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Yeah, that’s more like it.
Cold and bitter. She laughed to herself.
Despite how she wanted to believe this glorious morning with its painterly sky and philandering breeze was a sign of good things to come, she was a realist. Mother Nature wasn’t in the business of manufacturing miracles. This was merely proof that life went on—whether or not she had a job that would allow her to take care of herself and not rely on anyone else.
Right now she needed to get dressed for the day and help her mom, Zelda, and her grandmother, Wiladean—or Gigi, as she and her sisters called her—prepare for the breakfast meeting they were hosting at the Forsyth.
She hadn’t come home to vacation or freeload. She fully intended to make herself useful.
Last night her family had been giddy when she’d walked in. The corners of Elle’s mouth turned up and her heart tugged at the thought. When she’d entered the inn, they’d been in the middle of setting up for this morning’s meeting, but they’d stopped what they were doing for hugs and tea. Because what would a homecoming—planned or impromptu—be without a steaming cup of tea?
Of course, there had been questions—
“What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to see you.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Well, I lost my job today, but everything will be fine. I hope.”
It was the truth. Somehow, she would land on her feet. She would either find another position as an art teacher or come up with a brilliant career change.
“Is that you, Elizabeth?” a voice called from the sidewalk below her balcony. Longtime neighbor Mercy Johnston was power walking in her black pencil skirt and athletic shoes, no doubt on her way to work at the Chatham County Courthouse.
Elle waved.
“Good to see ya back in town, hon.”
“Thanks, Mercy,” Elizabeth said to the woman’s back as she continued past. “Have a good day.”
Keeping her stride, Mercy acknowledged Elle with a flutter of her left hand.
As Elle turned to go inside, she saw the lights flicker on inside the Cuppa Joe, the coffee shop that was located farther down the street. Another longtime neighbor, Lisa Reynolds, did a double take and waved as she opened the doors to the Angel Cakes Bakery, a few doors down from the Forsyth.
A couple of cars whooshed by and the delivery truck for the Chat Noir Café slowed as it lumbered around the corner. The brakes whistled and Elle could picture it parking next to the inn’s kitchen door. There was something soothing in all the sameness, the sounds and smells, still knowing her neighbors after all this time and to have them welcome her home without mentioning the Great Wedding Debacle.
In Atlanta, she could be as anonymous as she wanted to be. In Savannah, there was no hiding. Elle felt compelled to hold her chin up and prove that she was better off on her own. She could take care of herself; she didn’t need a man to take care of her. In fact, it had become a point of pride that she remained free and unencumbered, free do to what she wanted when she wanted, without having to answer to anyone.
Roger had done her a favor by setting her free.
Elizabeth glanced at her watch. The guests would arrive in about an hour. Since she’d kept Gigi and her mom away from their work last night, Elle wanted to get down there and pitch in.
She cast one last wistful glance at the gorgeous, changing morning light glowing in Forsyth Park. Now fingers of silver and gold filtered through the ancient live oaks, painting an ethereal picture. That was when she caught a glimpse of a man jogging past the fountain.
Without her contact lenses, she had to squint to bring the details of his masculine form into semisoft focus. But that didn’t matter. He looked fine, even from this distance. She leaned against the wrought iron railing and drank in the blurry, virile beauty of him. Taking care of herself may have become a point of pride, but she still appreciated a hot guy.
This hot guy was definitely worth the second glance.
He was tall and lean, with dark hair that might have been a tad too long, and broad, muscled shoulders that looked to be the natural by-product of honest, hard work.
Nice.
Something vaguely familiar emerged through the soft focus.
Wait.
Did she know him? In a town where everyone knew everyone, except for the tourists, it was likely. She did a quick mental inventory of the various places their paths might have crossed. She quickly crossed off her Atlanta circles, people who worked with her at Stapleton Elementary School and the parents of the students in the art classes she taught at the school.
