Chapter 3
Cami startled awake at the blaring horn of a tornado warning. Stumbling to the living room, clicking on lights, she found the remote and turned on the weather news.
The meteorologist said a funnel cloud had been spotted about two miles from downtown.
Cami perched on the edge of her sofa and watched the images outside her building move closer.
She had an emergency bag prepped and stored in the front closet.
If she had to evacuate, she’d grab the bag and run downstairs to the basement.
By the time the storm had blown over, she was wired with adrenaline. The day’s first lights broke over the city, and she decided to just get the day going. She showered and dressed, made a green smoothie, then collected her things and headed out.
Call her crazy, but she’d let Keith Niven talk her into visiting the Hearts Bend Inn. She’d been awash with sentiment as he talked about Vern and Jean Carter’s legacy and how much the town loved and needed the inn.
Images of her summer weekends painting with Mama filled her. If she closed her eyes, she was twelve, fourteen, fifteen again. They’d eaten breakfast in their cottage, Cottage Three, then walked to Ella’s Diner for an early dinner.
Mama had always ordered a salad. Cami had always ordered a burger, fries, and vanilla shake. She’d swum in the pool, walked the grounds, and oh, how could she forget? Kissed that boy Ben in the tree house.
Her phone jingled with her assistant’s ringtone. “Astrid, I’ll be in late. Running down to Hearts Bend to check out the inn.”
“I’m not going to ask why, but I need some questions answered when you get back.”
“I’ll be there before lunch.”
On a whim, Cami put together a proposal of nine hundred thousand dollars, which felt extremely generous. She suspected the place needed massive renovations. Which was not the typical Akron acquisition.
They bought properties to tear down and build new. Or to sell to new investors when the market increased. In all her years with the company, Cami couldn’t remember any renovation projects. But no one could deny there was a market for that kind of work.
She told herself the inn was a different project altogether. It was her project. Mama’s inn. For the first time in well over a decade, she wanted to remember her beautiful, kind, sweet, artistic mother. It had to be thoughts of the inn.
Forty minutes and one Starbucks grande latte later, Cami turned her BMW down Hearts Bend Inn’s long, tree-lined driveway and chose a parking spot. Shutting off the engine, she peered through the windshield toward the old building, which stirred even more buried memories.
Cami popped open her door and stepped out, grabbing her attaché case. The inn sat in the glimmering afternoon sunlight, and she felt as if she’d awakened from a long-forgotten dream.
For a moment, just a moment, Mama stood next to her with her paints in hand. Isn’t it beautiful here, Cami?
In the distance a chain saw hummed, and a hint of sawdust scented the clean air. Cami moved toward the large, wraparound porch, caught between the girl she’d been and the woman she’d become.
On first glance, she saw the porch needed a bit of work. The rocking chairs, although inviting, were a bit worn, but a beautiful floral wreath hung on the door.
The inn’s wood siding was new but needed a fresh coat of paint. The flower beds were filled with colorful blooms but needed to be weeded. Mama would have been on her hands and knees pulling those weeds, never mind the dirt that would build up under her nails.
Mrs. Carter, the inn’s owner, had always been proud of her gardens. Mama had loved to set up her easel and paint—
Stop. She had not come here to walk entirely down memory lane. She mentally took off her daughter hat and put on her business hat. She’d worked hard to forget the past, even the good.
Then what was she doing here? Why would she even consider buying this place? She blamed the smooth-talking Keith Niven.
“Can I help you?” An older man in denim overalls and a white T-shirt lumbered forward. His white hair curled wildly around a fisherman’s hat, which shaded his face. Was that Ray, the gardener who’d been here back in the day? He had to be in his seventies by now.
“Just checking out the inn.”
“Well, go on in. Myrtle May will set you right.”
She reached for the door handle as the chain saw fell silent, then quickly hummed and buzzed again.
Cami wasn’t ready for the impact of the familiar, homey lobby. She drew in a deep breath, hand to her middle, as the memories threatened to break loose. She suddenly closed her eyes, not wanting to see, not wanting to remember.
Oh, this might have been a really bad idea. But then a wafting, sweet aroma of cinnamon and sugar almost toppled her. The cookies. How she’d craved the cookies over the years. They still made them?
“Well, land sakes, who do we have here?” A tall, slender woman with bottle-red hair, bright clothes, and her smiling face covered in makeup crossed the lobby to the registration desk.
Her huge smile was welcoming and oddly familiar.
