Hometown Series Box Set

by Kirsten Fullmer

Now that the boxes had been cleared away and most everyone had gone home, she could see the room clearly. The distressed batten board Tara had chosen instead of drywall gave the room the feel of a well-worn cottage instead of new construction. The white sectional slip-covered sofa was in position, the style purely cottage with curved arms and bun feet. A mix of throw pillows were tossed across the couch, some with worn French prints, one an ancient hooked pattern, and others in a soft teal color.

  Across the room Tara hung the last picture on the wall, adjusting it to one side, then the other.

  As her gaze wandered across the room, Lizzie felt as if she’d finally walked into her dream. Yes, it had been difficult to quit her high-power CFO job in Boston, but not for the reason most people thought. She felt no regret at leaving the generous salary or the long hours behind; it was dealing with her mother that drained and aggravated her beyond words.

  The woman was a force to be reckoned with, and up to this point Lizzie had silently plodded through the schemes her mother laid out. She’d kept up the grades, graduated from the right schools, successfully maneuvered the interviews and promotions. She’d advanced through her mother’s plots like a performing monkey collecting peanuts in a tin cup.

  Her only reprieve had been summers spent on her grandfather’s farm. Those long days filled with sunshine lived vividly in her memory. Time spent pulling weeds in the vegetable garden, canning fruit, and porch sitting had been meaningful, unlike the endless parade of parties and pageants her mother loved.

  Frowning, she could still feel the bite of disapproval from the other socialite mommas -- the way they talked about her behind their hands, as if she didn’t know what they were saying. She’d tried, she really had, but her tanned gangly legs and wreath of frizzy curls hadn’t given her much of a chance to impress.

  But she was here now, she assured herself, in an environment where she could pause for a breath, chat with a friend, offer a hand to someone in need, and sleep deeply through the star-filled nights. Her mother might want her to marry a wealthy man and attend garden parties, but that was not the life Lizzie intended to live.

  The large Franklin-style stove in the corner on its rock hearth caught Lizzie’s eye, and she shook off the memories. Soon the temperature would drop and the stove would draw the room’s visitors into its warmth and glow. Her eyes wandered back to the sofa. A large, battered leather ottoman sat in the crook of the sectional, giving the room another aged element that grounded the furniture to the cool pinks and teals of the faded Turkish rug. She could almost see local women gathered on the ottoman, chatting, with teacups balanced on their knees.

  Lizzie sighed as pride and joy swelled in her heart. All those years as she’d trudged through Boston traffic and crowds, she’d dreamed of working in a place just like this. Now, the almighty dollar and the ticking clock held less meaning. Family and friends mattered more than money in this place.

  Gloria emerged from the back room, where she’d been folding towels.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” Lizzie asked proudly.

  With a wave toward the room, flashing her long red nails, Gloria sighed. “Pretty as a picture.”

  Lizzie noted the younger woman’s nails, then her lavish cleavage, momentarily concerned about addressing the issue of a dress code for the spa. She couldn’t have the receptionist flashing the clientele.

  Gloria hefted her oversized purse off the counter. “I better get going now. We still on track for the opening?”

  Lizzie tucked a curl behind her ear, then glanced from corner to corner, taking in the entire room. “I think so. What do you think, Tara?”

  Tara flipped on the wall switch, lighting up the two burnished-brass candlestick lamps on the end tables. “I think we’re about ready. We still have some paperwork to manage and product to stock, but we’re about there. What do you think of the place now that it’s coming together?”

  Lizzie could only smile and nod. It was exactly as she’d imagined it. “You are a visionary, Tara, and you described it to me perfectly, right down to the oars on the wall.”

  All three women paused to admire the room; then, with a wave, Gloria headed out the door. A small-framed blond woman sidestepped around Gloria, nodding hello and goodbye, then shuffled her feet on the doormat. She tugged off her muddy garden gloves and glanced up to see Lizzie and Tara both watching her. “Oh, here you are, good.”

  Tara joined Lizzie at the counter. “Julia, I’d like you to meet Lizzie, the spa manager.”

  Julia looked up through her lashes and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said, then, considering her words, she continued, “I’ve seen you around today, but I haven’t had a chance to say hello.”

