Chapter 1
Date: May 30, 1868
Hatteras Island, Outer Banks, North Carolina
Emily Bennett was attempting to look like the respectable proprietor of a successful inn when a seagull flew through her open window.
For one bewildered second, she simply stared.
The seagull stared back.
Then it squawked.
Emily shrieked.
The seagull shrieked back.
Neither appeared pleased by the encounter.
The bird launched itself across the room in a frenzy of wings and feathers.
“Absolutely not.”
It swooped past her head.
Emily ducked.
The gull landed on her dresser.
Then immediately knocked over a hairbrush.
“Out.”
The bird remained exactly where it was.
Emily pointed toward the open window.
“You live outside.”
The seagull blinked.
Emily narrowed her eyes.
“Shoo.”
The bird took flight.
Straight toward her.
Emily grabbed the nearest pillow.
“Leave!”
She swung.
The pillow missed the gull entirely.
It did not miss the mirror.
The mirror crashed to the floor.
Glass shattered.
Silence followed.
The seagull landed on the windowsill.
Emily stared at the shattered mirror.
The gull stared at Emily.
Then, as though pleased with itself, it launched into the morning air and disappeared.
Emily looked back down at the broken glass.
She said something profoundly unladylike.
Seven years of bad luck.
On opening day.
The timing felt vindictive.
For months, Emily and her brother had poured every spare dollar, every ounce of effort into Mary-Bethany Bed and Breakfast.
Fresh blue paint still scented the air. Joel’s hand-carved sign hung proudly out front. Together, they had scrubbed, painted, repaired, furnished, and inspected every room so many times Emily could probably navigate the entire cottage blindfolded.
If opening day failed, there wasn’t a backup plan.
Everything they had left sat inside this cottage.
Fortunately, stubbornness had always been one of Emily Bennett’s stronger qualities.
A knock sounded against the open door.
Joel leaned against the frame with his arms crossed.
His gaze moved from the shattered mirror to the open window.
Then back to her.
“Should I ask?”
“You wouldn't believe it.”
“Try me.”
“A seagull attacked me.”
“Emily.”
“I didn’t start it.”
“The fact you feel compelled to say that concerns me.”
“It broke my mirror.”
“How in the world.”
Emily hesitated.
“A series of unfortunate decisions were made.”
Joel looked at the heap.
“This day is cursed.”
He sighed. “You don’t believe that.”
“The evidence is literally on the floor.”
Joel stepped into the room.
“Em, stop being dramatic. Wait, you chased a seagull with a pillow?”
“It started the conflict.”
Joel laughed.
The sound loosened something inside her chest.
She smiled.
“There she is.”
Emily blinked.
“Who?”
“The woman who has spent six months telling everyone this inn is going to succeed.”
Emily glanced at the broken glass.
“The woman who just lost an argument with a bird?”
“Yes. Her.”
A reluctant smile tugged at her mouth.
For one brief moment, he looked like the brother she remembered before the war. Before the fire. Before loss had carved quieter lines into his face.
The smile remained.
So did the grief.
Emily saw it sometimes.
In the quiet moments.
Emily’s gaze drifted briefly to his left hand.
The wedding band remained.
Three years later and it remained.
She could wrestle an entire future into existence through sheer stubbornness.
But she couldn’t fix this.
And she hated it.
Joel noticed where she was looking.
Without a word, he slipped his hand into his pocket.
Emily immediately looked away.
“Well?” She turned in a small circle. “Do I look like the respectable proprietor of a successful beachfront inn?”
Joel studied her with exaggerated seriousness.
“You look like a woman who may terrify the first guest into behaving.”
“Excellent.”
“You also look nervous.”
“I am not.”
Joel glanced pointedly at the shattered mirror.
“The mirror suggests otherwise.”
“The mirror is part of the problem.”
“Of course it is.”
She smacked his arm.
He offered his elbow.
“Come on. Ruth has breakfast waiting.”
Emily linked her arm through his.
“Good. If the curse intends to destroy me, I would prefer to face it on a full stomach.”
The smell of bacon and coffee greeted them halfway down the stairs.
Emily immediately felt better.
Most problems could not survive bacon.
The kitchen was already bustling with activity.
Ruth set a basket of warm biscuits on the table while Boaz carried in a pot of coffee.
“Morning, Miz Emily,” Ruth called.
“Morning.”
Emily immediately reached for a biscuit.
Ruth smacked her hand away.
Emily froze.
“How did you know?”
“Mothers always know.”
“You are not my mother.”
“Mmhm.”
Emily frowned.
Boaz chuckled.
Joel looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“This household has become oppressive.”
“This household has become honest,” Joel replied.
“Traitor.”
“Frequently.”
A few minutes later everyone settled around the table.
Emily glanced from face to face.
Joel.
Ruth.
Boaz.
Family.
Not by blood.
But family all the same.
Life had taken enough people from her already.
She intended to hold tightly to the ones who remained.
After grace, everyone dug in.
Emily immediately reached for coffee.
Joel took the cup away.
“No.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Excuse me?”
“That would be your third cup.”
“My second.”
“Boaz?”
Boaz didn’t even look up from his plate.
“Third.”
Emily pointed accusingly.
“You were supposed to support me.”
“I support the truth.”
“Traitor.”
“Frequently.”
Ruth laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.
The laughter spread around the table.
For a few precious moments, the kitchen felt warm and normal.
Like everything might actually work out.
Emily watched Joel laugh at something Boaz said.
There he was.
The man who used to laugh easily.
It reminded Emily of her two remaining goals.
Make the inn successful.
Find Joel a wife.
Someone kind.
Someone capable of reminding her brother there was still life ahead of him.
The second mission might actually be harder.
The front bell chimed.
Every person at the table froze.
Silence swallowed the room.
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
The bell chimed again.
Emily shot to her feet.
“I’ve got it!”
Her hip clipped the table.
Coffee sloshed across the tablecloth.
Boaz snatched his plate out of the way.
Ruth sighed.
Emily didn’t stop.
Behind her, Joel rubbed a hand across his face.
“Remarkably consistent.”
She hurried through the hallway.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
First guest.
First impression.
First chance to prove they hadn’t made a terrible mistake moving to the Outer Banks.
She smoothed her skirt.
Lifted her chin.
And forced herself to slow down before she crashed through the foyer like a runaway horse.
Professional.
Respectable.
Competent.
The words repeated in her head as she approached the sign-in podium.
Opening day.
Everything they had worked for began now.
Emily stepped behind the podium.
Adjusted the guest register.
Straightened a stack of brochures.
Checked the ink well.
Then checked it again.
The broken mirror flashed briefly through her mind.
Nonsense.
The inn was not cursed.
A pair of boots crossed the foyer floor.
Emily inhaled.
She looked up.
A man stood on the opposite side of the podium.
He looked more suited to wrestling storms than checking into a bed-and-breakfast.
Sunlight spilled through the front windows and caught strands of brown hair touched by gold.
His blue eyes were brighter than the ocean beyond the windows.
And they were fixed directly on her.
The stranger’s mouth curved into the faintest smile.
Not arrogant.
Not quite.
But close.
Emily forgot every word she had practiced.
Every single one.
The carefully rehearsed greeting vanished.
The welcome speech disappeared.
Even her own name seemed questionable.
The man waited.
Amusement flickered in those impossible blue eyes.
As though he knew exactly what had happened.
And somehow found it entertaining.
No stranger should be allowed to smile like that before breakfast.
Emily’s heart gave one hard, traitorous thump.
“What is your name?” she asked.
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Mr. Wright.”
Emily blinked.
Then laughed.
“Well, now you’re just showing off.”
