Chapter 2
TARA
The morning of the wedding rehearsal dawned with the kind of light that made Blueberry Hill magical—sun warm on the lake, sky clear and impossibly blue.
Tara Bedford stood in the center of the inn’s future garden, hands on her hips, surveying the patch of earth she and Will had been coaxing back to life.
Patty would have loved this spot.
The thought came softly, like the brush of wind against her cheek. It no longer knocked the breath out of her the way it once had, but it still carried a weight that settled deep in her chest.
“Are you sure about the roses?” Will asked behind her, his voice warm and patient. “They’ll thrive, but the deer might think we planted a salad bar.”
Tara glanced over her shoulder at him. Even in an old T-shirt and work boots, he was handsome in that rugged, mountain-man way she was still getting used to calling hers. “Patty loved roses,” she said simply. “Especially the climbing kind.”
He nodded, as if that settled it. “Then roses it is.”
He stepped closer and slipped an arm around her waist, his presence grounding her.
The olc Harrison place—soon to be The Blueberry Inn—stretched proudly behind them.
It had a wide porch, tall windows, and newly painted shutters.
It still needed plenty of work, but for the first time she could truly see it coming together.
A respite for guests, a gathering place for the town.
A future she hadn’t imagined even a year ago.
She leaned into Will for a moment, letting the warmth of him settle her. After the past week of wedding prep, flower deliveries, misguided Pinterest inspiration from her daughter, Ally, and one minor meltdown over whether the chairs should face the lake or the garden, she needed this steady quiet.
“What do you think?” she asked, stepping away to gesture at the little corner she’d claimed for Patty’s Garden. “Lavender here, rosemary there. Forget-me-nots along the path.”
“It’s perfect,” Will said. “Peaceful.”
That was the word she’d kept coming back to. Peace. For herself. For guests. And for anyone who needed a moment of stillness.
For Patty.
Tara crouched and dug her fingers into the soil. Rich, dark, waiting. “Let’s plant the first rosebush before everyone arrives. I want it in the ground before the chaos starts.”
Will handed her the pot without question.
As she eased the rosebush into place, the scent of fresh earth mixed with the faint sweetness of the petals.
Something in her tightened—not grief exactly, but a tender ache of gratitude and longing all tangled up.
Patty had been her best friend for thirty years.
Losing her had felt like losing a limb. But this garden …
it felt like a promise. A way to make sure the memory of her laughter, her stubborn optimism, her relentless belief that Tara deserved happiness—didn’t fade with time.
“Hey!” Ally’s voice called from the side gate. “Is this where you want the flower buckets? Also, Ryan says the arch is leaning to the left, but he’s fifteen and sees the world sideways, so I wouldn’t listen to him.”
Tara stood, brushing soil from her hands. “Good morning to you too.”
Ally trotted over, ponytail bouncing. She wore an apron over her shorts, and the pockets were stuffed with ribbons and what looked like a half-finished boutonniere.
“Christina’s on her way, she had a doctor’s appointment this morning.
And Sam’s bringing the watercolor place cards she made. They are so good, you’re going to die.”
Tara smiled. “She’s a great kid.”
Ally’s expression softened. “She really is.”
Will straightened the arch behind them, pretending not to listen, but his grin gave him away.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and Tara turned to see Evan and Emily approaching hand in hand, baby Grace strapped to Emily’s chest in a floral carrier. Grace’s tiny fist poked out the side, waving like she was greeting the garden herself.
“Someone was up early,” Emily said, bouncing slightly as Grace made a contented squeak.
“She’s just excited for Nana’s wedding,” Tara teased, though her stomach fluttered in that familiar way it had ever since the kids started calling her Nana half-jokingly. It still amazed her how they’d all come together, here in Blueberry Hill, after being scattered across the country for years.
Evan kissed her cheek. “It’s looking good out here. Mom, I think you might actually pull this off.”
Tara snorted. “Your confidence is appreciated, even if it’s just a bit misplaced.”
“You’re doing great,” Emily said warmly. “And the cottage looks beautiful. Christina’s really settled in.”
Tara’s face softened. “She needed space. And so did Ryan.”
