After showing me to a glorious room, complete with floral printed linens and an incredible antique iron bed that was overflowing with pillows and downy quilts, my weekend hostess continued her surprises by bringing me a pair of jeans, a soft flannel shirt and a pair of cowboy boots. It seemed they hadn’t been worn and yet they were comfortable as if someone had walked a hundred miles in them to soften the leather. Most surprising of all was that everything fit as if it had been made just for me.

“I’ve brought you some supper,” Coco called through the door, as she knocked again.

I click clacked to the door in my boots to answer it. For the briefest, strange moment, as I opened the door, I was sure Coco’s face looked older, with fine lines and creases around her eyes and mouth. Then the faint wrinkles faded. I pushed the incident out of my head when she walked past with a plate of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and coleslaw.

“Figured you’d be hungry after a long day at work.”

“I am. Although I’ve already had dessert.” I chuckled. “Best cupcake I’ve ever had, by the way.”

“My theory on dessert is you should eat it whenever the need for sweet happiness arises. And, Becca, I know you’ve been through some unhappiness lately. I can see it in your eyes. So, I think dessert first is completely justified.” Coco lowered the plate onto the small table sitting in front of an upholstered window seat. She drew back the heavy drapes. A silver moon shined through the wavy glass pane.

“Is it really still that obvious? That I’ve been through something? I was hoping it didn’t show much anymore.”

“It’s starting to fade, I think. This weekend might just erase it for good.”

There was no possible way she knew what had gone on in my personal life, but with the way she looked at me, it seemed she knew just what I was feeling. She really was a remarkable person.

The aroma of her fried chicken was making me nearly dizzy with hunger. I walked to the window seat and looked down at the crispy golden chicken and fluffy mashed potatoes. A dollop of butter melted in the center of the potatoes like a golden pool in the crater of a mountain.

“This reminds me of my grandfather’s cooking. He made fried chicken that could make your mouth water just thinking about it. Thank you for this. It’s bringing back memories that I needed to find. I hadn’t lost them, after all. I’d just been too busy to reminisce.”

“I’m glad then. Everyone needs to hold on to the things that matter most. Even a broken heart can’t take them away. It’s those little, nostalgic moments, those epiphanies, that keep us grounded and happy.”

She took a breath and beamed excitedly down at my outfit. “You look great, by the way. Like a girl ready to sling a mucking fork and look darn sexy doing it.”

I laughed. “Well, I don’t know about darn sexy, but the boots and jeans will definitely work better in a barn. I’m looking forward to the familiar sights and sounds.”

“And smells,” she added.

“I know this sounds nutty, but I’ve always been comforted by the animal smells.” I rocked back on my heels to lift the toes of the boots. They were two toned leather beauties with an intricate pattern and stitching. “These are beautiful. They remind me of a pair I grew up in. I had them so worn out, they were more like socks than leather boots by the time I shelved them for good. Not that I wanted to give them up, but when the rocks started seeping in through the holes I knew it was time to let them go. I still have them in my closet.”

After yet another stroll down memory lane, I sat down to the plate of food. “I know you call this an inn, but where do the horses come in?” I lifted a drumstick to my mouth and took my first glorious bite.

“Horseback riding is one of the activities we offer at the Silk Stocking Inn. I hired Jackson recently to look after the horses. He was in need of a place to stay.”

I swallowed fast, nearly choking on the bite. “He stays here? At the inn?”

“For now. My needs and this place change a lot. Let’s just say, I like to adapt activities to my clientele.” Something about the twinkle in her eye told me there was more to the statement than just changing things up a bit. “Although, cupcakes are standard. Sometimes it seems as if the Silk Stocking Inn was built up around a batch of cupcakes. Like the chicken and egg conundrum. What came first—the cupcake or the inn? Either way, they are both here to stay.” She took a deep breath. “And so are you, for the next few days. So enjoy. I’ll point you in the direction of the barn when you’re finished with your plate.” She headed to the door, opened it and then looked back at me. “And, Becca, remember everything happens for a reason.” She walked out and closed the door.