“Cami Jackson, is that you? My, my, you sure grew up pretty. But I knew you would, yes siree, I knew you would. Just like your mama.”
“Myrtle May.” Wrapped in her business persona, she stepped toward the woman, hand outstretched.
“One and the same.” A whiff of Chanel No. 5 nearly overwhelmed Cami. “Welcome home, girl.” The woman grabbed her in a powerful embrace. “About time.”
Cami stiffened against her cheerful warmth, but then the way she made her feel—like family—encouraged her to relax and hug Myrtle May back.
After Mama died, all the warmth, heart, and traditions evaporated from the Jackson household.
Her maternal grandparents had died when Cami was young, and Dad’s parents tried to keep in touch, but they’d retired in England after Grandpa Jay finished his assignment for the Army.
Dad stopped taking them to church, and life became a stoic routine of school, homework, dinner, and bedtime.
No stories, no singing, no playing in the summer rain. No Hearts Bend Inn.
Myrtle May stepped back and held Cami at arm’s length, giving her a deep inspection.
“I know it’s been fifteen years, but my, my, my, you’re a sight for sore eyes.
Your mama was a blessing to Vern and Jean and me.
We always looked forward to your painting weekends.
” Myrtle May gently swept Cami’s bangs aside, her soft fingertips grazing Cami’s forehead.
Cami gritted her jaw against a surge of tears and steeled her heart.
One more touch, one more word, and she’d lose it.
Right here. Right now. This was a mistake.
A big mistake. “You have her beautiful eyes. Like dark chocolate.”
“So I’m told.” Cami’s low reply was thick and heavy as she freed herself from the woman’s grip.
“But you’re dressed like your father. Even carrying one of those fancy briefcases.” Myrtle May laughed and wagged her finger at Cami. “Chip off the old block. Good for you.”
Was it, though? For the first time, Cami felt challenged in her soul. But that was Myrtle May—all Southern charm and sharp words.
“What brings you to town, Cami?” Myrtle May moved behind the registration desk.
The same one she’d leaned against as Mama checked them into Cottage Three, then chatted with Mrs. Carter about anything and everything.
“Can I book you in a room? Cottage Three is out of commission right now, but we have a lovely, relatively remodeled room on the third floor. Great view of the garden.”
“No, um, thank you.” Cami smiled, fighting all sorts of foreign emotions. “I’m looking for the owner.”
“Well, of course. Should’ve known you’d want to see Ben.” Myrtle May walked her to the door. “He’s the one making all that ruckus with the chain saw. Should’ve heard him bellyaching about taking down that old oak tree. You’d think he cut off his own arm.”
“The one with the tree house?” Cami looked toward the side of the porch where the tree had stood. “We were sitting up there when the boards cracked and the whole thing fell apart. We tumbled to the ground.”
Teach her to kiss a boy in a rickety tree house.
“One and the same. Last night’s storm toppled it. I told Ben to be grateful it didn’t land on the inn.”
So, Ben Carter was the owner? She’d not thought of him in years. Any thoughts of him had been locked away with all her other memories of Hearts Bend and the inn.
He had been the “love of her life” from the moment she’d seen him. But what had she known when she was six? The summer they were fifteen, though… She’d given her first kiss to the tall, gangly teen.
On second thought, his kiss had been awesome. She smiled, watching the memory of how they’d fallen and hit the ground with a thud.
“He’s right over there.” Myrtle May gave her a gentle push forward.
The ground between the inn and the tree was spongy from last night’s storm. She’d been smart enough to wear sensible shoes today, or what she thought were sensible shoes—her Valentino calfskin wedges.
Ben’s back was to her as he worked the chain saw through leafy branches. Cami assembled the business persona Myrtle May had dismantled, ready to talk business with her old friend Ben.
Sawdust peppered the air as he worked the saw through a large limb. When it hit the ground, he stood back, cut off the saw, and pushed his goggles to the top of his blue Tennessee Titans ball cap.
“Ben?” she said. “Ben Carter?”
He turned, the chain saw swinging from his hand. “Yes?”
Cami halted mid-step. The man facing her was not the boy she remembered.
He wore a T-shirt, work jeans, boots, a Titans hat with the bill in the back.
His bright blue eyes mesmerized her, his high cheeks were pink from a day in the hot sun, and a reddish-blond stubble covered his jaw.
His chest and arms were broad and muscled, covered in sawdust, and she was… staring way too long.