  Lizzie shook the tiny blond woman’s hand. “You own the flower shop house at the end of the driveway, right?”

  Julia nodded.

  “Your yard is fabulous, and I hear you’ve worked magic outside today,” Lizzie said. “Can we go see?”

  Julia glanced between Tara and Lizzie. “That’s why I came to find you. We have a few more details to finish tomorrow, and all the interior flowers, of course, but the landscaping is about finished.”

  “I can’t wait to see it!” Tara gushed, excitement radiant in her expression.

  The three women tramped onto the porch, where crickets chirped and birdsong echoed across the yard.

  The porch wasn’t wide, barely broad enough for a few rattan chairs with blue cushions and a side table, but the charm of the setting continued as the porch wrapped around the corner of the spa to the deck. Potted ferns hanging between the posts offered a cool vibe to the white rails and sky-blue-painted ceiling boards.

  “I love the ceiling color,” Julia said, craning her neck to look along the inside of the porch roof.

  Lizzie agreed. “It’s perfect, but what made you choose blue?”

  “It’s haint blue,” Tara replied, glancing along the ceiling rafters. “According to Louisiana legend, a ‘haint’ is a ghost. The blue paint represents water, and supposedly evil spirits can’t pass through water.”

  “Oh, really?” Lizzie whispered, her hand on her chest. “Spooky.”

  “Yeah,” Tara continued. “It’s a Southern thing."

  “Interesting,” Julia muttered, her chin still pointed toward the porch roof.

  “Oh my gosh!” Lizzie exclaimed, her expression one of wonder as her eyes roamed the yard of the spa. “It looks like this place has always been here!”

  True to the Southern style, low plants were now rooted in front of the porch rail, with the lattice below the porch floor barely visible. Hostas and blooming day lilies filled the flowerbeds and sod had been laid to cover the bare dirt in the yard.

  “Come around by the deck,” Julia said, leading the way around the edge of the spa.

  As the women rounded the corner of the building, the barn came into view and with it a throng of teenagers, their voices and laughter wafting across the yard. The end of a school bus was visible behind the barn.

  “Oh no!” Tara cried, halting with a jerk.

  “Why is a school bus here?” Julia asked, her eyes darting between Tara and the barn theater.

  “I completely forgot they were coming, and I didn’t tell Justin!” Tara lamented, covering her face with her hands. “I’ve been such a ditz lately!”

  “What should we do?” Lizzie asked.

  Tara’s hands dropped and she grabbed Lizzie’s arm, her gaze flitting between her friends. “Come with me, he can’t kill me if you two are with me.”

  Julia glanced at Lizzie, then back to Tara. “We’ll come with you, but—”

  “He’ll be so upset with me…” Tara moaned as they started toward the barn. “Why didn’t I tell him when I was thinking about it?”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine, just calm down,” Lizzie comforted, not at all sure. “We’ll go see what’s happening.”

  “Why are the kids here, Tara?” Julia asked again as they plodded across the yard.


  Tara’s feet dragged as she walked, her head hanging. “It’s the school play. They needed a venue and I offered the theater.”

  “And you forgot to tell Justin?” Julia gasped.

  “Does he get really mad?” Lizzie asked in a quiet voice, her pace slowing to match her new boss’s.

  Julia shook her head and made a long-suffering face.

  Tara sucked in a deep breath and continued forward, gesturing with her hand. “No, he never really gets mad at me anymore, he just makes that face.”

  “That face…?” Lizzie prompted, her eyebrows up.

  “Yeah, like he’s disappointed in me.”

  “Honey, he loves you,” Julia assured her friend with a pat on the arm. “He knows you forget things sometimes, everyone does.”

  “But I mess things up a lot,” Tara complained.

  They rounded the corner of the barn, and Lizzie’s mouth fell open. She’d never seen what lay inside the barn, and the scene before her was stunning. The main barn doors had been rolled open wide to reveal an eatery in the lower level with a polished concrete floor and rustic dining tables, the chairs upside down on the tabletops. The most amazing part of the barn, however, lay behind. Huge doors on overhead rollers stood open along the far side of the barn, revealing an amphitheater. Concrete risers supported bleacher seating down to a stage at the bottom of the hill. Around the stage was a structure that matched the barn containing lighting, dressing rooms and backstage storage.

