Chapter 6
By Wednesday, Ben was buried under work. Last Friday night with Cami seemed ages ago.
He woke up every morning to a mountain of overnight emails from Jordan and a field of messages from Jim about Sydney, Hong Kong, and begging him to return to Sydney.
In the afternoon, he worked inn issues. Repairing porch boards, weeding the gardens, setting up to paint the cottages. Ray worked along with him some days, other days he took on separate projects. All the while, Ben’s doubts mounted.
How was he going to keep this place?
By Friday afternoon, he regretted turning Cami down. He picked up his phone several times to call her but never dialed. Something held him back.
He loved this place, warts and all. But quitting his job to run Hearts Bend Inn simply was not an option. He’d signed a contract with VJR. The success of the Emerald rested squarely on his shoulders. Jim was right. Ben needed to be in Sydney.
If he walked out on Viridian in the middle of launching a marquee property, he’d never work in the industry again. Not at that level anyway.
Mr. Graham popped by one afternoon to say he’d talked to Stan at the bank about a refinance. Stan seemed reluctant but he might be willing to talk.
A refi would buy Ben a bit more time, but he’d still have to keep the inn running from Sydney to make the payments. With the Fourth of July coming up, he’d hoped to see more reservations, but so far, only half the rooms were booked.
Had word got around the place was falling apart? Frank Hardy, maybe? Or Akron. Brant, not Cami. Ben didn’t think that sort of thing was her style.
As he headed out to the barn to search for paint brushes, he replayed last Friday night in his mind. Dancing with Cami. Sharing pie and fries with Cami. Laughing with Cami. Talking with Cami. She was the same girl he’d known all those years ago. Until they’d ended up talking business, anyway.
Another time, another place, he’d pursue her till she couldn’t resist. He could love her. He had when he was a teen. But this was not the right time or place. He’d be in Sydney by September first. She’d be in Indy. Worlds and time zones apart.
Still, images of her crept past his mind’s eye while he worked, while he slept. If he paused even for a minute to remember, he could feel her chin on his shoulder, the warmth of her palm in his as they danced. The sweet scent of her floral perfume.
Ben stepped into the stale, hot atmosphere of the inn’s barn. He shoved the door all the way open for fresh air and light. The barn was a world all its own, stuffed with bins, cans and boxes, treasures, and—he hoped—paint brushes. He’d looked in the shed first but hadn’t seen any.
This week, he’d repaired the doors on the inn and the shutters and doors on the cottages. They really needed to be replaced, but for now, a bit of paint would pretty them up.
Ben scanned the boxes on the metal shelves, many of them labeled with Granddaddy’s handwriting. Some with Ray’s. Some had no label at all. He suspected those had arrived here during Granny’s reign.
Paint brushes, paint brushes. Where would they be? He reached up for a box marked brushes, tipping the metal casing forward just enough to send a can of old doorknobs to the concrete floor.
“Have mercy, are you trying to wake the dead?” Ben looked up to see Ray at the barn door, his ever-present fisherman’s hat on his head. He pulled a white hanky out of his shirt pocket and mopped his forehead. “There’s a fan in here somewhere.”
“I’m looking for the paint brushes.” Ben stooped to collect the knobs. Good to know these were out here in case he couldn’t replace a broken one from the inn. “Did you test the pond water?”
“Yeah, the alkaline levels were fine, but I’ll keep an eye on it.” Ray pulled a large industrial fan from the corner and plugged it in to one of the sockets attached to the workbench.
The motor kicked in and the blades whirred. Darn thing nearly blew Ben into the back wall.
“I’ll turn it down some,” Ray said. “Now, what do you need?”
“Paint brushes.”
“The brushes are in the shed. Those boxes where you’re looking hold a mix of things.” Ray walked over, reached up, and touched an unmarked box. “Extension cords. This one has the doodads your Granny let the wedding photographer keep on premise.”
“Wedding photographer?” Ben set the can of doorknobs back on the shelf.
“There’s even more in that large container in the back corner.”
“How long has it been since we had a wedding here?” More than a couple of minutes, for sure.
“Jean hoped to have weddings and receptions again. But when the Wedding Chapel opened, brides took their business there. When the Wedding Shop opened their doors again, Jean thought the wedding business would return to Hearts Bend, but nothing much came of it. Brides loved the chapel but took their receptions to fancier places than the inn.” Ray tipped his hat back.
“Guess we just got too old and run-down looking. But your Granny held onto hope. She always was a dreamer.”
