Chapter 2
The Magnolia House needed some work. Well, that was a generous way of wording it. The house was a run-down piece of crap.
A grubby post-storm haze clung to the windowpanes.
The house had once been a soft, lovely yellow.
But time and weather had faded the color and chipped the paint.
Instead of a soothing pastel, the house appeared sickly.
Sage green shutters hung off their hinges, relying on weed-ridden flower boxes to keep them in place.
Rust rained down from the wrought-iron railing bordering the second floor, an ornate design of fleur-de-lis and the namesake flower. It dusted the top of the warped, faded sign swinging below it.
Magnolia Therapy Clinic and Wellness Center.
Someone had actually struck through the word clinic with a black marker and hand-written the rest of the sign.
This did not bode well for what I would find inside. Though the lawn was freshly mowed, the hedges were overgrown, and the sidewalk hadn’t seen a pressure wash in a hot minute.
It was an eyesore of epic proportions. And it was all mine.
Well, technically it wasn’t. Not yet. Once I’d lifted my jaw off the floor, Ethan had explained that I had a thirty-day trial period to decide whether to accept my inheritance.
During that time, I was expected to establish myself as the head of the therapy division and accept ownership of the organization as well as the house.
Whatever that meant.
I’d been bequeathed a dilapidated mansion and a failing business. But at least I had a roof over my head for the next month. Even if that roof leaked. I figured as long as there was a bed, it was already a step up from sleeping at my desk.
A dark cloud hung behind the house, threatening rain. I needed to get inside and get away from dark, scary thoughts. It wasn’t like me to dwell on the negative. I wasn’t about to start now.
The house was still the same gorgeous structure that greeted me each day when I’d walked from school to see my mom. The business couldn’t be any worse than the one I’d left back in New Orleans. It needed a bit of work. Maybe some love. But hey … so did I.
Either way, I was likely on the verge of bankruptcy.
If I got a new sign, met with the division heads, and understood the operations better, I could probably turn it around if I tried. How bad could it be?
I paused my thoughts there, rubbing a fist to my heart. A small trickle of excitement flared. I hadn’t even bothered to take a polish rag to the desks in my clinic. So why did this house feel worth putting effort into? Maybe the OG Simone was still buried under layers of despondence.
“I’m going to be excited about this. This is a positive change in the right direction. Clouds may come, and storms may rage, but they will pass. I will receive a sign that this is going to work out.”
I wasn’t much one for toxic positivity, but choosing to focus on the bright side out loud did make me feel better. As if it agreed, the storm cloud dissipated, and the sky brightened.
Weird, but I would take it.
The front door opened with a groan, and a woman stepped out.
She had the kindest smile I’d ever seen.
Her straw-blond hair fell below her shoulders in cute, blunt layers.
Her makeup was minimal but tasteful, and the peachy tint to her skin made me think of fresh fruit and picnics.
The straight, loose yellow dress she wore completed the effect.
This woman embodied all the best parts of summer. Her awkward little wave charmed me.
“Are you going to come in? I promise anyone that might bite you isn’t here today.”
I had to laugh at the strange wording. Whoever she was, she had an aura that soothed me, like I was about to meet my very best friend. Maybe this was my sign.
“Sorry,” I called out, still lingering on the sidewalk. “I was sitting with my emotions. Well, technically I was standing with them.”
Her smile softened, and a sympathetic gleam lit her green eyes.
“Yep, you’re a therapist all right. Come on in, Simone. We’re so glad you’re here.”
I took a deep breath, mostly because I was picturing myself in a movie moment and that was what the main character did before embarking on a big journey.
And that thought, that I was the main character in my own life again, was the last step I needed to move forward.
I stepped onto the busted, cobbled path leading to the Magnolia House and walked forward.
When I reached the woman, I stuck my hand out.
“Simone Bardot. Nice to meet you.”
She pulled me forward into a hug.
“Girl, this is the South, and you and I are already besties. Can’t you feel it? Besties gotta hug!” She said the last bit in a funny whine that reminded me of the movie Tommy Boy. I had to appreciate a goofy sense of humor. With her friendly embrace, the remainder of my tension dissolved.
“So good to be back in a small town, I gotta say.”
