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I’m grateful for gorgeous brown eyes.

I’m grateful for cotton pajama tops.

I vow to do this every morning. It’s time for a change. No more feeling sorry for myself, no more feeling like my life is over. I haven’t lost the use of my legs. My true love hasn’t left me. I’m not fighting for my life to beat cancer. I lost the man I thought was the love of my life. Turns out, he wasn’t. Yet everything’s going to be okay. There’s a new Mr. Rogers in the neighborhood. He moved in the second Blu vacated the premises.

I’m going to take Kira’s advice on this. Just go with the flow. See what happens. I’m open to finding love, even on the heels of losing it. It’s not like anyone is judging me, telling me I can’t do it because it’s against some unknown rule.

Chitty Chitty Bang Bangdecided my fate when it broke down right behind Sheridan House at the exact moment Slade was outside. Taking out the garbage, no less. So romantic. I’ll leave that part out when I tell this story to our children someday. There goes my crazy imagination.

Regardless, I have more to be thankful for than most. No more feeling sorry for myself.

I’m grateful to be alive.

I’m grateful to have a future.

I’m grateful for second chances.

I’m grateful for an active imagination.

It’s a good start. I close my eyes, take a deep breath. The familiar pain isn’t there. It’s simply a slight sting. When I picture all of the things taking up space in my busy mind, Blu has been relegated to the end of the line. He can wait at the end of that symbolic long line for the rest of my life.

Strangely, I feel excited for what’s about to come. Almost energized. Every part of my body is humming.

I had no idea how good being grateful could make me feel. I’d always thought of it as, well…cliché.

I was so wrong.

I float downstairs to enjoy the most amazing breakfast in the world. The highlight is a melt-in-your-mouth cheese soufflé. I’ve heard they’re tricky to bake. I wouldn’t know. Slade managed it successfully. It’s divine.

I avoid Martha and Ernest like the plague. I return their friendly waves, but I refuse to encourage them in their matchmaking attempt. I’m relieved when they finish breakfast and leave Sheridan House for whatever they have planned today. I overheard them lamenting over leaving for home tomorrow. Thank goodness.

I suppose Slade is holed up in the kitchen. Should I go say hello? I’m ready for a fresh start—and Slade is it. I’d like to be pursued this time, though. I’ll never enter another relationship that feels remotely one-sided again.

Stop it, Marin. It’s just a friendly hello. That’s all.

Gathering every ounce of courage inside me, I make my way to the kitchen. To my surprise, Slade’s up to his elbows in suds, doing the dishes. There’s a mountain of dishes on the counter next to him, begging to be cleaned. It’s rather daunting.

“Where’s Tina? Is she sick today?” I ask without preamble.

Slade glances at me, his expression a tad doom-and-gloom. “Good morning, Marin.”

The brightening of his features as he looks at me is encouraging. It bolsters my confidence. “Morning.”

“Tina’s mother took a turn for the worse. She had to leave immediately.”

Oh no. His workload just doubled. “Have you hired a replacement yet?”

“Nope. Thought I had more time. My mind’s been elsewhere lately. Distracted, I guess. My bad.” His attempt at a smile is more of a grimace.

Am I his distraction? Am I insensitive for hoping that’s the case?

Executive decision. I’m going to exert the control everyone tells me I love so much. If Slade doesn’t like my ways, I need to know now. “Move over, buddy. I’m helping.” I bump his hip with mine.

This is me, Marin James. Some people call me bossy. I admit I do like to be in charge and see that everything runs smoothly. If that makes me a control freak, then so be it.

The sad creature who arrived here is not me.

“Not a chance. You’re a guest. Guests don’t do the dishes at Sheridan House.” He bumps me back with his hip in a playful manner. He might not want me to do the dishes, but he sure likes bumping hips.

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