“No. Plenty of time for that later.”

“Probably good to have some of my lemonade before that visit,” Miss Gina said.

The red pitcher sat on a silver serving tray begging for attention. “Let me wash my hands.”

From the floral wallpaper to the scented soap she’d expected at the bed-and-breakfast, Zoe smiled into the feeling of home. No matter where she had landed in the past decade, nothing felt like Miss Gina’s.

She returned to the parlor and accepted the tall glass of “lemonade.” The vodka infused lemonade, or perhaps it was better to call it lemon infused vodka, tasted better than any cocktail at the fanciest restaurant in Dallas. “Is it me, or is this the best stuff ever?”

“It’s the best.” Mel toasted her glass. “I’m getting married!”

Zoe could see how the weekend was going to go.

“So what is the plan?”

Mel set her glass down. “Wyatt’s parents are flying in tomorrow. My dad is coming the night of the party.”

Zoe was a little surprised. “Have your parents met Wyatt?”

“We met my mom in Eugene at Christmastime, my dad was here for the . . .” Mel’s voice trailed off. She glanced at her daughter, who played with the dog, half listening to their conversation.

Mel mouthed the word trial.

The silence in the room became apparent, and Hope glanced up from playing with the dog to find the three of them staring at her. The man who had lured Hope away from the bed-and-breakfast and left her to die on the side of a cliff was standing trial for kidnapping, attempted murder, and murder charges for the death of Hope’s father. Zoe knew there had been a pretrial and also knew that it would probably be over a year before the courts knew what to do with the man. He was wanted in London, which was trying to extradite him back to his home country. The Oregon courts didn’t want to risk him going home and slipping through the British system. It helped that Wyatt’s father was a high-powered criminal attorney, usually on the defense, but in this case more than happy to switch teams and go for the dirtbag’s throat.

The three of them resumed the conversation, omitting any mention of the trial.

“So your dad is coming but not your mom.”

“No, she said the wedding would be soon enough to see my dad.”

“For God’s sake, it’s been ten years.” Miss Gina slugged back a big portion of the contents of her glass.

“Eleven,” Zoe corrected her.

“Even better. Remind me to smack your mom when I see her.”

Zoe laughed. “You’re gonna have to stand in line, Miss Gina.”

“Just do it after the wedding. No drama before.”

It was nice to see her friend glowing.

“So what are you and Wyatt thinking? Church, garden . . . courthouse steps?” The last suggestion produced the look Zoe was going for.

“Bite your tongue.”

“Well?”

“We’d like a garden wedding . . . but the weather is unpredictable.”

“So a church?”

“I suggested a tent,” Miss Gina added her thoughts. “If nature wants to sprinkle your special day with liquid sunshine, you have a place to hide . . . if the sun comes out to play, you open up the sides and enjoy the shade.”

“I think we need to come up with a guest list before we decide. Wyatt’s family has a lot of need to invites.”

“Half of River Bend will expect to find an invite in the local paper.”

“Have you seen my backyard?” Miss Gina added. “There’s plenty of room.”

It was vast, even with the guesthouse she’d commissioned Wyatt to build last summer. Beyond the few acres designated to the bed-and-breakfast was a lot of open space. The closest home to the Victorian was a mile away.

“We have a lot to consider,” Mel said. “Besides, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. This weekend is about our engagement. We have time to talk wedding after this first party.”

“So where are we holding this shindig?”

Miss Gina rolled her eyes. “Here, of course. I was thinking cocktails, appetizers. I liked those shrimp puffs you made last year.”

“Who said I was cooking?”

“Don’t start with me, girly. I have the kitchen all stocked with your favorites, and this one”—she hooked a thumb in Mel’s direction—“doesn’t cook, and everything Sam touches is fried or overbaked.” Sam owned the local diner and only real restaurant in town.

“There are plenty of cooks in River Bend,” Zoe offered one last argument, not that she’d relinquish her spot in Miss Gina’s kitchen for anything.

“Yeah, but there is only one chef.”

The No Vacancy sign was posted at the entry to Miss Gina’s property and then again on the front door. The rooms slowly filled up with family and close friends the day before the engagement party.

Miss Gina refused payment for the rooms but happily accepted the helping hands of those there for the event.

Hope ran around like the perfect little hostess, happy with the attention bestowed upon her.

Zoe had been in River Bend just over twenty-four hours before she left Miss Gina’s to visit her own mother.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love the woman; she did . . . but as the oldest child, Zoe always felt as if the roles between them were somewhat reversed. She’d been forced to take care of her younger siblings early in life. Helped her mom with a budget, something Sheryl was notoriously bad at, and the cooking and cleaning when her mother worked long hours.