I leaned back and released a long, satisfied sigh. Peony scented bubbles sparkled around me as I stretched my legs out in the magnificent bathtub. Somehow, my hostess, a woman who I was now convinced could read my thoughts, had managed to have a hot bubble bath waiting for me the moment I arrived back at the inn.

Jackson and I had had tons to talk about on the way back to the barn. I found he was a great storyteller and an even better listener. We’d only known each other for a day, yet I already felt a true connection with him. And it wasn’t just because of the numerous intimate moments we’d shared during that short amount of time. Jackson was someone I felt comfortable talking to, and we shared common interests. Best of all, he laughed at my dry wit, something Nate had never really liked. Along with a lot of other things, apparently. But that didn’t matter to me at all anymore. My ex-fiancé was slowly becoming a faint and distant memory, thanks to my weekend with someone who was showing me just what I’d been missing all that time.

Stepping out of my luxurious bath was like dragging myself out of a cozy, quilted bed on a snowy Monday morning. But my fingers were starting to look like raisins, a sure sign that I’d overstayed my welcome.

I wrapped myself in the plush towel Coco had left for me and walked out to the bedroom. My legs were certainly feeling the weekend’s activities. Both, on the horse and with the cowboy. It was a rich, achy fatigue that I could definitely get used to.

I walked into the bedroom. While I was in soaking, Coco had left a flirty, short denim dress on a hook on the door. There was even a fresh pair of panties and a pair of ankle boots with it. A note was pinned to the collar.

I took off the note and read it. “The dress is for tonight. The grilled cheese sandwich and dill pickle on the kitchen counter are for now. I’m out, by the way, and I won’t be back until late tonight. Have fun.”

I stared in confusion at the note. She wrote the letter as if she had my evening planned already. I hadn’t thought too much about the night, only that I hoped to see Jackson at some point.

After the ride, I’d hobbled back to the inn and he’d started his barn chores. I’d insisted I could stay and help, but he shooed me off, saying I’d only slow him down. Which hurt my feelings at first, until he added that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me long enough to ‘get a damn thing done’.

I pulled on the dress. It was snug all the way down, but technically a perfect fit. I would have expected no less. I left the ankle boots off. It was a barefoot kind of afternoon. During summer days on my grandpa’s ranch when the August sun was billowing through all the farmhouse windows and his hound dogs were snoring on the front porch, I’d kick off my work boots, grab a sandwich and lemonade and head out onto the front porch to bask in the fruit scented warmth of the day. Grandpa would catch me sitting out there and look pointedly at my feet and say ‘guess it’s a barefoot kind of afternoon, eh Becca’? Sometimes, he’d even join me. Although kicking off his boots always took a more determined approach, which included me sitting on the floor tugging them until I rolled back onto my bottom with an empty boot in my hands.

I headed downstairs and to the kitchen. The bakery was quiet. I wondered just when the customers had come in to clear out most of the trays. Of course, I’d been so wrapped up in my own stay at the inn, it was possible I just hadn’t noticed anyone else. Just as with the perfectly hot bath, the thick grilled cheese that seemed to be oozing with at least three different cheeses, was still hot. I picked up the icy, cold pickle and took a bite. It snapped off salty and tangy in my mouth. As if my thoughts about my days on Grandpa’s porch had conjured it, a tall glass of lemonade sat next to the plate. Coco was positively clairvoyant.

I picked up the plate and glass. There was a linen napkin tucked underneath it. Silk Stocking Inn had been neatly embroidered across the top of the napkin. I could feel stitching on the back as well. I turned it over, expecting to see the same words. There was a sentence stitched in pink thread on the back. It read ‘sometimes you’ve got to look to your past to find your future’. I stared at the sentiment for a moment, thinking how often my stay here at the inn had transported me back to my wonderful life on Grandpa’s ranch.

My stomach growled, reminding me that the sandwich waited. I tucked the napkin under the plate and carried it out to the front porch to sit. It wasn’t going to be the same without Samson and Goliath, Grandpa’s dogs, but I felt confident that Coco’s grilled cheese would make up for the lack of dog snores.

I sat on the top step. That’s when I noticed something strange. The dead, spindly rose vines had come back to life with pink, perfume-rich blossoms. I was no expert on gardening or roses, and while I was sure it was possible to save a dying rose vine, I could find no explanation for how clusters of roses could have grown overnight. It was almost as if the Silk Stocking Inn was out of a regular time zone. With Coco’s incalculable age, bathtubs and food always being just the right temperature and now with roses springing up overnight, it was the best explanation I could come up with, even as impossible as it seemed.

My theorizing about time and roses and Coco stopped the second a tall, broad shouldered cowboy came around the corner.

His white smile made me nearly melt right along with the cheese on my sandwich. “Thought I’d find you sitting out here, Spunky.” He walked over and sat on the porch step below me. He leaned his forearm on the step and gazed up at me.

“How’d you know? Did you smell the grilled cheese?” I handed him half of my sandwich. He gladly accepted.

“Nope. I’ve just developed a sixth sense when it comes to you, Becca.” He took a big bite.

“Is that right? A sixth sense?”

He swallowed and took a sip of my lemonade. “Yep. I was walking this direction and, as usual, I was thinking about you.” He reached up and smoothed his hand down the back of my calf. “And these legs. And your smile. And our day at the pond.” He winked unnecessarily.

“That’s a lot of thinking for a short walk from the barn.”

He shrugged. “What can I say, woman? You’ve got my head filled with thoughts, all kinds of thoughts.” He shut one eye to let me know he was assessing my dress. “Since you’ve got that hot little denim dress, what do you say we go out dancing tonight? There’s a place up the street that plays a little country and a lot of rock. There’s a crummy dance floor in the middle. Sound good?”

“Actually, it sounds great.”