In the small coastal town of Windmere, where the sea seemed to whisper secrets to those patient enough to listen, lived three sisters: Alice, Beth, and Celia—each unique, vibrant, and unmistakably single even as their fiftieth birthdays had come and gone. They shared a large, sun-bleached house with a porch that overlooked the Atlantic, a home filled with laughter, the aroma of baking, and endless plans for “someday.”

Alice, the eldest, with her keen eye for detail, ran the local bookstore—a cozy haven of dog-eared pages and whispered tales. She had a penchant for mystery novels and an equally mysterious love life. Her last date had been with a charming historian who turned out to be more interested in old battle sites than in setting sparks flying in her heart.

Beth, the middle sister, was a gardener whose hands were usually soiled with the earth of her beloved plants. Her garden was a riot of colors, attracting both admirers and bees in equal measure. Beth’s romantic pursuits were much like her gardening—full of hope and perennially starting anew each season, though none had yet taken root in a way that satisfied her yearning heart.

Celia, the youngest, with a laugh that could light up any room, was a talented chef at the local diner. Her dishes were legendary, and so were her romantic misadventures, often recounted with humor and a shake of her head as she served up the daily specials.