Ben twisted away from a flash of guilt. He’d had no idea Granny hadn’t stopped hosting weddings by choice. He’d figured she’d just lost interest.
But Ray was right. The inn was not in the kind of pristine condition that attracted a bride and her mother.
However, weddings and receptions were the least of his worries. He needed paint brushes.
“So, you and the Jackson girl…” Ray leaned against one of the shelves, arms folded, the fan humming in the background.
“Don’t get any ideas, Ray. She only wants to buy the inn.”
“Does she now?”
“I turned her down.”
Ray made a face and nodded. “You got a plan besides painting old shutters and doors?”
“Not really. No.” Which doubled his irritation. Since he’d joined VJR, he’d planned his life. This indecisiveness sat hard with him.
Sell. Just do it. He didn’t have time for sentiment.
“You know if you sell to Cami, her Daddy will come knock the place down.”
Ben turned to Ray. “That’s what I said, but she promised he wouldn’t. She wants to preserve her mother’s memory. But if I sell, am I desecrating my grandparents’ memory? My own memories?”
“Funny thing about memories,” Ray said. “You can’t trust them. Can’t use them to plug up your fears. Or make you do something you don’t want to do.”
Wise words from the old groundskeeper. “Is that what I’m doing? Letting my memories hold me back?”
“Seems to me Cami’s trying to reclaim something she lost too.
You must live your life, Ben. Not someone else’s.
Besides, memories aren’t stuck inside buildings, they’re kept in here.
” Ray tapped his chest and started for the door.
“I’ll get the brushes for you. Then I’m going to the hardware store. The motor on the pond windmill broke.”
He was right. One hundred percent. Ben’s life before Granny died had been fancy hotels in world-class cities. His father, who should’ve inherited the inn, was running a major missions program that ministered to thousands of people. He certainly wasn’t coming back to run the family business.
Walking out of the barn into the bright sunlight, Ben pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at Cami’s name. Did he call? Did he let go of the inn? What did she really want from it?
Could he trust her?
His phone rang. Jim. Well, at least he didn’t have to figure it out right now, because Sydney was calling.
Again.
Saturdays were meant for relaxing, not tapping your fingers on the table of the local coffee shop.
Already, Cami had looked through all the listings Max, the Realtor in Indy, had sent—nothing made her want to pack up her life and hang a Home Sweet Home sign.
She drank a latte and ate a cinnamon roll, and it was only nine.
Marta had showings lined up in Cami’s condo all day and had requested she be out an hour ago.
Right now, someone was walking through her place, the one she’d worked so hard to buy and build out the way she wanted.
Did she really want to sell? Maybe she could lease it. She texted Marta with the idea, then sat back and looked toward the street and the start of a beautiful day.
Across the room, a couple sat at one of the tables. They looked happy. In love. Would she ever find love? Real love? She’d not been on a date in—
She had to stop and think. Do a bit of math. Three years? Good grief.
She picked up her empty coffee cup. She shouldn’t order another.
But she couldn’t sit here much longer while strangers walked through her condo either.
Yesterday she’d had lunch with Annalise, who’d talked of nothing but the Vicki Carmichael wedding.
Cami hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise. Annalise had still looked a little green around the gills, but her sister was a big girl and said she was fine. Cami would respect that. For now.
Which meant she had to steer clear of Annalise today. She’d be eyeball-deep in wedding planning details. So that was a definite no-go.
As she cleaned off her table and packed up her laptop, Marta texted.
The first couple went wild over the place. They’ll probably put in an offer above asking. #exciting
Oh great. Did you see my text about leasing?
Cami waited a few beats, but Marta didn’t respond. Okay, she was busy. But Cami would get an answer sooner or later.
The truth of the matter was, as the move to Indy became more of a reality, Cami was growing anxious.
Yes, she was excited to head up an Akron expansion office, but she mourned leaving Nashville.
She mourned leaving her sister and brother-in-law.
Even mourned leaving Dad. How would the distance impact their relationship?
Mourned that she hadn’t gotten the inn. She’d called Annalise Monday evening to talk it out.
“I wasn’t sure how I felt about the inn until Ben said no. Then I was really disappointed.”
“You have a lot of Mom memories there. More than I do.”
“I felt close to her when I was there. I didn’t realize until now. I’m not sad about it being the place where she died; I’m excited to be on the grounds of the place she loved so much. She always wanted Dad to buy it.”
“Like the Carters would ever let it go.”
“I feel like I’ve let her down again.”
