Cassie folded her arms. “You only get this perky when you’re plotting something.” She lowered her voice: “Did Daniel agree to adopt a third dog?”
“Not yet,” Emily said, keeping a straight face. Their current two pups—Mogsy and Rain—were in town with Roy and Daniel, but the thought of a puppy to also wrangle was an amusing one. “Chantelle’s working on him.”
Patricia reached for the mail that had accumulated at the end of the table. “So, what is it?”
Emily turned to face them. “I want to throw a party. For the inn.”
Cassie raised her eyebrows. “A party?”
“Anevent.The inn just turned a hundred and twenty-five. I want to invite everyone who’s ever meant something to us, or to this place. Maybe do a scavenger hunt, a bake-off. Cook. Music? I don’t know. Make it a thing.”
Cassie let out a low whistle. “You’re a glutton for punishment. You’re busy enough!”
“It’s not too much if everyone pitches in,” Emily said.
Patricia, flipping through a pile of real estate flyers, nodded. “That’s true.” She thumbed the edge of one flyer with a neatly manicured fingernail “Remember the guy with the parrot? The bird would shout ‘Last call!’ at three in the afternoon.”
Emily smiled at the memory. “I’ll put him on the list. And his parrot. I’ll convince the kids he’s a pirate. They’ll be thrilled.”
Emily chopped and mixed, and as she assembled the sandwiches for Cassie and her mother, she started rattling off names: the retired lounge singer who’d insisted on playing the lobby piano every night for a week, the pair of college kids who’d gotten engaged on the porch, the Boston lawyer who always left a tip folded like an origami crane. Patricia and Cassie laughed along, and Emily joined the women at the table, sliding plates into their waiting hands.
Cassie took a bite, then sighed in approval. “You could sell this by the jar.”
“Business number seventy-three,” Emily joked.
Cassie and Patricia exchanged a look, something affectionate, and Emily felt a jolt of gratitude that their relationships had all mellowed to something she treasured.
“So, when is this party?” Cassie asked, brushing crumbs from her lap.
“End of July,” Emily said. “I want to do it right. Plenty of time for the details.”
Patricia nodded. “We’ll help with the invites. And you should ask your father for his help—he remembers townspeople like they’re all part of the family tree.”
“I’ll text him after lunch,” Emily said.
Outside, the girls’ voices rang out, clear and persistent, the purest sound of summer joy. Emily looked at her planner, at the list of names.
It was going to be the kind of party people remembered.
CHAPTER TWO
The weeks shrank to a blink, and on the morning of the anniversary party, Emily woke to a peculiar calm in the house. But the silence didn’t last. Within twenty minutes, the kitchen was alive with the clatter of coffee mugs, the low rumble of Daniel’s voice, and the energy that always signaled an event at the inn. Emily paced herself: one cup of coffee, then a sweep through every guest room to check for errant dirty towels and dust bunnies, then a second cup of coffee back in her own kitchen while she mapped out the seating arrangements in her head.
By nine, the rental delivery had arrived. Folding chairs and tables seemed to almost instantly line the edge of the lawn. She signed for the order, already eyeing the next delivery van—flowers from Raj, the florist in town, boxes of stems sweating in the humidity. She met Raj at the back door and took charge of the arrangements, despite the man’s cheerful offer to help.
“I have a system,” Emily explained. Raj snapped for his assistant to unload, and Emily sorted the hydrangeas and roses into buckets, letting her fingers numb with the cold of the refrigerated greenery.
Once that was done and Raj sent off with payment and a promise to make sure there were plenty of cocktail shrimp for him at the party, Emily joined Daniel on the back porch. Daniel tested the string lights he’d rigged up the night before, looping them in perfect arcs from post to post. He glanced over his shoulder, as if feeling her gaze. “You think it’s too much?”
Emily shook her head. “Not enough, if anything. We need people to see the party from the water.”
He grinned, teeth showing through his three-day stubble. “I’ll add a row along the railing.”
Inside, Emily found Roy adjusting more chairs in the front parlor, the feet of each one scraping in precise intervals as he measured the distance between them with an actual carpenter’s square. “Fire marshal’s coming to this party,” he said, never looking up.
Emily fought the urge to tell him that the man wasn’t going to check the exit plan, only the dessert table. And she noted, suddenly, that her father’s hands were shaking just a little. Worry pricked in her chest.
“Dad, you good?”