“It’s the place for me, no doubt.” She opened the door, and I followed her inside. “I was born and raised in Atlanta but got here just as quick as I could.
“I’m Brianne Steele, by the way.” She continued forward, toward the open-door kitchenette peeking out from the back of the main area. “You want coffee? Some tea, maybe?”
I barely heard her name. I’d stopped walking when I reached the lobby, and my mouth hung open. The inside of the Magnolia didn’t look anything like the outside. And it was very, very different from when my mom had worked here thirty years ago.
Natural sunlight flooded down from a skylight so far above me I had to crane my neck to see it.
Strange, as the house hadn’t seemed that tall from the outside.
A wrought-iron balcony, with the same design but polished to a gleam, overlooked the main lobby.
I couldn’t see anything beyond that on the upper floor.
The lobby was long and narrow, with wide-board oak floors and walls a soothing shade of warm gray. A few chairs and a floral rug adorned the center. On each side were two sets of doors. The doors were a dark mahogany, with unique carvings and simple yet tasteful signs next to brass doorbells.
Past the doors was a small corner office, squared off by a matching floral rug. There were no walls other than the one behind the desk, which was covered with two large white bookshelves and a massive filing cabinet. Still, it felt like its own space.
The rustic desk matched the bookshelves and was sparsely covered. A sleek phone sat in one corner with a laptop in the center. The only pops of color were a high-backed, bright pink desk chair and a large bouquet of red roses sitting atop the file cabinet.
The entire area had a clean and simple feel to it, yet it was warm and inviting. There were no scents in the crisp air. Had I been tense when I arrived? That was all gone now. I wanted to relax in this lobby.
“It’s so different.” I gratefully accepted the glass of iced coffee Brianne handed me.
“I’ve had a hand in redecorating over the years. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I?” I wandered closer to the first door on my right. An intricate series of swirls were carved onto the front, reminding me of hair flowing in the breeze. The sign, in simple, bold charcoal lettering, read SALON.
“Well, I took over after your mother passed.”
I pivoted to face Brianne.
“You’ve worked here for thirty years?”
“Not exactly.” An edge of unsureness was working through Brianne’s voice.
“Agatha kept your mother’s position open until about twenty years ago when my husband and I moved here.
I have to say, the records and operations manuals your mom created were impeccable.
She could have run this place with her eyes closed. ”
My eyes welled at the naked admiration in her voice. I didn’t think about my mother a lot. It hurt too much. It was nice to know she was still well-remembered.
Brianne lifted her lips into a quirky half-smile. “But her taste in decor was a little, shall we say, basic?”
I closed my eyes, as much to keep the tears in check as to visualize the lobby the way it used to look. I could have sworn there were only two doors at the time, but I must be remembering it wrong. It’s not like they could have added rooms.
Which was odd, too, because as narrow as the lobby was, it also seemed to be the same width as the house. From the outside, it didn’t appear to have space for four rooms on each end. They would have to be tiny.
What I could envision from the past was sparse furniture, most of which came in a box and required assembly. I chuckled to myself at the memory of the dozen or so tiny Allen wrenches Mom had kept in a drawer in our kitchen, just in case one of the boxes didn’t include its own.
“We didn’t have money when I was growing up. My dad wasn’t around, and Mom worked hard. I know Agatha asked her to make the place look presentable, but Mom couldn’t get over the expense.”
I wanted to soothe Brianne and make sure she understood I had no resentful feelings about the changes she’d made. Time moved on, whether we wanted it to or not. I liked Brianne on sight and knew I would enjoy working with her. It was painful to admit, but I was starving for friendship.
Still, it occurred to me that I was her boss now. Or I would be, if this worked out. I wanted us on the right footing.
“Everything looks beautiful. It feels clean and welcoming and soothing, just like the Magnolia should.” I flipped my coffee to my left hand and wiped the condensation on my slacks, then reached out to shake her hand.
“I have absolute faith in your ability to manage the Magnolia, Brianne. You’re meant to do great things here. ”
It was another odd thing to say, but I was used to being awkward on first meetings. And sometimes second meetings. And, if the other person was really pretty, really tall, or had that cool vibe … well, it took me a long time to fully get over the awkwardness. Sometimes it stayed forever.