The Guest Cottage

Book 1: Firefly Summer

by Lori Foster

Genres: Women's Fiction; Family Life

Synopsis

Love, forgiveness, and renewal take center stage in the haven of a quiet lakeside town when two very different women bond over one man’s betrayals in this uplifting new series from New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster.

Marlow Heddings is starting over. She’s carried the outrage of her husband Dylan’s affair with a younger woman—and the expectations of his family’s powerful Chicago holdings company—long enough. Now, after another devastating twist of fate, she’s unapologetically moving on.
 
Arriving in tiny Bramble, Kentucky, Marlow revels in her freedom, swapping her executive suits for sundresses . . . and scouting places to open her dream boutique. Best of all is her new residence, an adorable cottage with gorgeous lake views—and a breathtaking landlord, former Marine Cort Easton. Soon they’re sharing dockside morning coffee and nighttime firefly gazing. Marlow’s new life feels like a dream.
 
Then Pixie Nolan arrives on her doorstep. With a shocking secret.
 
To Marlow’s astonishment, Dylan’s “other woman” is a desperate girl of nineteen, destitute, exhausted, and disowned by her family. Defying her manipulative in-laws’ demands, and surprising even herself, Marlow vows to lay down roots in Bramble and help Pixie get on her feet. Then they’ll part ways. But empathy has a way of forging bonds. As Marlow grows close to the hard-working, devoted young woman, she becomes something of a big sister to Pixie.
 
Now, with each sunrise, Marlow awakens to the life she was truly meant to live, one filled with deepening connections, supportive friendship . . . and even a second chance at love. 

Release date: May 27, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

The miserable May weather suited the occasion. At least the eulogy was over, and she no longer had to talk with Dylan’s friends and distant family, all of whom expected her to weep for the loss of her dear, adoring husband.

Little did they know she’d lost him months ago when she’d found out about the “other woman.” For Marlow Heddings, everything had ended that day—the love, the commitment . . . the farce. Her plans for the future.

Her mother-in-law, usually an unstoppable force but now somewhat fragile, wouldn’t hear of having Dylan’s name tainted, not even with the truth.

Yet the truth was never far from Marlow’s mind. He’d been a lying, unfaithful, deceitful bastard. He’d hurt her, then mocked her with a cruel lack of remorse.

The awful things he’d said, the hateful way he’d blamed her, continued to rage like a tornado in her mind.

As if to reflect her dour thoughts, the skies grumbled, dark clouds tumbling over each other. Soon there would be another deluge.

If it would end this farce, she’d gladly be soaked.

Despite her foul thoughts, all of them accurate, she maintained her composed expression. Let them think it was inner strength that kept her eyes dry, her emotions in check. In reality, it was numbness.

Soon she’d drive away from her loss, her oppressive memories, and the determination of her suddenly clinging mother-in-law.

“Such a beautiful memorial service,” Sandra Heddings declared between her not-so-quiet sobs. “Everyone is properly honoring him.”

Properly honoring him? In a bid to keep her thoughts to herself, Marlow flattened her mouth. She wasn’t heartless enough to add to Sandra’s pain. Whatever failings her mother-in-law might have, loving her son wasn’t one of them. She’d cherished Dylan, making him her entire world.

Unfortunately, during the month that Dylan had been gone, it seemed Sandra had turned her sights on Marlow in some bizarre attempt to cherish his legacy.

“Come on,” Marlow whispered gently, her arm around the other woman. “Let’s get out of this rain.”

“I don’t want to let him go.” Turning into Marlow, Sandra squeezed her arms tight around her as wracking cries broke loose.

Desperately, Marlow glanced around for help, but many had already moved on. Aston, Dylan’s father, stood over the grave site, his head bowed and his proud shoulders slumped in pain. The few relatives still braving the weather were gathered around him, leaving Marlow to tend to Sandra.

Her wide black umbrella wasn’t sufficient to shelter them from the endless drizzling rain. God, she wanted this day over with. She wanted, needed, to wrap up her duty, her social obligations, so she could escape it all.

Sandra had wanted to delay the service until the weather cleared, but Marlow knew if she’d put it off at all, she’d have broken down.

Because she was taller and sturdier than Sandra, Marlow was able to steer her back along the path. “That’s it. One step at a time. You know how much Dylan loved you. He’d want you inside, warm and dry.”

“Yes, he would. He was such a good son. So devoted to our family.” Sandra’s eyes slanted her way. “To the business.”

Not always true. In many ways, Dylan had resented his mother. In other ways, he’d repeatedly disrespected her. His contribution to the business had been as a mere figurehead. He’d done very little actual work, even less after Marlow had caught him cheating.

