Prologue
With a last name like Hope, one would assume I’d be the equivalent of a walking, talking sunbeam. All buoyant optimism and jaunty cheer. A light in the dark, harnessing a perpetual smile to go with such a name.
Well, one would be right.
I’m all of those things, even on my bad days…even on my worse days.
Especially on my worse days.
So, when the little red real estate icon pops up on my notification bar alerting me of a new house hitting the market, that house calls to me in a way I can’t explain.
I need it, I want it, I have to have it.
I choke on my muffin as the familiar honeyed bricks stare back at me, and my skin flushes hot, beet red to match warning flags waving behind my eyes. My belly churns with nerves, my palms sweat, and my mind spins like a rickety old Ferris wheel circling around and around in the sky.
But…a different feeling wins out. Something else, something mightier. It punctures through the uncertainty, through the awful memories, ringing loud over the little voice inside my head screaming that this is bound to go badly.
That Ferris wheel will crumble and fall, turning to rubble at my feet.
I don’t care.
I can’t seem to care because all I see is a past destined to be rewritten.
A new beginning.
A fighting chance to turn tragedy into magic, catastrophe into hope.
Ultimately, I think that’s why I do it.
I think it’s because of hope.
Five minutes later, I’m on the phone with my agent.
One day later, an offer is made.
A lifetime later, I beg, I plead, I pray for this not to be the greatest mistake of my life.
Mistake or not, I’m doing it.
I’m finding my way back to them.
Hope wins.
Chapter 1
“Lucy! Your dog puked up a dildo!”
I lurch into a sitting position. Alyssa’s voice is followed by a clamor of dog nails in desperate need of trimming stampeding across the hardwood floors as the front door claps shut. I blink, her words registering. “What?” Scrambling to my feet, I pace down the hallway, finding my best friend flustered in my living room. “A dildo?”
Key Lime Pie and Lemon Meringue, my two Welsh corgis, are busy exploring the new turf while Alyssa visibly shudders and plops down onto the couch. “It wasn’t mine.”
“Well, it wasn’t mine.”
“I don’t know, Lucy, but it sounded like Kiki was having an exorcism in the backseat. Instead of a demon being expelled, it was a dildo.” Alyssa reaches into her oversized purse and pulls out a plastic bag that houses the evidence. Craning her neck and looking away, she holds the bag open while making elaborate gagging noises.
I’m literally horrified as I peer inside. Then my eyebrows dip when I recognize what it really is. “Lys, that’s a Banana Bunker.”
“Excuse me?” She whips her head toward me, expression pinched with bewilderment. “That sounds obscene. Tell me more.”
I laugh. “I use these to keep my bananas from bruising. It’s not a sex toy.”
“Disappointing.”
Key Lime Pie, Kiki for short, hobbles over to me on her stubby legs and collapses at my feet. She’s a little overweight thanks to all of Mom’s not-subtle, under-the-table snack handouts over the years, where Lemon is more high maintenance when it comes to treat selections. Alyssa transported the dogs over to the new house for me, while I drove the moving truck and carried in the furniture with my Uncle Dan. Alyssa has been essential in helping me transition into my new life.
“So, this is the new place, huh?” Alyssa fluffs her light blond bob and gives the modest space an approving sweep. “It’s perfect for you. I hate that you’re forty minutes away from me now, but you’ll still be playing at the wine bar on Fridays, right?”
I take a seat beside her on the cream-colored sofa and bob my head. “Yep. As long as I can find a job that will work with my schedule.”
Part one was moving.
Part two is securing a job that will cover my bills and living expenses.
The house was paid for in cash, thanks to the inheritance money I received from Grandma Mabel, and my car was a gift from my parents four years ago, but I still have taxes, gas, utilities, food, and all the other costs that go along with freedom and independence. While I still have some money left over from the inheritance, I want to find a job that will leave me with a little extra savings each month that I can put away for college one day.
One step at a time.
“Well, I think it’s great.” Alyssa perks up. “There’s a fenced yard for the dogs and enough space to add your inevitable live-in lover. And let’s not downplay the privilege of an attached garage.”
My stomach pitches.
The garage will be for storage.
I will not be using the garage.
Clearing my throat, I pop up from the couch and fiddle with my hair. “Live-in lover. You’re hilarious.”
“Inevitable,” she parrots.
All I can do is shake my head at her, evading her misfire of a statement. I realize I’m not a troll, and I’m aware enough to admit that.
But, I’m also a tad neurotic.
Quirky, a little strange, and, as some might say, too bubbly.
I’m a good person, yes; kind and giving—but men don’t necessarily want to jump into bed with blundering women who never stop rambling. It’s not sexy.
I’m aware enough to admit that, too.
I live vicariously through Alyssa, and that’s enough for me.
After giving my friend the grand tour, we settle down to share a bottle of wine on my scattered furniture with dogs in our laps and laughter on our tongues. It’s a nice first night that will only be made better when I can whisk myself away to a familiar bedroom and uncover the sacred memories I know are waiting for me.
I see Alyssa off a few hours later, then race down the narrow hallway to a room that used to be draped in lavender and lace. It’s gray now—gray and drab—and I can’t wait to transform it into something sweeter, with love and a paintbrush.
Heart skipping, I seat myself cross-legged on the bedroom floor beside the bed.
Her bedroom floor.
Before I can get too comfortable, my phone pings from my back pocket like a little warning bell telling me to keep the past in the past.
It’s too late for that, though.
It was far too late the moment I picked up the phone and dialed my agent, telling her I’d found the house of my dreams. Nightmares, some nights, but mostly, a new dream in the making.
She was surprised, yes, but she didn’t know just how outlandish my decision really was. I didn’t tell her that I grew up right next door in the cornflower blue raised ranch. I failed to mention that this fifteen-hundred square foot property was practically my second home for eight incredible years.
And I never did admit how eager I was to see if Emma’s secret hiding place still held a trove of long lost treasures.
Pivoting my attention from the floorboards, I pull out my phone and glance down at the screen.
It’s my mother. Shocking.
Mom:
Lucille Anne Hope.
Me: