Was something burning?

Bren Ryan stopped reading the instructions on the tube of hair dye in her hand, destined for use later today, and frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Sniffed.

A faint acrid odor with a hint of fishiness prickled her nose.

Not quite a burn smell but close. And definitely worth investigating.

Leaving the dye on the vanity, she followed the scent, wincing as another slash of lightning strobed through the sky outside the window, followed by a boom of bone-­jarring thunder.

Man, this was bizarre weather. Squalls on the Oregon coast were supposed to be confined to the winter months. They never ushered in August—­especially storms that went on for hours. Besides, even in the winter, torrential rain and high winds were far more common than lightning and thunder.

Whatever the cause of this uncharacteristic outburst from Mother Nature, it was certainly a dramatic beginning to her thirtieth birthday.

And perhaps it was also an omen that her decision to create a birthday resolution to-do list and shake things up a bit during this new decade of her life was sound.

The smell intensified as she approached the kitchen, and she paused on the threshold.

Gave the room a slow scan.

Everything appeared to be normal.

Could the unpleasant odor be coming from outside?

Bren crossed to the window above the sink, pushed it higher than the scant inch she’d left it cracked, and leaned over. Inhaled.

The air outside was damp but fresh.

This was weird.

She straightened up and swiveled back toward the room.

Where could the smell be—

Wait.

Was that smoke coiling out of the electrical socket at the end of the counter?

© 2025 by Irene Hannon

Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
Grand Rapids, Michigan
RevellBooks​.com

Taking handouts didn’t sit well. And this was a handout, no question about it. When Fred rented the cottage to tourists, he no doubt charged the monthly amount he’d quoted her for a mere handful of nights.

“Don’t overthink it, my dear.” Fred’s mouth bowed. “Helen would be happy to see the cottage occupied again, and she was all about extending a helping hand to those in need. Let me do this for you in her memory.”

Smart strategy to position it as a favor to him.

And since he’d put it that way, maybe she should think of his out-­of-­the-­blue offer as a birthday gift on this day that had otherwise been totally unbirthday like.

“If you’re certain, then I accept.”

“Wonderful. Come by whenever you like later today, and I’ll give you the key.” With a courtly dip of his head, he strolled across the shop and exited.

As the door closed behind him, Bren went back to work, heart lighter, spirits buoyed.

See? Even on an otherwise bad day, there was goodness to be found. And there was yet more goodness after the shop closed at one o’clock and a dozen of her friends from Hope Harbor spilled out of the back room bearing brownies from Sweet Dreams Bakery and tacos from Charley’s stand to help her celebrate her milestone birthday.

Warmth bubbled up inside her as they all indulged in a hug fest.

This was why she’d settled here. Put down roots.

Maybe she didn’t earn a lot of money working as a barista. Maybe she didn’t live in a plush house like the one of her youth. Maybe a carefully vetted special someone to share her life with wasn’t in the cards for her.

But look at her friend at Bev’s Book Nook. The bookshop owner lived a simple life too—­on her own terms, with no apparent regret about the lack of romance in her life. She was a role model, for sure.

And as Bren gathered up her things, thanked everyone for coming to her surprise party, and set off for her house to pack up the items she’d need for the next few weeks, she made a resolution.

In this new decade of her life, she was going to embrace her solo life and put to rest the insidious, romantic daydreams that crept up on occasion. Banish once and for all any illusions about happily ever after.

Because as she knew firsthand, illusions could lead to nightmares.

© 2025 by Irene Hannon

Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
Grand Rapids, Michigan
RevellBooks​.com

Before he could finish that thought, something wet hit him in the face.

In the next instant, the fires of hell rained down on him, burning his eyes, nose, mouth, and throat.

He dropped his overnight bag as his eyes slammed shut. His seared lungs balked, and he started to hack. Hard. Snot dripped from his nose.

Chest heaving, he fell to his knees as waves of pain crashed over him.

If someone was trying to kill him, they were doing a first-­rate job of it.

Splaying the fingers of one hand on the floor, he groped in his pocket for his handkerchief. He had to wipe away whatever was singeing his eyeballs. ASAP.

The instant his fumbling fingers closed over the square of cloth, he yanked it out and tried to swab off whatever toxic substance was wreaking havoc.

Didn’t work.

In fact, his eyes might hurt worse—­if that was even possible.

“Help . . . me.” The hoarse, croaked plea came out in a voice that didn’t sound anywhere close to his usual baritone.

No response.

Whoever had done this to him must have a heart of stone.

Or else they’d hightailed it out of here after rendering him defenseless.

What kind of scumbag would attack an innocent man and—

Wait.

Was it possible Dad had started renting the cottage again and hadn’t told him? Had he walked in on paying guests who’d assumed he was an intruder and doused him with pepper spray?

Oh, geez.

This day was going from bad to worse.

© 2025 by Irene Hannon

Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
Grand Rapids, Michigan
RevellBooks​.com