Chapter Six
Daniel Bogart returned to the inn in the spring. By then, he seemed to have forgotten the slight rift that occurred between him and Bella Fauré at the end of summer. He’d spent a long winter at his cabin, tucked away as a garreted writer without female companionship for several long months, and by May, he needed Bella to restore his perspective and his sanity. His writing had gone well, but the book he was working on was a ticklish project, something that came totally out of the blue, about a relationship. He swore for weeks that it wasn’t about Bella, but he knew it was. He loves her; there is no doubt about it. And her rebuff had hurt.
To spend the winter pinning for her or forgetting her existence was impossible. But to allow himself to swim inside his dreams, imagining al
