Chapter 3 #2
“Ben Carter.” She approached, hand outstretched, ready for a firm, businesswoman handshake. “Hi, I’m Cami—”
“Jackson.” He stared at her through a narrowed gaze and gestured toward his gloved, dusty hands holding the saw. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, yes it has.” She lowered her hand, brushing it against her skirt. “H-how have you been?”
“Good. You?”
“Also good, though I’m sorry about your granny. She was always so kind and sweet to Mama and me.”
“She couldn’t do or be anything else.”
“So, you’re the owner now?”
“I am.” Ben settled the chain saw against the tree and removed his goggles. “Did you come for your mom’s painting?”
“I came to— What? Mom’s painting?”
“The one in the lobby. It’s actually been on loan to us. I think it was a gift for your dad. Birthday, anniversary, but after—” Ben’s voice trailed off.
“She died…” She could say it. The two little words that had changed her life.
“Yeah. He told Granny to keep it, hang it in the lobby.” He removed his gloves and slapped them against his jeans.
“The painting in the lobby was a gift for my dad?” She hadn’t even noticed the painting. How could she not recognize Mama’s work? Had she forgotten already? The idea made her sick.
Mama’s last summer, they’d booked into Cottage Three every weekend.
Annalise had been working for college spending money, and Dad had turned into the Brant Jackson Cami knew today, so it had just been the two of them.
While Mama had worked on a large canvas, Cami had painted several smaller, much less impressive pictures.
Mom would pause, lean over from her position facing the southwest corner of the inn’s grounds, and inspect Cami’s work, her brush poised elegantly in her hand.
Her favorite spot had been the small opening in the garden where they could see the barn.
Mama had painted her final few pictures in that spot.
Darling, you’re getting so good. I love the colors and the way your brushstrokes create movement.
Movement. That’s how she felt every time she painted. Moved. Like she was telling the stories of her heart even she didn’t know existed.
“Am I right?” Ben stepped closer, lifting his sweaty T-shirt from his lean abdomen. “She wanted to hide the painting in plain sight. When your dad walked in, she wondered if he’d notice it.”
The memory came rushing back. The large canvas pastoral scene of a field with waving grass, wild sunflowers, trees, blue skies, and the edge of the red barn. The bench. Mama had loved that bench.
“He was coming down for his birthday.”
“She died that weekend.” The words sounded sad, but time had distanced her from the emotion. Dad had been three hours late that night. Caught up in a golf game and dinner with a potential client. He’d forgotten his own birthday dinner.
“Granny said one of you would come for it one day.” He peered at her with such a sincere blue. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No, it’s not.” Cami wanted to sit, process, give her shaking legs a break.
Some of her buried memories knocked, their mocking voices crying within.
There was no place to land except the ground, so she remained standing, planted.
“I had no idea that painting was for my father. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it.
” Like everything else associated with Hearts Bend Inn.
“Then why are you here?”
“I, um…” Gather yourself. “I came to talk business.”
Ben glanced toward the inn, then back at Cami. “Business? What sort of business?”
“Buying the inn. I’ve come with a proposal.”
“You want to buy the inn?” His grin made her wobble all the more. “Is that why you’re dressed for a board meeting?”
“I work for Akron Development. I’ve managed to become one of the company’s top closers.”
Was that admiration in his eyes?
“I’m not surprised. Do you still paint?”
“No time.” She was finding herself, the Akron woman, not the artist girl. She was Dad’s girl now, not Mama’s.
“Who told you I was selling?”
“Word gets out.”
“Cami, to be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing. Still trying to figure it out. But let me rinse off and I’ll at least give you a tour.”
She followed him to the back of the property, toward the barn and work shed, rehearsing her pitch, the one she’d practiced yesterday and again on the drive over.
The Ben she’d known had never wanted to own the inn. He’d had plans and dreams to travel the world. Didn’t want anything to tie him down.
At a short water spigot, Ben yanked off his T-shirt and knelt to rinse off. Cami tried not to stare, really. But seriously, those abs had not come from sitting on the couch binge-watching Netflix.
After a few minutes, he rose up and ran his hand through his reddish-blond hair, then reached inside the shed for a towel. He dried off, returned the towel to the shed, and came out with a clean, dry T-shirt and his ball cap back on.
“You have a change of clothes in the shed?”
“Myrtle May set me up out here. She said I can’t come in her lobby all sweaty and dirty.”
“She runs a tight ship.”
