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had no intention of buying it.
    Or was it a pang of regret?
    I should, by all rights, have been more determined than ever to get out of here after my mishap of the morning, but even though I was sore and tired—and hungry —I also felt curiously elated. The fall had been painful—but that kiss! When had Paul last—or ever —kissed me like that? It had made me feel …  alive . The smells of coffee, eggs, and maple syrup coming from across the road nearly made me break into a run—but I restrained myself out of respect for my sore muscles.
    Diana Hart’s voice called out from the kitchen as soon as I opened the front door. “Is that you, Callie?” She came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a red-and-white-checked tea cloth. She was wearing a sweatshirt that read: SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED. “I was afraid you’d forgotten the breakfast time …” She faltered to a stop when she saw me. “Oh my, you look like you had a fall. Are you all right? Do you need some ice?”
    “I’m fine,” I said. “I went running in the woods …”
    “In the woods?” The question came from someone who had followed Diana out of the kitchen—a petite woman in her early thirties with a blond pageboy framing a heart-shaped face and delft blue eyes. She was wearing a denim jumper, white sailor blouse, and navy-and-white spectator pumps. She was adorable enough to have walked off one of the Mary Engelbreit plaques that adorned Diana’s kitchen and dining room.
    “Oh, Dory, you were right! She did go running in the woods … Oh, sorry!” Diana waved her hands between me and the blond woman by way of making introductions. “Callie McFay, Dory Browne of Browne Realty. She came by to show you the house and said she thought she saw you heading into the woods earlier. I would have suggested a different route if I’d known you were going running. Those woods … well, they can be tricky.”
    “The woods were fine. I was just clumsy. Do I have time for a quick shower before breakfast?”
    “Of course!” Diana exclaimed. I had a feeling that if I had asked Diana to serve breakfast on the roof she would have tried her best to accommodate me.
    “I’ll be quick,” I promised.
    I hobbled up the stairs to my room. Soreness from the fall was setting in, but the hot water helped. I took two Advil as well, dressed in a light cotton dress (Dory’s prim outfit had made me feel underdressed) and sandals, twisted my wet hair into a sloppy bun, and hurried downstairs. The two women were sitting at the dining room table, their heads together, whispering. A floorboard creaked under my foot as I came into the room and Diana lifted her head, her large brown eyes looking startled.
    “There you are, you look worlds better. You sit down and help yourself to some coffee while I go get your breakfast. Dory will keep you company.”
    I didn’t see why I needed company, but I smiled sociably at the Realtor and sat down across from her. She poured coffee into my cup and offered me the milk pitcher, which I took, and the sugar bowl, which I declined.
    “I brought a couple of other listings,” she said, patting a glossy decorative folder that lay by her coffee mug. I noticed that the folder’s paisley design matched the pattern on the quilted tote bag hanging from Dory’s shoulder. “I’ve got a darling little Craftsman bungalow just down the block that might be perfect for you.”
    I should have realized that asking a Realtor to show one house in the current housing market was like asking an alcoholic to have an aperitif.
    “I don’t even know if I have a job yet,” I replied. “But the house across the street is so striking …”
    “Oh yes, Honeysuckle House is one of our grandest old Victorians. The LaMottes were one of the leading Fairwick families back in the days when the railroad made the town an important center of commerce. Silas LaMotte spared no expense in building the house for his wife.”
    “It’s a shame she didn’t