Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Beverly
“I want you to meet someone,” I say.
I’ve been giving Ridge a tour of the quaint downtown area of Heartsboro, and we’re standing outside of the Wild Daisy Inn on Main Street.
Curiously, many people crowd the sidewalks on the Sunday after Thanksgiving.
Since the autumn rains finally dissipated, folks must be anxious to get out of their confined spaces and stretch their legs.
Either that, or they’re just plain bored with leftover turkey and pie and crave some of Miss Jenny’s Southern cooking.
“Who do you want me to meet?” Ridge asks. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes, and he’s wearing a backward Dodgers hat. Even his dressed-down disguise makes me swoon.
I pull open the cheerful yellow antique door of the Wild Daisy Inn and say, “My friend, Miss Jenny. She owns the place.”
We walk into the downstairs lobby and café bustling with the post-church crowd chowing down on Miss Jenny’s popular menu items. The 1908 building was once a general store, renovated with a dramatic staircase leading to the large upstairs, which has four guest rooms. I told Ridge this is where Madison stayed a few times back when she was working in the corporate world of land acquisitions.
Thank goodness the deal with Jamison Farm didn’t go through, or else she and George would’ve never ended up together, and there would be no Joey.
It’s hard to believe that was less than two years ago.
I lift my eyes above the people and the noise, scanning the area with its exposed brick walls, worn wood floors, and an eclectic mix of antique furniture while looking for Jenny.
The entire place exudes a bygone era, which I adore, and I’m hoping Ridge might feel the same way.
I catch sight of Jenny near a sideboard covered in cake domes protecting an assortment of decadent desserts, her red-lipped smile and signature wide-brimmed hat on full display.
The woman is a regular Southern Belle, her apron a bright and cheery daisy print matching her branding throughout the quaint café.
She catches my eye and squeals with delight.
“Beverly! How are you?” She folds me into her arms, and we hug. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving.” I beam. “Jenny, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
Jenny tilts her head and gives Ridge the once-over. Even in his disguise, it’s easy to see how handsome he is. “Oh?”
“This is my boyfriend, Ridge Wilson.”
Jenny’s brow furrows, and she watches Ridge slide the sunglasses from across his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jenny.”
Realization crosses her features, and her eyes go wide. She takes a step back and holds onto the counter. “Ridge Wilson? The Ridge Wilson?”
I look around the crowd, hoping no one overheard her dramatic gasp. “Shhh. Miss Jenny, we don’t need the entire restaurant to know.” Ridge is quick and slides his glasses back on.
“Oh, yes. I mean, no, we certainly don’t want that.
Come with me.” She goes into owner-mode and grabs my arm, pulling me through the narrow hallway running the length of the first floor.
Ridge follows closely behind, and I look over my shoulder and offer him a reassuring smile.
He lowers his sunglasses and winks at me.
I peek into the kitchen at the back of the building, the small staff preparing lunch plates for the Sunday crowd as Jenny ushers us through another door leading into the vacant bar next door.
“We didn’t mean to cause I scene,” I say. “I just wanted to stop by and say Happy Thanksgiving. We’re on our way to the airport.”
Jenny is clearly out of breath and has her hands on her hips, eyes still wide and roaming Ridge’s manly stance behind me.
“Well, Happy Thanksgiving. It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you, Ridge.
I wish I would’ve known y’all were coming into town.
I could have set up a pleasant lunch for you in one of the private rooms upstairs.
But then again, my guests haven’t checked out yet because of the Thanksgiving holiday.
” Her voice titters, and I realize even a salt-of-the-earth woman like Miss Jenny can get starstruck.
I lean forward and pat her on the arm. “Take a breath, Miss Jenny. We’ve already eaten, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Yes, thank you.” Ridge chuckles.
“May I give you a hug, Mr. Wilson? You must know, you’ve given me more joy and entertainment over the years with your amazing movies than anyone else in Hollywood.”
“You are too kind.” He opens his arms wide, and Jenny tentatively walks into his embrace for a hug. She silently mouths, “Oh. My. God.” to me and I laugh.
“Seriously, your café and inn are right up my alley. You should be very proud.” He releases Jenny and casually wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me close.
Jenny can’t stop smiling. “Thank you,” she replies, over-enunciating her syllables with her Southern drawl. “Would y’all like to sit in here, away from the crowd? Janie’s bar doesn’t open until later. She won’t mind.”
“Mind what?” Janie comes from around the corner of the bar and stops in her tracks. “You’re Ridge Wilson,” she says matter-of-factly, without a hint of fandom.
Ridge humorously pats his body with his hands. “I guess I am.”
We all laugh.
“Jenny and Janie are twins,” I tell Ridge.
“No way. And you do business right next door to each other?”
“Sure do.” Janie rolls up her sleeves, revealing several colorful tattoos. “She’s the Wild Daisy, and I’m the Tipsy Daisy.”