With him and Marlow at odds, he’d repeatedly missed work, using the excuse that he wanted to avoid his wife’s “volatile and hostile moods,” even though she was always professional at work. Marlow had solved that for him by resigning her position and walking away.

She’d needed time alone to grieve the loss of her marriage and her future, and to start planning her next steps. The litigated divorce proceedings she’d begun almost a year ago had enraged all the Heddings—Dylan, his mother, and his father. None of them had expected her to fight, which only proved how little they’d really known her.

She’d given a lot to her marriage, and she’d helped to build the assets she and her husband had accumulated. Taking what she’d earned was fair; she didn’t want or need anything of Dylan’s. Yet he’d disagreed, and the battle had begun.

Just as it seemed they might get the divorce finalized, Dylan had died.

Now, none of that family antagonism seemed to matter anymore. Not to a grieving mother. Sandra had adopted a “let bygones be bygones” attitude.

As Marlow patiently urged her mother-in-law along, her gaze repeatedly swept the area. She half expected the “other woman” to show up. Wouldn’t that be the perfect theatrical kick? A lone mysterious woman, dressed all in black, watching from afar?

But no, it was only Dylan’s family and friends, all of them heartbroken that Saint Dylan was no longer with them.

Jaw locking, she lifted her chin a little higher and finally got her mother-in-law into the building. “Aston will bring around the car.”

“This has destroyed him.”

Yes, Dylan and his father had been close. Toasting each other at parties, golfing together. Dylan was supposed to inherit the family dynasty.

For the longest time Marlow had wanted children, but Dylan had refused, insisting that he wasn’t yet ready. Now, she was grateful she didn’t have a child that would tie her to these people. A decade of marriage had brought about familiar, if not openly affectionate, feelings, but she’d already decided that it was past time she cared for herself.

A while later, on the drive from the grave site, Marlow worked up her courage to set the wheels in motion. “I’ll see you both home, but I’m not coming in.”

Sandra had been weeping into her hands, but now her head jerked up and her tears miraculously dried. “What are you talking about? You’re Dylan’s wife. Of course, you’re coming in.”

In another few weeks, despite the way Dylan had fought her on everything, she would have been his ex-wife. Then he’d gotten himself killed in a car crash. Now she couldn’t even make her grand exodus from the family. A divorce would have been the perfect exclamation point to her anger.

Instead, because she was a nice person, she was being forced to tiptoe away.

Nerves strung to the breaking point, Marlow shook her head. “It’s better that I don’t. I have my own plans to finalize now.”

In an expression reminiscent of his son’s, Aston scowled darkly. “What plans?”

He practically growled the word, but she’d expected this. Anything that didn’t comfortably coincide with his itinerary was an annoyance. “I’m moving away.” To a different house, in a different community, in another state.

A fresh start, away from grief and heartache.

Somehow during the ten years of her marriage, she’d completely lost herself. Gone was the happy, relaxed young woman she’d once been, replaced by a staid, conservative-dressing, matronly businesswoman whom, honestly, Marlow didn’t even like.

If she couldn’t like herself, how had she expected Dylan to love her?

Because he’d made her the person she’d become. He’d made their major decisions as a couple. Where they’d live, how they’d live, and which social functions were advantageous. She’d allowed him to take the lead, to guide their marriage and their future. And in doing so, she’d morphed into someone different—an uptight, rigid woman who always followed the rules of etiquette and never caused a scene.

That nonsense was over.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aston said. “You’ll reclaim your old job.”

“No,” she replied, softly but firmly. “I won’t.”

Sandra gave a shuddering sigh. “I understand why Dylan wanted you gone once you’d filed for divorce.” Her look of censure showed through her sorrow. “I still don’t understand how you could humiliate him like that.”

Pride kept her voice even. “I will never settle for less than what I give.”

Sandra waved her response away. “It was just a silly mistake.”

“The woman meant nothing,” Aston seconded with heat. “Less than nothing.”

Their attitude no longer surprised Marlow. She’d had years of hearing his parents staunchly defend Dylan’s every bad decision.

“She mattered to me. To our marriage.”

Aston scoffed. “You were willing to throw away your life together because of one indiscretion? After Dylan gave you everything? After all we’ve given you?”

So many angry words danced through her thoughts. Things she wanted to say. Things she should have cleared up long ago. For her own sake, she held them back. “I wish you both nothing but the best.”

They didn’t return the sentiment.

