also expressed gratitude for good things that hadn’t happened yet, but she thought—or at least hoped—would come into her life. She’d read in a book once that having faith like that would actually lead to good things happening. So she added, “I’m thankful someone is about to publish my children’s stories.”
She tried to believe this. After eleven rejections, it wasn’t easy. But staying positive had worked for her before. A couple of years ago, she’d been living in an awful apartment, and she’d envisioned having a cute little house of her own. At the time, she’d expected that such a thing could only happen far in the future…and then almost immediately, she’d found this two-bedroom cabin for rent, at a price she could actually afford. Her parents had believed it was an answered prayer.
She didn’t even care about the scuffed brown linoleum floor in the kitchen, the rust stains in the bathroom sink, the few missing tiles above the bathtub, or even the draftiness in winter. She couldn’t have afforded it otherwise.
“I’m thankful for this day,” she concluded. Yes, she’d already said it once, but it was worth repeating. It was Monday, her favorite.
She looked at her watch. The cupcakes in the oven needed to bake fifteen more minutes, so she might as well at least make a start on her gardening project. Her brand-new spade, a big bag of garden soil, and a sack of tulip bulbs waited on the patio. It was the perfect spot to plant them, where they’d get morning sunshine. Until recently, a big pine tree had shaded this part of the yard, but it had fallen over in a winter ice storm. She’d been sorry to lose it, but it had left a perfect, sunny spot for flowers. She’d plant pink, purple, orange, and yellow ones, all mixed together. They’d reflect the colors of the sunrise.
She smiled as she thrust the spade into the earth, right alongside the patio. The scent of the dirt reached her nose as she dug a shallow trench.
“Good morning!”
She looked up to see her landlord and next-door neighbor walking across his backyard toward her. He was warmly dressed in a fleece pullover and jeans, and he moved with a surprising amount of energy for a man in his late seventies.
“Hi, Harry!” she said. “Did you get a haircut?”
He passed a hand over his gray hair. “No, I got them all cut.” He laughed, as he always did at his own corny jokes, and she laughed, too. As he reached her, he gestured toward the ground. “Whatcha doing here?”
“Oh! I was planting some bulbs.” Harry’s brows drew together, and belatedly, she realized she hadn’t actually asked his permission. He couldn’t object, could he? They’d be an improvement to the property, coming back year after year. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“I was just surprised, since you’re only renting.”
She smiled and placed another bulb in the ground. “Well, this place feels like home.”
Instead of looking happy for her, Harry grimaced. “I can never look at this place without thinking about Judy. She had big plans for it.”
Her heart ached at his mention of his late wife. Soon after moving in, Paige had learned that Harry’s wife had died the year before after a brief bout with pancreatic cancer. She and Harry had bought the cabin then, renting it out and planning to remodel it someday.
“I wish I could’ve met her,” Paige said.
“I miss having breakfast with her,” he said. “And I didn’t always think about how nice that was, at the time.”
Oh, her heart. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing like being with someone you love. If you get the chance…” He trailed off.
She didn’t care to discuss her single status. “Maybe someday,” she said, her tone light.
Harry nodded. “How are things with your agent?” he asked in a more upbeat voice. “Did she find a publisher?”
Inwardly, Paige cringed. No doubt Harry had been trying to change the subject to something more comfortable to her, but this was anything but.
When she’d first gotten her agent, Alexis Boyd at Glimmer Literary Agency, Paige had told everyone. She’d been sure a publishing deal for her children’s books was right around the corner—that it would take a couple of months, perhaps.
How could she have been so naïve? That had been eight months ago. Since then, she’d received several emails from Alexis, telling her about publishers who’d passed on her work. Alexis had gotten her to revise the stories based on some of the feedback, but that hadn’t made a difference.
It had been quite a while since Alexis had even emailed. Pasting a smile on her face, Paige gave the same answer as before. “Maybe someday.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Well, I…I actually came over here to talk to you about something.” He looked down at his shoes. “You know your lease is up next month.”
“Right.” Paige had signed two one-year leases with him, both for the same monthly rent. Maybe he wanted to raise it. It would pinch a little, but she couldn’t complain.
“The truth is, I’m going to be selling the cabin.”
“What?” Paige’s whole body went cold, as though the life had drained out of it. My cabin. Her sweet little haven. She’d even started writing a story about it.
Harry managed to look Paige in the eye. “I’m required to give you thirty days’ notice to move out, but once it’s sold, I’ll give you forty-five days.”
That was more than fair, she knew, but she felt betrayed.
“My daughter thinks I should move down to Albuquerque and be closer to them,” he said. “I’ve been dragging my feet. I’ve got a lot of memories around here. But a friend of mine asked about buying my house, and I decided it was time. I’m working with an agent to sell the cabin, too. I’d love to see more of those grandkids.”
Paige softened, forgetting about her own predicament. “And I’m sure they’d love having you around.” Harry was probably about the nicest grandpa on earth. She was glad he’d be close to his family. He belonged there. And while she wished he would keep the cabin and rent it to her from afar, it was probably easier for him to sell. “Of course you have to go.” There was no sense making him feel guiltier about it. A hopeful thought occurred to her. “Do you think you might sell it to someone else who wants to keep renting it to me?”
“I asked the agent that. Anything’s possible, but he doesn’t think it’s likely. We’ll see.” Harry looked thoughtful. “I just hope it goes to someone who appreciates the place.”
A screeching noise from inside the cabin gave her a jolt. The smoke alarm. The cupcakes! “Oh, my gosh!”
She turned and sprinted into the house. The scent of burning cake filled her nostrils. She snatched a potholder, yanked the oven door open, and winced at the smoke pouring out of it. The cupcakes in the baking tin she pulled out looked like smoldering chunks of charcoal. As the smoke alarm continued to blare, she flung open the kitchen window—and met Harry’s appalled gaze.
This was bad. She’d ruined the birthday treats, and she was probably going to make him worry that she’d burn the