Ridge chuckles again. “The Tipsy Daisy. I love it. It’s the perfect name for a small-town bar.”
I love watching him interact with my friends, my heart thrumming with joy and happiness, knowing this won’t be the last time we come to this place.
I want Ridge to feel comfortable with the locals.
I want him to feel like he belongs and that he won’t be inundated with paparazzi and fans groping and obsessing over him.
I want him to feel like this is his home.
We hang out with Jenny and Janie and enjoy a glass of sweet tea, catching up on each other’s lives. I can tell they’re thrilled for me, and by the time we leave, Ridge and the ladies are acting more like old friends, not a Hollywood star and two starry-eyed, middle-aged women.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and I follow Ridge’s rental car for the next hour toward the Atlanta airport.
Traffic on the interstate is slower than normal on a Sunday afternoon, an indication that the Thanksgiving holiday week is over as people return to the city.
I want to follow him because the airport is on my way home anyway, and I wasn’t ready to say goodbye at the farm.
The air surrounding me is heavy and bittersweet, thick with euphoria and nerves, love and elation.
Between the paralyzing fear of having to say goodbye to the man I love and the precious gift of the last several days, I’m on sensory overload.
During this quiet time alone in my car, I’ve had time to reflect.
I’m glad we had the sex talk. Waiting is the right thing to do.
We both agree that delayed pleasure will deepen our trust toward each other.
We want to build a bond before we share our bed.
We want to focus on our values and our emotional connection as we continue to get to know one another.
There is no rush. But I know it will be hard to quench this fire inside of me.
And he chose me—Ridge loves me. Even though the world doesn’t know it yet, he’s no longer Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor.
No, sir. He’s taken. Just thinking about my extraordinary good fortune causes my entire body to buzz with warmth.
I pull the collar of my turtleneck sweater away from my skin for a bit of airflow, the grin on my face hard to contain.
I want more holidays like this. I crave them with an insatiable hunger. I want to marry Ridge and live with him at the Milton farmhouse. I want to watch him sleep. I want his baritone laughter and piano-playing echoing throughout the property.
But can I really have that? Can I really have him?
Or is this another one of my fantasies because I’ve watched way too many romantic movies over the years?
And let’s not forget, Ridge has a life in Hollywood.
He has a career, and a son. It’s one thing to schedule visits with someone you love over the holidays, quite another to schedule time together during the mundane times of life when you have to work, raise children, and consider the long distance to be with one another.
Still, I feel a sense of peace and a confident trust that things will somehow work themselves out.
Ridge is quick with his car at the rental return facility and climbs into the passenger seat of my vehicle, his suitcase already loaded when we said our goodbyes to Madison and George back at Jamison Farm.
“Traffic is a nightmare,” he says, leaning over and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “You good to drive?”
“I sure am.” I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, dreading our impending farewell.
I follow the flow of airport traffic to the drop-off zone. Soon, I’m flicking on my hazard lights and popping open the trunk. Ridge grabs his luggage and hoists it to the curb. He studies me for several seconds, looking so handsome it hurts.
“Come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. I pout and link my fingers through his as he pulls me forward, soothing me with a tender kiss. I kiss him back, reveling in his smooth skin against my jaw. The pressure of his lips against mine. The instant heat pouring into me.
“I don’t want you to go,” I lament.
He clutches my hand directly over his chest. My mind instantly goes back to that first day in the library, when I branded his shirt with a coffee heart.
“It’s only a couple more weeks until you’re free again.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. I can get through these next few weeks before my official Christmas break.
It’s usually my favorite time of the year, when the kids are excited and we have holiday programs, art projects, and lots of goodies to look forward to.
I especially like the little notes, generous gift cards, and presents from the families.
But now, all I can think about is being back in Ridge’s arms again, his kisses the only thing I want for Christmas.
“I’ll have Arthur set up your travel again.” He adjusts the thick lapels of my red coat.
“Are you sure it’s no trouble?” I lean into him and look up at his gorgeous face, trying to remember every detail: the flecks of gold in his hair under the sunshine.
The sweep of his dark lashes. His prominent jawline and charming smile.
I’m not sure what I’ve done in my life to deserve this man. But I’m eternally grateful.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
A shrill police whistle punctuates the air, a man in uniform sternly marching toward us. He’s waving his gloved hands for us to get a move on.
“I have to go.” Ridge grins. He tips my chin upward with his fingers. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
One last agonizing, passionate kiss, and then I watch him slip sunglasses over his eyes and his Dodgers baseball cap on his head again.
He trots away incognito, while apologizing to the officer for holding up traffic.
I stand on my tiptoes and wait until I can see the automatic doors close behind him.
And then I go through the motions of getting into my car and driving toward my empty home in the suburbs—alone.