Outrage overshadowing her heartache, Sandra narrowed her eyes. “You would actually abandon us now? When we need you most? When we’re hurting so badly?”

Pointing out that she hurt, too, that she’d been hurting for months, wouldn’t accomplish anything. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

Thank God, the limo driver had traversed the long curving drive to their sprawling home and stopped before the entry. Others had already arrived, and more cars pulled in behind them. Marlow scooted across the seat, not waiting for the door to be opened.

Sandra grabbed her arm, her small hand almost desperately tight. “When you filed for divorce, Dylan wanted you cut out of his inheritance.”

“I know.” Like a threat, he’d shouted his intentions at her. The sad part was that the need to avoid scandal and humiliation was what inspired him. Not love. He’d found it inconceivable that she, a plain businesswoman from an upper middle class background, would dare to walk away from the incredible Dylan Heddings.

“We talked him out of it,” Aston said with satisfaction. “Stay with the business, and the money will still be yours.”

What he meant was that she needed to go on playing the inconsolable wife. “It doesn’t matter.” She had her own accounts, in her name only. She neither needed nor wanted the Heddings’ money. There were many things she’d let slide over the years, but she’d always protected herself financially.

Maybe she’d retained some survival instincts after all.

The door opened, and Marlow stepped out. It didn’t matter that they were both hissing quiet demands at her. Or that she’d left her umbrella in the car and her upswept hair was immediately soaked by the downpour.

It didn’t matter that others looked on in shock as she walked away, backbone straight and head held high.

Slowly, she inhaled. Fresh air. Freedom.

A new beginning.

It was time to return to her roots.

He answered on the second ring with a simple, “Hello.”

“Mr. Easton?” Anticipation made her breathless as she loaded the last box of personal items into her Lexus SUV and closed the door. “It’s Marlow Heddings.”

“I recognized the number.”

He had the deepest, darkest voice, no-nonsense and without inflection. She’d only called him . . . what? Five or six times over the past two months? Ugh, he probably thought she was stringing him along. Please, please, please, she thought. “The property I was interested in renting . . . Is it still available?”

“It is.”

Breath left her in a whoosh. “I want it.”

After the briefest pause, he said, “There’ve been two other interested parties, so I can’t continue to hold it.”

“No, I mean I want it now. Today.” Sunrise turned the sky from dark purple to mauve. Sometime during the night, the storm had blown through, leaving everything wet and fresh, renewed. “I’ll be on my way to you in the next few minutes.”

“From Illinois?”

“Glencoe, yes. I think it’s something like a six- or seven-hour drive, so I’ll have to stop a few times, but it’s barely dawn now. I’ll definitely be there before the end of the day.” She wasn’t certain of the exact travel time because the town barely showed on the map. With no more than four hundred people living there, it would be an escape from everything familiar and just what she’d been looking for.

Mr. Easton greeted her news with silence. Whether it came of disbelief or surprise, she had no idea.

“Will that be a problem? When last we spoke, you said you had immediate occupancy.”

“Same day is a little more immediate than I expected.”

Marlowe stopped, her heart stuttering to a near standstill. The steady drip-drip-drip of rainwater from the trees mingled with the sounds of birds rejoicing and the distant bark of a dog. It could be a new and exciting day—unless he altered her plans.

The very idea got her talking fast. “Did you do the credit report? The background check? Is there something else you need?” She hadn’t slept after the funeral yesterday. No, she’d finished packing everything she might need to begin anew, and nothing else. She meant to leave behind her old life.

A pre-arranged estate manager would sell the rest of the belongings in the house, including Dylan’s things. The house had already been listed for a respectable sum, and the realtor could show it without her.

She was free and clear. All she needed now was a place to stay.

Ready to convince him, Marlow opened the driver’s side door and got behind the wheel. “I’d like to pay you upfront for six months, but I’m happy to rent the place—” Indefinitely. Shaking her head, she amended her first, possibly overwhelming word choice, to the less ambitious, “For as long as it’s available.”

“Not just for the summer?”

God, she was botching this. “Is it only available in the summer?”

Another stretch of silence, and then, “It’s available beyond that. You’re sure you’ll be here today?”

“Yes. Already in my car.” She started the engine. “Pulling out of my driveway now.”

“All right, Ms. Heddings. Everything in your application checked out. You have my number, so give me a call when you arrive, and I’ll deliver the keys to you.”

Gale-force relief rushed through her. “Thank you! Oh, this is wonderful. I can’t wait to arrive.” To start my new life.

Finally, things were looking up.

With a smile in his tone, he said, “Drive safely.”

