The muscles in Jack’s face tighten, but he doesn’t appear angry. “Think about how drastically your life has changed since April, Stella? You found out about the father you never knew you had. You moved from New York City to a tiny town in the mountains of Virginia. You nursed your baby sister through meningitis. You managed the multi-million-dollar renovations on the inn. The reopening wasn’t as successful as you’d hoped, and now you’re worried you’ll have to close. Not to mention your constant concerns for Jazz’s well-being. And those are only the highlights of the past six months. Anyone else in your shoes would’ve long since had a nervous breakdown. I think it’s only natural for you to be having doubts about your future.”
“When you put it like that . . . I guess I have been through a lot. I adore this town and living on the farm. I want to feel settled, but something’s holding me back. I think that something is the fear that I’ll be forced to give it all up.” More tears stream down my cheeks, and he hands me the red bandana he keeps in his back pocket.
“You’re getting the cart before the horse, Stella. I’m sorry if I’ve pushed you too hard, asking you to marry me when we’ve only known each other a short time and buying the manor house without consulting you. We don’t have to get married until you’re ready, even if that means two years from now.” He takes my hand. “If the worst happens and you lose the farm, I’ll support you if you look elsewhere for a job.”
“But Hope Springs is your home,” I say, sniffling.
“My home is with you. I would prefer to stay here, but I’ll follow you anywhere.”
“You’re too good to me, Jack. I don’t deserve you.” My heart swells with love for him. If I’m not careful, I’ll lose him. I need to suck it up and stop whining about the what-ifs. “From now on, I’m going to stop worrying so much about the future and live in the here and now. We’ve both been working so hard lately. We’ve hardly had any time together. When this party’s over, can we carve out some alone time?”
“You bet we can.” He walks his fingers up my arm. “And I have some ideas of ways to spend that time.”
19
Everett
Everett watches Presley sleeping peacefully beside him. She’s classically beautiful with a creamy complexion, elegant features, and auburn hair splayed across her pillow. What does she see in a deadbeat like him? She deserves better. To have a chance at a future with her, he needs to give her his best self. And he can’t do that on a bartender’s salary. Especially not in a bar with no customers.
When she stirs, Everett takes her in his arms and makes love to her until she screams out in pleasure. Sex with Presley is different than anything he’s experienced before. Even with his long-term girlfriend from his early twenties whom he was certain he would one day marry. His desire for Presley is consuming. She’s under his skin, deep inside of him. This must be the real deal.
They lounge in bed for a long time afterward. When he finally tears himself away, he returns to his apartment to shower and dress before going to the library. He greets Rose, the librarian, with a peck on her cheek that brings a scarlet blush to her face. When he signs onto a computer, his heart jumps at the sight of an email from Wade Newman in his inbox. His excitement over hearing from Wade overpowers his concern that there are no emails from his mom.
Clicking open the email, he reads Wade’s brief message.
Sorry about your old man. Hope he feels better soon. I am absolutely still interested in your work. When would be a good time for a phone conversation?
On impulse, Everett types out a response. Because of hectic schedule, better for me to call you. Name a time, and I’ll make it happen.
He signs off the computer and leaves the library, winking at Rose on his way out. He’s halfway back to the inn when he realizes his mistake. What if Wade returns his email right away and wants to speak with him today? Why didn’t he accept Stella’s offer of a computer for the bar?
The reservation office houses two desks with computers. One belongs to Naomi, but the other is free for any employee to use. When he arrives at the inn, the guest service agents are busy with patrons, and the office is empty. He quickly accesses his email, but there is no word from either Wade or his mom. When he returns to the office a second time around noon, the staff computer isn’t working. He taps on the keyboard and jiggles the mouse, but the monitor remains black. Poking his head out of his office, he confirms the guest agents are still tied up and sits down at Naomi’s computer, accessing his email. He has one message from Wade. None from his mom. Wade provides a contact number and asks that Everett call him at nine o’clock, Nashville time, on Friday morning. He scrawls Wade’s number on Naomi’s sticky note pad and exits his email account.
He doesn’t hear her come in, and he’s startled to look up and find Naomi looming over him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, bug-eyed. “Why are you using my computer?”
Everett shoots up out of the chair. “My dad is sick and I’m waiting for an email from my mom.”
Hand on hip, she says, “Your fake mom who lives in North Dakota, or your real mom in Georgia?” Naomi doesn’t express any concern for Everett’s father’s health.
“Give me a break, Naomi. I’m not in the mood.”
When he tries to brush past her, she takes hold of his shirt. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you using my computer? You know it’s strictly off limits.”
He nods at the staff computer. “Something’s wrong with that one. I couldn’t get it to turn on.”
Naomi goes over to the computer and clicks a button on the back of the monitor. The computer comes to life. “It helps if you power it on.”
Everett shrugs. “Sorry. I suck at electronics.”
Naomi steps so close to him, he can smell garlic and onions on her breath. “I don’t like you, Everett. Wanna know why? Because I don’t trust you. I know for a fact you lied about your background. Wanna know how? Because I checked you out. I got your social security number off your employment application. You’ll eventually screw up, Rhett, and when you fall, I’ll make sure you go down hard.”