“She’s all right, MM. She was the only one there for Granny in the end…” His voice trailed off, and Cami felt his regret. “Anyway, I’ll show you around.” He walked backward toward the pool, regarding her. “You really want to buy the place? It needs a lot of work.”
“The need for renovations is reflected in my offer.”
Did Ben want to sell? She couldn’t tell. But he was so much like the Ben she’d crushed on every summer. Older, of course, broader, more handsome, but with the same calm interior she’d loved.
“The pool needs new tile and liner but otherwise is in good shape.” Ben paused by the kiddie end. The blue water sparkled in the sunlight, highlighting the tile that needed replacing as well as the teak lounge chairs and umbrellas, which were sun-bleached and old.
Next they took a paved path to a huge flower garden.
Yellow daffodils lifted their cheery heads toward the summer sun.
At the end of the garden, there were three walkways to three small cottages.
Cottages One and Two were single bedrooms and baths.
Cottage Three was the largest with two bedrooms, each with a clawfoot tub and an old farmers sink fifteen years ago, popular well before HGTV made it a thing.
But she’d avoid that space for now. She was doing well, holding on, but she had no guarantee if she walked near or into Cottage Three.
The owner’s house was beyond the cottages, centered in the middle of a tree grove. The three-bedroom farmhouse was modest, but with all the outdoor space, it could be a charming place to raise a family.
The cottages and the farmhouse backed up to a pond with a dock and a garden-sized windmill.
Cami had spent numerous summer evenings sitting on the edge of the dock with Ben, toes skimming the water, talking, dreaming, his arm barely grazing hers, sometimes swimming, often rowing out to the middle in a small boat.
It’d taken him all summer to kiss her in that tree house. The memories made her laugh.
“Care to share?” Ben said, turning to her.
“I was remembering the tree house.”
He grinned and pushed the hat back on his head. “I kept thinking, ‘What a kiss! We broke the tree house.’”
Their laughter harmonized with reminiscing.
“Then lost our breath when we hit the ground,” Cami said.
“I’ll tell you one thing, I’ve never been kissed like that since.”
“Well then, we have that in common.” Cami stepped toward the pond. “I forgot how beautiful it is here.” She glanced back at him. “My offer is fair.”
“Maybe, but who says I’m going to sell?”
She faced him, arms akimbo. “Me.”
He glanced around as if looking for someone. “Really? Because I don’t see your army.”
“Well, Ben Carter, that’s because I’m an army unto myself.” She loved that she made him laugh.
Ben stepped toward her, and without asking her permission, her heart skipped a few beats. “Is that so?” he said. “Because—”
Cami’s phone chimed from her bag. “Excuse me, let me make sure it’s not my assistant.”
She knew full well it wasn’t Astrid—she had a specific ring—but she needed a moment to figure out what was going on with her. Heart flutters as she walked down memory lane at Hearts Bend Inn. Remembering Mama without falling apart.
She’d come here to do business, but once she’d stepped onto the grounds, the daughter inside of her had yearned to be heard.
The text was from Meghan, Cami’s favorite associate at the shoe boutique she loved to frequent. Shoe sale this weekend. Ten percent off Louboutin, Prada, Choo, and Blahnik. At the moment, shoes were the farthest thing from her mind. Which meant miracles did happen.
She took a moment to respond. This would be her last sale with this shop. From now on she’d have to find shoes in Indy.
Tucking her phone away, she turned to see Ben next to her. “I just realized Cottage Three was the one you shared with your mom.” He raised his hat off his head and settled it back down. Apparently, he wasn’t comfortable with this either. “I take it you’ve not been back since.”
“I’ve not, no.” Cami walked on. “Can we tour the inn?”
As they approached, she could see the shutters were slightly crooked and paint-chipped.
Ben led her to the back door and gestured for Cami to go first. “The kitchen,” he said. “Needs work but I won’t give you the nitty-gritty.”
The hall led them past the kitchen, where they were greeted by a huge golden retriever. A wide smile spread across the aging dog’s face.
“This is Bart, Myrtle May’s most recent rescue. She adopts aging dogs and gives them their forever home.”
“Makes you love her all the more, doesn’t it?”
Myrtle May danced down the hallway. “Howdy again, Cami. Ben, I need to take Bart for a walk.” She followed Bart out the front door, her raspy voice singing, “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine. Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!”
“You can see why she was never offered a recording contract,” Ben said. “But she gives the place atmosphere.”