Thoughts of his new tenant played on repeat in Cort’s mind all day. She wasn’t what he’d expected. Her background check . . . her credit report . . . the photos he’d found of her online. . . her tone of excitement on the phone—contradictions, one after the other.

She was an accomplished woman, recently leaving a high-level job within a well-known, family-owned company . . . for an extended stay on Rainbow Lake?

For ten years she’d been married to the heir of the Heddings’ Holding Company, but her upbringing had also been upper middle class, with a mother in education and a father who was a surgeon.

In her photos, she’d appeared dignified and serene, nearly untouchable in the way of valuable art. Cold, detached, under the spotlight.

On the phone, she’d damn near been bubbling over with enthusiasm. She planned to spend all day in her car just to arrive for an extended stay in a modest home for rent in the “nowhere town” of Bramble.

None of it added up, but he was intrigued all the same.

Puzzles were meant to be solved, and he’d figure Marlow Heddings out in good time.

Spending the day working helped to distract him. He resisted the urge to check his phone. She’d call when she called, and if she didn’t, he had two other renters ready to sign on for the summer.

“Much better,” Herman said, giving the railing on the bar top a tug and finding it secure. “Good as new. Thank you.”

“No problem.” If he didn’t stay busy, his mind would circle endlessly. Marines didn’t slay their inner dragons—they made them work to their advantage. For Cort, that meant keeping his mind occupied with handyman jobs, which also built relations in the community and added to his savings. He didn’t see a downside.

The early evening sun cast long shadows everywhere. If Ms. Heddings didn’t arrive soon, she’d be getting acquainted with her new place in the dark. No sooner did he have that thought than she walked through the doors of the tavern.

Windblown fawn-colored hair hung loose to her shoulders. As she stepped into the dim interior, she removed large-framed sunglasses and glanced around with a smile of fascinated delight. Those eyes, velvety brown and heavily lashed, could get a guy into trouble.

She’d made an effort to dress casually in wide-legged faded jeans, with white Dior sneakers and a Dior sweater set. The outfit probably cost more than most people made in a month.

“Excuse me,” she said to Bren Crawford, an eighty-year-old original who couldn’t hear but refused to wear hearing aids. “I’m a tiny bit lost.”

Bren squinted up at her, took another gulp of his longneck beer, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Instead of intervening, Cort braced his forearms on the bar, content to watch and wait, and maybe be enlightened on a few mysteries.

Smile slipping, Ms. Heddings tried again. “I know I’m in Bramble, but I’m trying to find a specific address.”

“What’s that?”

Her lips parted for another question, but then the light dawned and she closed her mouth with a smile. Digging in her purse, she pulled out a slip of paper, presumably with the address, and showed it to Bren.

Of course, he couldn’t see any better than he could hear.

Muttering, “What in the world?” Herman circled out from behind the bar and rushed over to her. “Can I help you?”

Giving up on Bren, she turned to Herman and said, “I hope so. I’m renting property on the lake, but I can’t seem to locate the exact address.”

“Keep going down this road and you’ll run into the lake. To the left, the address numbers go down, and to the right, they go up.”

“Oh.” Resigned to finding the place on her own, she said, “Thank you. I’m close then?”

“You have to be, the town is so small.”

“Of course.” Flashing another quick smile, she stepped around Herman and headed to the bar.

Seeing that she was coming right for him, Cort straightened.

“Do you have food? Anything at all would be amazing. I’m starving.” Hoisting herself onto a bar stool, she glanced around as if she thought she might find a menu. “I’d need it to go. I was going to stop for a few necessities, but I didn’t see any grocery stores or markets on my way in.”

“The Dry Frog Tavern has pizzas, burgers, and appetizers.”

The name of the place sent her brows up, but she didn’t comment on it. “Pizza,” she repeated with a husky groan, “sounds amazing. How long does that take?”

“I usually have to wait forty-five minutes or more.”

“You have to . . . ?” She shook her head. “It takes that long?” Her skeptical gaze skipped around again, seeing that the twenty or so customers in the bar were involved in drinking, not eating. “Do you have anything I could get quickly?”

By way of an answer, Cort bent to put the rest of his tools in the box, then started out around the bar. “I’ll have my pizza any minute now. I’m happy to share it with you.”

The tucking of her chin and straightening of her posture announced her thoughts without her saying a single word.

Herman reappeared. “Here you go, Cort.” He handed over a flat box of hot pizza, along with some cash to pay Cort for his work. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice.”

Cort gave his usual answer—“Not a problem”—and then made introductions. “Herman, this is Ms. Heddings. She’s renting from me. Ms. Heddings, Herman Black owns the tavern.”

