The duplex Kira inherited on Chapel Street was cozy, clean, and charming. It offered mirror images of the exact same layout, side by side. Each consisted of a small kitchen and dining area, a modest-sized front room, two bedrooms, and one bath—her favorite part being the claw-foot tub and pedestal sink. It was delightful. And though Kira had only moved in the day before, she was already enjoying her favorite thing about the place—the large windows.

Generous amounts of morning sun poured into the kitchen from the east, illuminating the bright cabinets and natural wood with its heavenly glow. In the afternoon before the sun set, its rich brilliance seeped into every visible nook of the front room, drenching it with vibrant color and warmth. But best of all, the duplex reminded Kira of her beloved Papa. The little nook by the window where he’d read to her before bed. The hallway he’d lumbered down with a paper bag over his head while growling like a monster. And then more recent memories when she came to shadow him at the studio. Sitting at the quaint little breakfast nook, chatting over a mug of coffee.

In the week following his funeral, Papa’s sisters had cleared out his clothing and personal items before hiring a cleaning crew to finish up. She’d been grateful to see that—along with the furnishings and linens—they’d left familiar blankets she remembered curling up in by the gas fireplace. And the lacy curtains that reminded her of Grandma.

Kira shook her head. She could hardly believe he’d really left the place to her. His Kira Kira and no one else. Her mind drifted back to the moment the will was read. Marissa had implied that Kira could only take over because she didn’t have a life to leave behind. That might not have been a fair statement—considering that Kira had a job, an apartment, and a handful of close friends—but truthfully, Kira hadn’t been living a life she would miss a whole lot. She felt more as if she were in limbo. That she’d been waiting for her real life to start. Perhaps now it could.

She dumped a fresh load of laundry onto the massive wool rug by the window and plopped down beside it. With her back strategically to the morning sun, Kira soaked up the heat as she folded towels and washcloths. She’d poured in a generous amount of Downey, a scent that reminded her of pairing socks and folding towels with Grandma before she passed.

God, thanks for giving me those memories. Thanks for giving me this chance. Help me not to mess it up … The words “like I do everything else” trailed off in her mind. No, she refused to drag her past around the quaint town of Cobble Creek. Today was a new day, and she could hardly wait to explore it.

With the calming sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata drifting through the kitchen, she stacked the freshly folded linens into the wicker basket and proceeded to make a numbered to-do list. As a collector of notepads, Kira had dozens to choose from. Today’s featured a cartoon drawing of a businesswoman in a skirt suit with red heels and a matching purse. Instead of the usual “to-do list” topping each sheet, this notepad read: “Things I’ll Tackle Today.” It felt appropriate, considering her new venture.

1. Introduce myself to the tenants next door. She was their new landlord, after all. Weird—she couldn’t imagine herself fitting the part.

2. Check out the studio. Kira needed to see what Papa had in the way of backdrops and props and see what she’d like to add to the collection to make it more of her own.

3. Find volunteers to take studio test shots. It had been a while, after all. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d pulled out her camera and she’d need a quick refresh on settings and make sure her flash would sync to the lights in the studio.

3. Buy coffee. Immediately. And groceries.

4. Get business booming before Marissa visits in May.

The last item on her list would get transferred to each subsequent list Kira made out as the days passed by, seeing that it was close to three months away. But she needed to stay focused. And impressing her sister—proving to her family that she could be successful here in Cobble Creek—would be all the incentive she’d need. After the reading of Papa’s will, Mom, Dad, and Marissa put on happy faces. They’d even mustered a few strangled words of encouragement. But the fear on their faces was as undeniable as it was legible: Why would Papa Moretti set Kira up for a failure so big?

But she wouldn’t fail. She refused to.

With the list tucked into her purse, Kira wedged her feet into a pair of black leather pumps. She’d settled on the same type of outfit she’d worn while shooting runway photos: skinny black pants and a matching blazer over a white, lacy camisole. The shoes, of course, would offer the same sort of sophistication. Not too high or flashy. Practical, but elegant. Her mom might call them classy, but since the woman had abused the term on so many levels, Kira had cut it out of her vocabulary completely.

As she locked the front door, Kira caught sight of an old sedan parked out front of the unit beside hers. According to the lease, the tenant was a single mom with an eight-year-old boy. Kira swept a hand over her slicked-back hair and repositioned her backpack purse over one shoulder. Maybe the woman and her boy were sleeping in. It was Saturday, after all. Better to wait and introduce herself when she got back.

Kira strutted toward her red, compact car instead, eyes widening as she noticed something she hadn’t expected. “Ice? In March?” Wasn’t all of that supposed to go away after Christmas or Valentine’s Day? Sure, she’d noticed the cold air on her face and fingers, but this was proof that winter—at least in Cobble Creek—was hanging on for dear life. She cringed, her footsteps slowing as she took in the thick layer of frost coating the windshield. Seemed impossible with the sun shining so brightly. Of course, this side of the duplex wouldn’t see the sun until later. This was definitely different from Vegas. No worries. She’d warm up the car, let the wipers scrape off the frost, and tackle the other items on her list.

* * *

Anthony wiped down the countertop, eyes drifting over the faces in the booths. The folks of Cobble Creek had called Tony’s Diner home for a whole lot of years. It felt like family, and he was grateful to be a part of it. Usually the patrons were fairly diverse where age was concerned, but it seemed as if he’d posted a sign out front his window that morning: newlyweds only. Hand-holding, food-sharing, and flirting required. It wasn’t that he minded being surrounded by the happy couples. Heck, the recent chain of back-to-back marriages in Cobble Creek had given him hope. Women really were still vowing to spend their lives with someone. Seeking a loving, devoted union. They just weren’t looking to make those vows with him.

