?—someone wanting to offer condolences, who would lower their tone when they mentioned why…
Well, he didn’t need their damn pity any more than he needed their inquisitions. He dodged through the rain, ducking under awnings, falling back on the few places he knew. Quickly deciding his options were Hastings, the local diner, or an armchair at Main Street Books, he decided on the latter. Hastings would no doubt be filled with locals wanting to chat, and he wasn’t here to catch up.
The door to the bookstore jingled when he pushed it open, and he set his umbrella in the overflowing stand, wiping his feet on the coir mat before walking over to a display table to peruse the new releases. The smell of coffee and sweet cinnamon pulled at his attention, and he glanced to the right, grinning as he ventured into the adjacent café. His sister had mentioned that the Madison girls had recently spruced up the place, but this was a complete renovation. A bakery counter lined the far wall, filled with scones, pastries, and muffins, and clusters of farm tables filled the space near the large paned window. Despite the addition being new, the floorboards were wide and stained a rich mahogany to match those of the bookstore, and instead of modern track lighting, wrought iron chandeliers and sconces lit the room they called the Annex.
It was just the kind of local gem he liked to highlight in his articles. If he was writing an article on Briar Creek, that was. And he wasn’t. Most definitely not.
Henry grinned as he dropped his bag from his shoulder with a thud. This was officially home for the next few weeks he was stuck in this damn town.
A few people he mercifully didn’t recognize sipped cappuccinos and read books or chatted in low voices. Henry walked to the counter, glancing around for someone who worked there, and waited with growing impatience. The last thing he needed was to be standing around when someone came in and recognized him. Then he’d be forced through the usual song and dance, the one he’d already been through just about every time he dared to leave the Main Street Bed and Breakfast, when all he wanted to do was get in and out and on with his day. Alone.
He gritted his teeth and looked around the café. He was just about to step into the bookstore itself when a flush-faced and frazzled-looking woman came through a back door, tying an apron at her waist. The color in her cheeks rose when she met his steady gaze, and after a beat, she gave a genuine smile, but it did little to mask the trepidation in her eyes.
“Henry! This is a surprise!”
He felt his grin widen as he scanned her shocked expression. With her flushed face and bright smile, Jane Madison looked just as beautiful as she had on her wedding day. He remembered the day clearly; couldn’t forget it if he tried. And oh, had he.
“Jane! Wow… Jane!” He shook himself back to the present, pushing back the thumping of his chest, and he took in that smile. He reached out awkwardly to embrace her, but the counter was wide, and the opening was a few feet down. After they shared a laugh, he stuck out his hand, holding hers in both of his. “It’s so good to see. . .
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Hope Springs on Main Street
Olivia Miles
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