She jerked around to face him, in the process ignoring Herman. “You’re Mr. Easton?” Then to Herman, “But he was behind the bar. I thought—”

“Fixing a broken rail for me.” Herman was happy to enlighten her. “Cort’s not quite an original, but his mother lived here for years, and when she started ailing, Cort moved in. He’s our local hero, you know, and a damn fine handyman. Got a problem with something, you call Cort.”

She blinked at the outpouring of information. Cort was used to it. Some of the townspeople used any excuse to flaunt their association with him, regardless of how little it actually meant. He wasn’t a hero, wasn’t special in any way, but he was good with his hands and he’d done work, big and small, for just about everyone who lived in the quaint little town.

It helped that his mother had been accepted, and loved, by everyone who’d met her. During his time in the Marines, he’d moved her to Bramble—largely to keep her safe—and the locals had embraced her. In no time, she’d become one of them.

By extension, they’d accepted him, too.

“Come on,” he said, holding the heavy toolbox in one hand, the pizza in the other. “We can talk outside.”

She was halfway to the door before she thought to turn and say to Herman, “It was so nice meeting you.”

Herman waved and got to work. During the week, the tavern wasn’t overly busy, but tomorrow would bring the Friday night crowd, and he’d be run off his feet through Saturday.

Once they were away from eavesdroppers, Cort said, “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“I got lost several times, and the traffic was brutal.”

“It’s always that way until you get here.” He stowed the toolbox in the back of his truck and slammed the tailgate, then reached in through the driver’s door to put the pizza on the passenger seat. “Here on the lake, it’s quiet during the week. Bramble is a home rule city, and they don’t allow crowds until the weekend. That means all the out of towners congregate nearby. Plenty of people live on the outskirts, too, then swarm in all day Friday and Saturday, and part of the day Sunday.”

“Home rule what?”

Yeah, that had been his reaction at first, too. “Pizza is getting cold. Why don’t you follow me? I can show you the place, give you the keys, and hand over a few slices. I already put drinks in the fridge for you, along with a few other necessities.”

Color rushed to her fair cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you out.”

“Not a problem.” He walked her to her car. “I’ll go slowly, but you couldn’t really miss me anyway. As Herman said, we’ll continue along this road. When you see the lake, we’ll go right about a mile.” He opened her car door, noticing that it wasn’t locked, then waited until she got in. “Ten minutes, tops.” Closing the door again, he started off.

It was either that or continue staring at her.

When he’d done the background check on her as a potential renter, he’d also gone through her social media. This windblown, blushing woman with incredible eyes was not what he’d expected. The fancy clothes, sure. The confidence, definitely.

That smile, though? The way she’d proclaimed herself starving?

Yeah, he’d be thinking about both for a while.

Now he just needed to get her settled, and then he could call it a night.

Honest to God, her face felt hot for the entire, too-brief drive to the guest cottage. Why had she assumed Cort Easton would be older? In her mind, the deep, dreamy voice belonged to a guy with reading glasses and graying hair, a retiree renting out property to help make ends meet.

She had not expected a tall, hard-muscled man in his mid-thirties with a stare that could strip a woman bare.

She’d worked for the Heddings family long enough to hold her own with anyone—family, associates, and business adversaries alike—but from the second Mr. Easton introduced himself, she’d lost the power of rational speech.

He had the bearing of a head of state . . . or an old-time warrior. He spoke only when necessary, wore an indecipherable expression, and carried that heavy metal toolbox as if it weighed no more than a basket of flowers.

She hardly noticed the passing scenery, and before she knew it, he was pulling into the short driveway to a house—her house—the incredible little cottage that she’d soon call home.

Suddenly, nothing else existed for her. Heart pounding, she parked next to his truck and stepped out of her SUV in a daze. Oh my, it was even more beautiful than it had looked in the photos. The setting sun was behind them, painting the front of the cottage with a soft golden glow. Three peaks—one over the stoop, another over the main rooms, and a third over the attic—were staggered off center to give the small home more character. Dark olive vertical wood siding paired beautifully with brown shaker shingles and natural stone. Matching the entrance door, double wooden doors at the right would open to a golf garage, and she knew a golf cart was parked inside.

“I love it.” She’d meant to state the words, but instead they emerged as a reverent whisper. Her gaze briefly skipped to Mr. Easton, just long enough to catch what might have been the slight tipping of a smile, there and gone.

“How about I help you carry in your things after I’ve shown you around?”

“That’s not necessary. I can do it.” With renewed purpose, she headed for the front door, anxious to see th. . .