She didn’t elaborate, but Emily nodded. They both knew Ryan was blossoming in ways none of them expected—friends his own age, gaming nights, Will’s carpentry lessons. He was still brilliant, still a little too old and too young all at once, but he was finding his equilibrium.
“Speaking of the cottage,” Will said, “I need to grab the toolbox from the truck before Ryan takes it apart to build a robot.”
Evan laughed. “Too late. I think he’s already drawing schematics.”
“Let him,” Tara said fondly. “Robots don’t scare me anymore.”
Everyone laughed—because they all remembered the incident with the flying drone and the cake.
While they talked, Tara kept glancing at the rosebush she’d just planted. Sunlight warmed its petals, making them glow. She pressed a hand briefly to her heart.
“I think Patty would approve,” she whispered.
Will heard her. He always did. He reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
They worked together for the next half hour—placing flower buckets, tying ribbons, arguing over whether Ally’s wildflower arrangements were “rustic” or “chaotic,” and dodging baby Grace’s attempts to grab everything within reach. The garden filled slowly with color and laughter.
Just as Tara stepped back to assess their progress, she spotted Christina walking up the path with Angus trotting beside her.
She carried a small bag in one hand—probably snacks, because Christina never seemed to stop being hungry these days—and a faint weariness around her eyes that Tara recognized instantly.
“Everything okay?” Tara asked as she greeted her daughter with a hug.
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just tired. And hungry. And swollen. But the appointment went well.”
“Did Violet show off?” Emily asked.
“She always does,” Christina said, a hand drifting to her belly.
Angus nudged Tara’s leg, demanding attention in his typical gentle way.
Tara scratched behind his ears. “You taking care of our girl?”
He barked once, proudly.
For a moment, everything felt perfect—dappled sunlight, friends and family bustling around, fresh flowers, the scent of soil and rosemary drifting up in the warmth of the morning.
Then Christina’s gaze slid toward the house—The Blueberry Inn—sitting proudly under the sunlight, its reflection shimmering in the water.
“You’ll have guests here in no time,” Christina said. “It’s beautiful, Mom.”
Tara’s throat tightened. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
But as Christina straightened a ribbon on the arch, Tara noticed it—something too tense, too quiet, lingering beneath her daughter’s smile.
She’d seen that look before. Right after Tara’s ex-husband, Harry, denied Ryan.
And when her daughter knocked her father off his pedestal after finding out the truth about everything he’d done.
He’d always been her favorite, but not anymore, now she saw him for who he truly was.
There was a storm brewing behind Christina’s clear eyes.
Tara opened her mouth to ask about it—but Ally appeared at her elbow carrying a stack of watercolor place cards.
“Look at what Sam made!” she said, fanning them out.
They were beautiful—delicate washes of color, tiny painted blueberries, each guest’s name in careful script.
“She’s amazing,” Tara breathed.
“I know,” Ally said proudly. “And she’s teaching her first watercolor class in the fall to other high school kids. I told her I’d sign up just to annoy her.”
Everyone laughed again, and for a little while, the moment shifted. But Tara didn’t forget the flicker she’d seen on Christina’s face.
Not fear exactly. More like something knocking at a door she wasn’t ready to open.
The rehearsal went on with the usual chaos—Evan nearly tripped over the arch, Ally lost a ribbon for the tenth time, Sam arrived with iced coffees and glitter on her cheek, and Will insisted everything was “fine” even though he looked like he wanted to rebuild the entire setup from scratch.
It was exactly the kind of joyful, messy morning Tara had always imagined but never thought she’d get.
But every so often, she caught Christina staring out toward the lake, one hand on her belly, her expression far away.
Tara filed it away. After the rehearsal, they would talk.
Later, when the last chair was placed and baby Grace finally fell asleep, Tara stood alone in Patty’s Garden as the breeze stirred the new rosebush. She knelt, touching the soil gently.
“Watch over them, okay?” she whispered. “All of them.”
Sunlight warmed her shoulders. Tomorrow was her wedding. A new beginning. A chance to build something lasting.
But even in the comfort of that thought, she felt it. Change was coming. Some good. Some hard. All inevitable.
And in her heart, Tara knew one thing for certain—Christina’s secret wasn’t going to stay quiet forever.