Page 6 of Lovewell Lane

I waved my hand in the air despite her not being able to see me. “That’s beside the point. Honeyfield looks like a ghost town. I might have a harder time with the diner than I thought.”

“It’ll all work out. You’re Margo Sinclair, just win them over with your charming personality and heavenly baked goods. And if all else fails, toss those dirty brown curls at them and flutter your lashes. You’re a ten in Seattle, which means you must be at least a twenty in Honeyfield, Georgia.”

I rolled my eyes at the road in front of me. “Who am I going to charm? The telephone poles? There is no sign of life.”

“Farmers must have big appetites,” Scarlet pondered.

A row of pines stretching into the sky led me to my turn off of Sweethearts Street and onto the driveway of the place I was staying. I breathed out a sigh of relief that I was actually able to find the address. My shoulders relaxed into my seat when I saw that it didn’t look like a decrepit haunted mansion.

Just the opposite, actually. It was teeming with life. Even in the crisp wintertime, there was a carefully manicured garden of deep purple and green shrubbery in front of what I assumed to be the main house. In the distance, a wooden fence housed a handful of goats. Birds stopped at the water bath placed in front of a giant sprawling Oak tree that was clearly the best feature of the front yard.

“We’ll see. I have to go, I just got to my new place.”

“Send me pictures! And I want your impeccable sweater collection if you die,” she said before hanging up.

A three-hour long extensive search for apartments or homes available for rent in my new town provided limited options. Scarlet and I discovered that there was only one available room. Actually, there was an inn, but I needed something of my own. Someplace that I could plant my roots into this new adventure of mine. Which left me with one option that I found on AirBnB, and I was beginning to think that it was too good to be true.

I continued down the gravel driveway of the giant log cabin and followed the directions the renter gave me to pull around the back of the house. Once the intimidating wood formation was out of view, I found a darling guest house with climbing roses creeping up trellises that were situated on either side of the front door.

Another garden was bursting with life in the backyard of the big log cabin, which was my new front yard. Wind chimes created a beautiful tune in the air. The partially fenced in area had patio furniture and benches. The giant wrap around porch of the cabin had what looked like hand carved rocking chairs. It was an outdoor event waiting to happen, but notably empty of any other people.

At least if I was going to be murdered, I would spend my last few moments enjoying the view.

Unloading my trunk, I lifted my suitcase with a huff and headed toward the quaint house. I took in the view of acres of rolling fields beyond the edge of the yard. Underneath the ‘Welcome Home’ doormat, I found the key, and with a quick shimmy of it in the lock, I was in.

The inside of the guest house was a little less glamorous than the outside. And by a little, I meant a lot. It was dusty. Not that I had many options, but one of the draws to this place was that ithad a kitchen. But by the looks of it, this place was in no state to cook in.

I flipped the switch next to the door, only for the overhead light to flicker a couple of times and then go out completely. Positive thoughts. Rustic decor wassoin. The furniture was definitely vintage. Any grandmother could love that floral wallpaper.

Stiffly sitting down on the bed, I pulled out my phone. My message to the owner was short and sweet, and as I was ready to press send, a loud squawk sounded from underneath the bed frame.What the hell? How could anything possibly be living in here?I carefully knelt on the ground. As I got lower, I heard quiet chuffing sounds.

“Oh. My. God,” I declared to the empty air. As calmly as possible, I stood and jogged to the front door. While I could admire how cute they were, I had been afraid of birds my entire life. One flew in my face when I was a kid being nosey and peeking into their nest, and I’ve never tested their patience since.

Safely outside, I stood still. Staring at the front door. With a dumbfounded look on my face. This house was clearly already rented out to someone else, and I was not going to be the one to tell him to vacate the premises.

A tap on my elbow made me nearly jump out of my skin. My hand flew to my mouth to hold back a shriek.

“Hi,” a sweet voice said.

I turned to face a little girl with a relieved smile. “Hey.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Margo. I’m supposed to be living here,” I gestured to the guest house. “Do you have any parents around? I could use some help. I think one of your ducks is under my bed.”

That was definitely the first time I’d ever said that sentence.

The dark-haired little girl, probably around five years old, marched into the guest house. Within seconds, she cameback out holding the duck around its wings with his webbed feet dangling, and his little face looking very dejected. She unceremoniously dropped him near a patch of pansies on the side of the yard, like she’d done it a thousand times in her life.

“That’s just Ducky, he’s nice.”

Ducky nearly gave me a heart attack, but I wasn’t one to argue with a kid. “We should give him the Nobel Prize. Thanks for your help. What was your name?”

“Tessa,” she said.

And as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. I watched her trot back into the giant log cabin without a second glance at me, her small hand resting on the stair rail as she cleared the porch and went inside. I watched through the cabin’s oversized windows for a little longer, not entirely sure I didn’t imagine her until I saw an older man carry a plate over to meet her at what I assumed to be a dining table.

Weird.

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