“Oh, Cami, no. She’d be so proud of you. Promise.”
“At least one parent is proud.” Cami had laughed and taken it back before Annalise could launch into her lecture of how Cami had Dad all wrong.
No, Annalise had Dad all wrong. At least when it came to Cami.
Heading to the car, Cami set her purse in the back seat. She could shop, see if there were any shoes needing a good home.
However, instead of heading to the Green Hills Mall, she hopped on I-440 to I-40 and aimed for Hearts Bend. A memory flashed of Mom taking her to Haven’s Bakery for hot donuts and hot chocolate. Sweet sugar, cinnamon, chocolate—she could practically smell the bakery in her car.
The moment she crossed under the Welcome to Hearts Bend sign, a weight lifted off her. Slowing down for the first of HB’s two stop lights, she opened the sunroof and decided on a quick stop at Java Jane’s.
What was Ben doing? Did he like iced latte? If not, she’d drink his.
Ten minutes later she pulled into the inn’s empty parking lot. The grounds were quiet as she headed toward the inn with a Java Jane’s caddy. Where were the guests?
The lobby was equally as barren as the lot except for Bart, who click-clacked his way toward her, tail wagging.
“Hey, buddy, did they leave you to man the front desk?” The dog wagged his tail faster as she ran her hand over his head and around his ears. “Ben? Myrtle May?”
The silence of the lobby surrounded her. The midday sunlight splashed through the windows and across the hardwood, playing peek-a-boo with the few clouds in the sky. Suddenly the light shifted as a cloud blocked the sun. A shadow mysteriously crept up the wall to Mom’s pastoral painting.
Cami stepped closer, memories, feelings stirring, knocking, demanding her attention.
For a moment, she lived in the serene scene, young, innocent, full of hope, in the arms of a man she loved.
Mom’s expert brushstrokes were thick and bold in the field and trees, yet delicate and light for the couple sitting on the bench.
An artist’s brushstroke distinguished her, like her handwriting or the sound of her voice. Mom’s brush showed her confidence. Her ability to love and… Cami lightly touched the head of the couple. Forgive.
She battled a hot flash of tears just as a crash came from the kitchen. Raised voices followed. Bart curled in his bed with a bark.
“Listen here, Walt. I said there was no reason to take offense. I’m just saying, no one wants onions for breakfast.”
“Who says? I love onions in my omelets and my tuna.”
“Do you now? I suppose that’s why you ain’t been kissed since Reagan was president.”
“Listen here, woman—”
Cami checked her laugh as Myrtle May burst through the kitchen door wearing a red top with yellow sequins in the shape of sunflowers, purple slacks, and brown, sensible sandals. Bart bounded from the bed to greet her by burying his nose against her leg.
“Cami, goodness, when did you arrive?” Myrtle May pressed her hand to her chest, a bit flustered, then took her chair at the desk.
“Just now.” Cami backed away from the painting, from the memories of Mama’s sweet voice, her gentle hand on Cami’s shoulder as she whispered encouragement in her ear and held up the caddy. “I was looking for Ben.”
“He’s out by the cottages.” Myrtle May smiled, then pointed toward the kitchen. “I suppose you heard all that?”
“Heard all of what?” Cami winked and headed for the door. Maybe she was seeing things, but Myrtle May looked a bit flushed.
Out on the porch, Cami looked in the direction of the cottages. Was he in Cottage Three? The one where she and Mom always stayed. The one where—
Cami squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and breathed deep. Maybe it was good she wasn’t buying the inn. She’d not have to deal with those memories.
She found Ben outside of Cottage One working on the siding. He wore his Titans hat backward, jeans, and a sweat-soaked T-shirt. When he stood, she felt that rush again from the day she’d caught him sawing the tree.
“Ding-dong,” she said, holding up the lattes. “Cami-Dash. Your iced latte is here.”
“Hey, wow, thanks.” He set the hammer in his toolbox, wiped his brow with a towel, and reached for one of the cups. “What brings you out this way?”
“There are showings in my condo all day, and I was feeling a bit restless.” She sipped her iced latte. “Ah. Perfection in a cup.”
Ben set his cup down next to the toolbox. “If you have a mind to help out while I finish this siding, it will go faster, then we can grab a pizza.”
“You don’t want to grab lunch here?”
“Are you kidding? Walt is making tuna. On a weekend. Myrtle May is fit to be tied. Let’s get as far away as possible.”
“You’re on. Tell me what to do.”