Anger mixed with fear creates an adrenaline surge that pulses through his body. He grips her arm, squeezing tight. “Don’t you dare threaten me. Here’s a news flash for you, Naomi. I don’t like you either. Then again, no one here does. If anyone’s going down, it’ll be you.”
He storms out of the office and hurries back to the safety of his blue bar. How much does Naomi know about his past? She called him Rhett and mentioned Georgia. And at the meeting yesterday, she said his friend from Atlanta had booked two rooms for the weekend and was staying for the party on Sunday. She was blowing hot air. Or was she? Who is that fisherman from Atlanta? Mack Lambert. Why is that name so familiar?”
Everett’s adrenaline level tanks, and he begins to quiver all over. Naomi is scheming something. He’s certain of it. Is she trying to get him fired? If so, why? What has he done to piss her off? Or is she just a vindictive bitch looking for trouble wherever she can find it? Regardless, Everett needs to tell Presley everything. He can’t risk her finding out the truth about Carla and Louie from someone else. And he doesn’t want their relationship to be based on lies. But he’ll have to wait until after the party. Presley can’t afford the distraction. For now, he should keep his distance.
He makes it through the rest of the day without seeing Naomi or Presley. Business is slow as usual. He spends the afternoon perfecting his signature cocktails for the party. Despite leaving work early, the library has already closed when he gets there. He’s desperate for an email from his mom. A nagging feeling tells him something is wrong in her world. He hates to admit it, but not having a cell phone is becoming a problem.
Cecily, who also spent the afternoon experimenting, has sent him home with a to-go bag of sample finger foods for the party. But he’s too worried about his mom to have any appetite. He removes his guitar from the closet and works on his new piece, a song about the ch
allenges of being a recovering alcoholic. Everett can always count on music to calm his nerves and tonight is no different. When he hears his groupies calling for Music Man, he opens his window and performs his new song, “Just Say No.” The crowd goes wild for it.
He performs for over an hour, the usual oldies that energize the crowd. It’s Thursday night and they’re ready to party. He’s absorbed in his music, and when he hears clapping nearby, he’s surprised to see Presley in her window.
He sets his guitar inside his apartment and makes his way over to her. “How long have you been sitting here?”
She smiles up at him. “About twenty minutes.”
He rubs his one-day stubble. “I didn’t see you.”
“I noticed. You were totally into your music.”
He squeezes in beside her on the windowsill. With their bodies close, he can smell the flowery scent of her perfume. He’d like nothing more than to take her inside and make love to her all night long. But he’d vowed to keep his distance until after the party. They sit in silence for a long while.
She nudges him with her elbow. “You’re awfully quiet. Is something bothering you?”
He fakes a yawn. “I’m just tired.”
“Why don’t you ever talk about yourself, Everett? You know all about me, but I know virtually nothing about you. Except that you’re from Georgia.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. “How do you know that?”
She gives him a playful shove. “The license plate on your truck, silly.”
Damn. So, she noticed the plate after all.
She leans into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’re from Atlanta. I have a bunch of college friends from Atlanta. You might know some of them.”
“I’m actually from North Dakota. Over the summer, I flew to Atlanta to see a buddy of mine. When I decided to stay on the East Coast, I bought that truck from one of his friends. I haven’t gotten around to transferring the tags yet.”
She pulls away from him, her gray eyes dark and full of suspicion. “What else are you hiding, Everett?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorting through some personal problems. I have some things I need to tell you, but I’d like to get through the party on Sunday first.”
Irritation crosses her face. “I don’t understand. Why wait until after the party?”
“Because you might not like what you hear. And I don’t want you to be distracted from your job.”
“We can work through anything, Everett, as long as you’re truthful with me.”
He pushes off the window to his feet. “The party ends at eight on Sunday. By the time we clean up, we’ll get out of there by nine thirty or ten. We’ll bring home some food, if there’s anything left, and camp out on Big Blue. I’ll tell you everything then.”
“Promise?”
Leaning over to kiss her cheek, he whispers in her ear, “I promise.”
Back in his apartment, he stretches out on his air mattress. He’d rather snuggle up to Presley in her comfortable bed. But he feels somewhat relieved now that she knows he’s struggling with some issues. She won’t be blindsided when he comes clean with her on Sunday night.
Promptly at nine on Friday morning, Everett places the call to Wade Newman from the landline in Billy’s Bar. While he waits for him to pick up, Everett says a silent prayer Wade doesn’t notice the Virginia area code.
On the third ring, he answers, “Wade Newman.”
“Morning, Wade. It’s Rhett Baldwin.”
“Rhett, buddy, good to hear from you. How’s your old man?”
“Hanging in there. He suffered a stroke.” Everett repeats what his mom wrote in her email. “Fortunately, there was no permanent damage, but he’s still not a hundred percent. Mentally, he’s struggling. I’ve been helping my mom out. She really needs me right now.” Everett cringes at how easily the lies depart his lips.
“You’re a good son,” Wade says, and Everett thinks, I’m the lousiest son on the planet.
