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Chapter One
Thursday
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The vibrant blue and white trim of the Morning Glory Inn stood out against the smaller surrounding houses, its turrets and wraparound porch oozing with Victorian charm. As visitors strolled through the quaint town of Willowbrook, their eyes were drawn to the grand dame, a timeless reminder of a bygone era.
Its weathered exterior bore the marks of time, hinting at a storied past. Maren Scott, the owner of the Inn for almost a year, looked at the structure with a mix of affection and hopeful aspirations.
The house boasted a distinctive asymmetrical design, adorned with ornate trim and gingerbread accents that once gleamed in vibrant colors but had now faded to soft pastels. A wraparound porch, adorned with hand-turned spindles and carved railings, embraced the front of the house. Most of the paint on the old clapboards and railings was peeling, but the bright mauve front door was pristine, having been given a fresh coat just last winter when Maren had purchased the Inn.
She often found herself gazing out through the long windows, imagining the lives that had unfolded within the walls of this Victorian beauty. Several windows were outfitted with stained glass panels, and though dimmed by years of exposure, they still cast a kaleidoscope of colors when the morning sunlight filtered through.
The roof, crowned with a weather-beaten turret, added a touch of whimsy to the overall structure. Maren envisioned the turret as a symbol of the Inn's resilience, hoping that with care and dedication, its former glory could be reclaimed.
On any given day as Maren walked along the creaking wooden floors of the Inn's interior, she felt a sense of potential lingering in the air. Each room, adorned with antique furniture and wallpaper held a promise of renewal. The staircase, its banister worn smooth by countless hands that climbed up and down, hinted at the passage of time and the stories yet to unfold.
She dreamed of the day when she could breathe new life into its faded walls, restoring its former grandeur. For now, the Morning Glory Inn would have to await the transformation that Maren hoped to bring in the years to come.
Presently, Maren moved through the cozy rooms with purpose, a flurry of activity in preparation for the upcoming Valentine's Day weekend. It was no ordinary weekend at the Inn; all five guest rooms were booked for the hastily arranged wedding of her friend, Jasmine Carter.Hastily arranged, as in Jasmine had only met the guy six weeks ago.
Maren was both thrilled and concerned for her friend. Jasmine was known for her impulsive nature, and though Maren loved her dearly and wanted nothing but happiness for Jasmine, the rapid pace of events fueled her worry. Was this true love or a fleeting infatuation? Jasmine had been known for those as well.
Maren had tried to caution her friend: her longtime dream of a Valentine's Day wedding didn't have to bethis year. Her hesitantly voiced concerns had fallen on deaf ears. And then Maren had felt bad for nearly spoiling Jasmine's electric excitement.
She wassoin love. Just ask her. She'd tell you.
Having just supplied each guest room with fresh linens, towels, and complimentary toiletries, Maren next arranged fresh flowers in several common area locations. She delivered a tall arrangement of flowers, a mix of roses, lilies, and daisies, to the round table in the middle of the open foyer and then pausedonce again—for the third time this hour—to check her phone for an update on the weather.
A late winter storm was expected to sweep across Lake Erie, likely to dump several feet of snow over Willowbrook, an hour south of Buffalo, NY.
For the umpteenth time, Maren slid back the lace sheers in the front parlor and glanced across the street, beyond the smaller old homes and toward the lake, noting the clouds gathering ominously in the distance.
As if she didn't have enough to worry about, with a full house at the Inn and a wedding she had sincere reservations about, now this.
She prayed that the coming storm was not a sign of trouble for either the wedding or the marriage itself.
Determined to keep her worries at bay, Maren busied herself next in the spacious kitchen, where she started preparing tonight's planned meal.
The kitchen boasted a magnificent center island, its polished butcher-block countertop gleaming under the soft glow of pendant lights that were suspended overhead. Shelves lined with jars of spices and a rainbow assortment of fresh produce in baskets adorned the walls, while copper pots and pans dangled gracefully from a wrought-iron rack hanging from the ceiling.
It was only one o'clock and she was ahead of schedule, but the threatening storm had her feeling a bit frazzled. She immediately began trimming the asparagus and washed and de-stemmed mushrooms. The pork loin she would cook was already seasoned and waiting to go into the oven.
Thankfully, she had the Coffee Loft, from where she bought all her baked goods, including croissants and pastries for breakfast and cakes and tortes for evening desserts. She found cooking to be a more enjoyable experience because it allowed for more flexibility and room for mistakes. Baking, on the otherhand, was not her favorite since it required more precision and was less forgiving of errors. Thus, aside from her tiny, all-consuming addiction to coffee, she was regularly grateful for the proximity of the Coffee Loft.
If not for the Coffee Loft, she might never have discovered her love of the old house to which the cafe was attached, nor the opportunity to have the Morning Glory Inn as her own.
The Morning Glory Inn stood at the main intersection of Willowbrook, tucked back from the road beyond a spacious front yard, facing the main thoroughfare, Maple Street, and occupying two lots down along Harmony Place. Previous owners of the Victorian house, way back in the 1950s, had built an addition to accommodate their growing upholstery business. The addition had been added on the side street, beyond the old garage that was set back a ways from the house. It had seen many iterations over the years, different businesses come and gone from antique shops to art studios. Several years ago, the old addition was leased by a franchise owner of the Coffee Loft, and subsequently outfitted as a quaint cafe. Maren had worked at the Coffee Loft while making her way through college and had come to know and love the owner of the Morning Glory Inn, Eleanor Bellingham.
Affectionately known as Ellie B, Mrs. Bellingham was a spirited and enterprising woman who, in the 1980s, stumbled upon the neglected Victorian and saw beyond its worn facade. Inspired by a passion for hospitality and a keen eye for potential, she transformed the historic dwelling into the small town's first bed and breakfast.
For years, Ellie ran the bed and breakfast with a warm heart and an astute business sense. The Morning Glory Inn became synonymous with her welcoming personality, creating a home away from home for countless guests, most of whom visited in the summer months to enjoy all the beauty the Lake Erieshoreline had to offer. However, as the winters in upstate New York grew harsher, Ellie found herself yearning for a change.
When she turned seventy, Ellie decided to retire and trade the chilly northern winters for the warmth of Florida.
For a full year, Ellie B had used all her charm and cunning to convince Maren to take over ownership of the Morning Glory Inn, letting go of the legacy she had meticulously created. She sweetened the deal by offering to hold the papers on the mortgage, knowing that Maren would not have been able to secure a mortgage for such a large amount on her own. Though the Coffee Loft’s lease nearly covered the mortgage payment itself, Maren hadn’t the income at the time to convince a bank to give her a mortgage.
Ellie B now lived in Florida and occasionally exchanged letters and phone calls with Maren, offering snippets of advice seasoned with a touch of humor and nostalgia.
