“You’ve been a doctor, Jess, which I’m guessing means you’re hella smart. I’m pretty sure you can handle running an inn.”

I felt a little bubble of excitement at the thought. After all, Bailey loved her work here at the inn. And I did love the inn. Maybe this was what I was looking for. “Okay.” I grinned. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Yay!” Bailey bounced on the bed. “Right. Your vacation ends in a few days, so we’ll start then.”

“Brilliant. Thank you.”

“What are friends for?”

“I’ve got so much to do. I need to quit my job for a start.”

Bailey frowned. “What if they don’t give you a reference for quitting without notice?”

“They probably won’t give me a reference.” I knew I should be worried about that, considering there was a chance I might need to return to medicine, but I was suddenly terrified of the prospect of returning to Wilmington. If I went back to work out my two weeks’ notice, I knew there was a chance I’d convince myself all over again that my life there was all I deserved. I’d chicken out and I wouldn’t come back to Hartwell.

“Maybe you should go back for a few weeks. I’ll hold your job here.”

I shook my head, adamant. “I can’t go back.”

My friend suddenly took on this fierce expression. “Is something going on that I don’t know about? Are you afraid to go back there?”

Yes. But not for the possible reasons she was conjuring in her head. So I gave her a little truth. “If I go back, I know I might chicken out. If I go back, I might not do it. Quit, I mean. There’s a possibility I’d stay.”

Bailey relaxed. “I get it. I know I’ve been all blasé and excited about you staying, but I realize what a huge decision this is. It’s only natural that there is a part of you questioning if this is a crazy move. So I get it. And I wouldn’t go back, either.”

“Thanks. I feel terrible letting them down at the prison, but I’m not the only doctor working there . . .”

“Sometimes you have to be a little selfish in life.”

Guilt swirled in my belly. “Right.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re not coming back, you quit your job, and you want me to pack up your apartment for you?” Fatima yelled through the phone at me a few hours later.

I’d already called the hiring manager to let him know I was faxing through my resignation. He hadn’t been too pleased, but I tried to ease my guilt by reminding myself that there were two doctors at the prison who could step up while they found a new primary physician. In fact, Dr. Whitaker would probably be gleeful about it.

Still, it didn’t leave me feeling good. I’d never acted irresponsibly in my entire adult life.

“What the hell do you mean?” Fatima repeated at my silence.

I cleared my throat. “I mean that I’m staying in Hartwell.”

“What the hell for?”

“I like it here. I like the people. The lifestyle is very different from what I’ve been used to in Wilmington. I’ve made fast friends here. There’s this crazy lovable inn owner; and Emery the sweet, shy bookstore owner; and this really hot, sexy, nice—so goddamn nice—bar owner. And there’s Old Archie, and Iris and Ira, and Tom, and Vaughn, who is a very interesting character, and I want to meet Cat and Joey and Dahlia and—”

“Jesus, woman, is this place trapped in a time vortex or something? Has three weeks to me been three years to you?”

I laughed, but it came out sounding sad. “You are the one person I am going to miss, Fatima.”

“My God, you are serious, aren’t you?”

“Before I got here, you were trying to tell me something. You were trying to tell me that my life was empty. And it turns out you were right. I can’t do anything about it back in Wilmington. But I think I’ve got a chance of filling my life up with good things here in Hartwell.”

She was quiet a moment as she thought about this. “You’ve got a job at the inn you’re staying at, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Think maybe you can get discounts?”

I smiled and my mood lifted. “Probably.”

“Then I’ll pack up your apartment for you. But this isn’t good-bye, Jess. When I get vacation time I’m coming to see what’s so great about this place that has won you over.”

“That sounds great.”

“Quitting your job and moving to a new town after only three weeks for a hot guy—yeah, I heard that part—you’re a crazy woman. The craziest. How come I never knew how crazy you are? You are a riot. A frickin’ riot . . .”

I let her babble on, laughing to myself the whole time.

I’d surprised her.

But more than that, I’d surprised me.

And it felt good.

“Uh-oh,” Bailey said as soon as I came downstairs to the kitchen.

It was my first time in there, but I figured since I was going to be working there I should get to know the workings of the place.

A curvy woman with black hair stood beside Bailey, staring at me. This was Mona, the chef, and we’d met briefly a few times over the course of the last few weeks. Mona was hard to miss. Every time I’d seen her she’d been wearing a head scarf with a large knot in the top. She wore oversized black-framed glasses and bright red lipstick, and when she wasn’t in her chef’s whites, she wore overalls. She was like a 1940s war propaganda poster for female industrial workers.