“When do you think you’ll be ready to launch your career?”
“Whenever you’re ready, Wade. I can’t put my life on hold forever.” Everett hates the idea of leaving Presley. But she’s from Nashville. His hope is she’ll move back to Nashville with him, if she doesn’t break up with him when he tells her about Carla.
“Well, look,” Wade says. “Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away, and nothing ever gets done around here during the holidays. Why don’t you plan to be in Nashville the first of January?”
Wade’s proposed timing will give him a chance to sort out his mess of a life. “January sounds perfect.”
“In the meantime, I’ll be putting some things in place to launch your career.”
Everett slumps against the counter as an enormous burden is lifted off his shoulders.
Wade goes on, “I’ve got your demo tape. I realize you’ve been busy with your old man, but have you been working on any new material?”
“I have a few songs I think you’ll like. I’ll polish them up and send them to you in a couple of weeks.”
They talk logistics for a while longer, and when he hangs up with Wade, Everett goes straight to the library. He’s disappointed to find his inbox empty. Something is wrong at home. He feels it in his gut. He considers calling his mom. But, if something is wrong, he’ll be tempted to drop everything and drive home to Atlanta. And he can’t leave Hope Springs until after the party. Until after he’s talked to Presley.
20
Presley
Presley works from her apartment on Friday morning, tying up loose ends for the party before meeting Lucy for lunch at noon. The island theme for Main Street’s newest lunch spot seems all wrong for a small mountain town. Maybe the owner’s goal is to offer patrons an escape from the dreary winters everyone complains about, which Presley has yet to experience. But when she enters Paradise Found, instead of feeling like she’s in the islands, the riotous display of pink flamingos and fake palm trees makes her nauseous.
The tables, painted a high-gloss bubblegum pink, are all occupied by sophisticated middle-aged women with expensive hair highlights and trendy clothes on their well-toned bodies. The clientele who should be lunching at Jameson’s.
Lucy manages to snag a table by the window. Sitting down opposite her, in a low voice intended for Lucy’s ears only, Presley says, “I have my doubts about this place.”
Lucy peers over her menu at Presley. “You think? Vulgar is the word that comes to my mind. Why aren’t these refined ladies eating at Jameson’s?”
“I just asked myself that very question. Maybe we need to do a better job of advertising our weekday specials.”
One eyebrow cocked, Lucy says, “Maybe we need to do a better job of advertising period.”
Presley opens the menu on the table in front of her. “They have twice the offerings we do.” She pretends to read a text on her phone while she photographs the laminated pages.
“The owner is a young local woman in her mid-twenties who just graduated from culinary school in New York. From what I understand, her father bribed her into coming back to Hope Springs by setting her up in business.” Lucy eyes the plates on a nearby table. “The food looks gross.”
Presley follows her gaze. “I’ll bet it tastes worse.”
Lucy scrutinizes her. “What happened to your glow? Trouble in paradise already?”
Presley’s face warms. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
Does she? She’s not sure. Maybe it’ll help to confide in someone. “Okay, so we were together on Wednesday night. And the sex was lovely, tender and meaningful. Being with him felt so right, like I could totally see myself waking up in his arms every morning for the rest of my life. But when I saw him last night, he was acting standoffish.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“Not a clue. I’m proceeding with caution until I know him better.” She lifts t
he menu off the table and begins studying it, signaling to Lucy the discussion about her relationship with Everett is over. Presley doesn’t want to tell her about the talk she and Everett have planned for after the party. If things don’t go well, she won’t have to explain.
The waitress, a thin woman with a beehive of inky hair, appears at their table. Cecily gave strict instructions on which menu items to try. When Lucy orders the crab cake sandwich, Presley asks for the lesser of the two evils—the sesame-ginger chicken salad.
As soon as the waitress leaves, Presley says, “Now. Moving on to the purpose of this lunch. You promised to tell me why men can’t be trusted. What happened in your marriage, Lucy?”
“It’s a long story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Presley bobs her head. “Oh yeah! I totally wanna hear it.”
Lucy settles back in her chair and crosses her legs. “Grant and I were childhood sweethearts, our families across-the-street neighbors. By the time we started high school, we were in a serious relationship. As you can imagine, living in such close proximity to each other drove our parents crazy. They watched us like hawks. But they worried needlessly, because Grant and I agreed to wait until we were married to have sex. Then, Grant’s senior year in high school, his father accepted a job in Chicago.”
“During your senior year? That must have been hard for both of you.”
“I cried for months. But it was especially hard on Grant, because he loved—loves Hope Springs. There was never any doubt that he would one day make this town his permanent home. I committed early to Chapel Hill and was thrilled when Grant chose the University of Georgia for college over Notre Dame. A five-hour drive was easier and cheaper than a plane trip. Our freshman year, we managed to see each other once or twice a semester. I was disappointed when Grant spent that summer working in Nantucket, and by the time school started the following fall, we’d agreed to see other people. We still talked about one day getting married, but we both wanted time to ourselves, to enjoy the college experience.”
Show Me the Way Page 13