He dropped the washcloth into the bleach bin and leaned his back against the counter. Tables five, seven, and nine held three of Cobble Creek’s newest couples. Bear and Maddie Schaefer sat with their new little addition bundled in a carrying seat that was covered by a blanket sporting black bears and forest trees. Frankie and Logan sat at the next table, their school-aged girl, Harper, toying with the whipped cream on her waffles as she giggled over something Logan said. The man had been through it over the years, but it seemed time had dealt him a hand that forced those hardships back to their rightful place: the past. How would it be to have life changed so suddenly—into something as wonderful as the life he’d found, that is?

If Anthony really wanted to know the answer to that, he could try asking Sheriff Lockheart. AKA the guy who married the gal Anthony had had a mini-crush on for a solid year before Trent Lockheart came into the picture. Not that he’d done a whole lot about it. Sure, he’d asked Jessie on a date a time or two, but they’d never gone out. He guessed that was probably a good thing, seeing that she was happily married now, just like the lucky row along the south side of the diner. Anthony didn’t exactly feel like he should be married already—heck, twenty-seven was still plenty young. But he couldn’t help but wonder how he would ever meet that special lady. The one just for him.

“… would love it if she’d come model for a free session. What do you think?” Anthony was almost positive he’d heard that voice recently. The warm, even tone—tinged with hints of an Italian Brooklyn accent—made him wonder if he were hearing things; he had yet to meet a woman in Cobble Creek who had an accent so similar to his. But as Anthony leaned around Gordon, the man sipping back a late-morning cup of coffee, he spotted her—Kira Moretti.

Anthony froze in place, feeling like his insides had been tossed into a food processor.

Dressed in black from bottom to top, a wide smile on her heart-shaped face, Kira squatted beside the Wells family.

“Can I?” he heard Harper ask, her eyes lit up like Easter had come early.

“I guess a few pictures wouldn’t hurt,” Logan said.

Harper broke into a celebration dance.

“Perfect.” Kira straightened up. “Bring her on over once you’re finished and we’ll …” She stopped talking, and for a moment, Anthony wasn’t sure why. But then it struck him—she was looking at him. Did she remember him from all those years ago?

He thought she’d looked beautiful when he’d seen her a few weeks back, but she looked stunning now. Flushed cheeks, dark lashes, and a smile that could make a guy’s legs wobblier than a newborn colt’s.

“I, um …” She stuttered, looking back at the small family. “We’ll see you across the street once you’re finished.”

“Sounds great,” Frankie said.

Harper rubbed her palms together. “I can’t wait.”

Anthony straightened up as—without so much as another word—Kira strode toward him. The corner of her full lips quirked up on one side. “I know you,” she breathed, her eyes narrowing in concentration.

His heart sputtered and clanked. “You do?”

“Don’t you remember me?” She draped a slender arm along the bar. “I’m Angelo’s granddaughter, Kira.”

Anthony shook his head. “No. I mean, yes. Of course I remember. I just wasn’t sure you would.”

She nodded slowly as the smile widened and then leaned toward him, her shoulders hunching as she neared. “You were my first kiss,” she said in a hush. “How could I forget?”

It felt like Anthony had just pulled the lid off a stockpot. Heat filled his face. Perhaps his brain was simmering somewhere in the stock, because he couldn’t exactly find it in the moment of shock.

“Sorry,” Kira said, looking anything but. “Did I embarrass you?”

Anthony grabbed a handful of apron and shirt at his chest, gave it a few tugs to get some air. “No,” he lied. “I don’t … are you kiddin’? Takes a lot to embarrass this guy.”

She giggled, and he’d be danged if he didn’t feel it all the way to his toes. Her eyes shot to his hand, the left hand resting on the counter, before looking back to him. “You know my grandpa passed, right?”

“Of course. I was at his funeral.”

Kira ducked her head, her persona shifting in a blink. “Uh, so you heard me rambling up there like an idiot?” She glanced over her shoulder to where Harper and her family finished their brunch, then dragged a stool out and climbed up. “I really shouldn’t do stuff like that.”

“Like what?” Anthony asked. “Lighten things up? Tell folks what he was like from your perspective—which happens to be similar to mine.”

Kira’s gaze shot from her folded hands to his face.

“You were perfect,” he said with a nod. “Trust me.” He studied her face, watched as she shed at least of few of the insecurities that had crept in.

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t an uncommon word by any means. Heck, Anthony probably heard and said it himself more times than he could count in a day. But there was something about the sincerity in her deep brown eyes that set it apart.

He shot her a wink. “Anytime, kid.”

Kira grinned. “Kid, huh? Well, this kid has a special favor to ask you.”

Anything. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“I need a model. I’m a little rusty where studio pictures are concerned, and I need to test out my camera and light settings. Find the best way to adjust them for different backgrounds. All that jazz.”

Enlightenment pooled in as Anthony suddenly processed what she was saying. “Did your granddad leave you the studio?” he asked, stunned.

There was that beautiful smile again. “Yeah, he did. Can you believe it?”

No, he couldn’t believe it. Nothing this lucky ever happened to him. Anthony shook his head. “Wow,” he managed. “That’s good news.” He wasn’t kidding either. It was the best news he’d heard in a long time. Kira Moretti was moving into town and opening shop right across the street from him.

“So is that a yes?” she prompted, snatching a sugar packet from a container nearby. “You’ll let me take some test shots of you?”

Everything about the idea made him nervous. There was nothing worse than posing for the camera while the photographer zoomed in who knew how close. Still, he was no dummy. When a woman asks for help, you give her help. And spending a little time with this woman … well, the pleasure would be all his.