  The scene was complete chaos, with teenagers milling about in groups, creating a cacophony of noise. Four or five kids were on the stage arguing over a script, and a group of boys were propping up a set that wobbled precariously. Girls were pulling costumes from a box, and the rest of the kids were gathered in front of the stage in groups, talking excitedly or staring at their cell phones. The teacher, Mr. Chatterton, was in the center of the group waving his arms and speaking loudly in an attempt to be heard above the din.

  Lizzie’s eyes scanned over the crowd for Justin, finally finding him sitting in the back row of riser seats with his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. Beside him Elliot was perched languidly across the bleachers, his long legs spread out over the bench seat in front of him as he leaned back on one elbow, a bemused smile on his handsome face. Her feminine side noted that the man resembled a Greek God lounging in his temple, but immediately her sensible side kicked back in.

  Tara’s panic level rose palpably, and Lizzie reached out to grip her friend’s hand in support.

  Justin lifted his head and caught Tara’s eye. His face was blank and stoic. For a moment Lizzie was afraid her friend would collapse under the strain, yet Elliot sprawled serenely surveying the scene, obviously no help in a crisis. Typical of his type, she thought.

  Julia grasped Tara’s arm and eased her onto a riser seat. Lizzie made her way down the risers of the amphitheater toward the distraught teacher. When she reached the anxious man, she smiled and spoke in what she hoped was a calm manner. “Need a hand here? I have some theater experience.”

  Lizzie’s mom had basked in the drama of being a stage mother and had insisted Lizzie participate in theater productions when she was young. Consequently, Lizzie knew her way around a stage.

  Mr. Chatterton nodded in exhaustion and relief, and Lizzie gave him a reassuring pat on the back, then stepped up onto the stage. Raising two fingers to her lips, she issued a shrill whistle that stopped the crowd in its tracks. “All right, everyone, let’s get organized here,” she announced in a confident voice. “You girls bring those costumes up and let’s find the dressing rooms. All of you standing around, find a seat and settle down.” She turned toward the stage crew. “Do you guys need a hand?”

  The boys supporting the set nodded.

  Cupping her hand over her eyes to block the stage lights, Lizzie looked out over the riser seats where the kids were shuffling to sit down. “Justin? You want to come and show us where the tools are?”

  Justin’s expression was one of concern as he climbed over the bleachers toward Tara, but he turned toward the stage and waved to agree. Reaching his wife, he sat beside her and spoke to her in a low voice, which appeared to reassure the panicky woman; then he stood and pulled her up into his arms.

  Lizzie turned her attention back to the stage. Soon, the students with scripts were gathered around their teacher as he instructed them on blocking.

  As Lizzie turned to lead the girls loaded with costumes toward backstage, she was relieved that for the moment the situation seemed to be under control. “What next?” she wondered with a weary sigh.

  Chapter Five

  The long day finally drew to a close, leaving Elliot in the lobby of the spa with a mixture of dismay and curiosity on his face. His hand rose to rub the back of his neck, and he realized Justin was saying something. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Justin chuckled. “I said it looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

  Elliot shrugged and jammed his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m at a loss here,” he muttered. “This is not like any spa I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure Father will—”

  “Tara has a gift for design, especially this shabby cottage style,” Justin continued, oblivious to his friend’s concern. “Speaking of which, I need to go check on her. I’ll see you back at the house.”

  Elliot waved a goodbye and wandered toward the wall where he reached out to touch the distressed batten boards.

  Lizzie appeared from the back room carrying a stack of empty boxes and came to a halt when she saw Elliot. “Oh, I thought everyone was gone.”

  As if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Elliot whirled around.

  Lizzie stacked the boxes on the end of the counter and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

  Elliot stood gaping at her, no words immediately available. Once again, her bohemian style had him off kilter. “Can I help you with those? You look absolutely beat—” With a grimace, he realized the comment wasn’t at all flattering. “No, I mean you must be exhausted, getting all this done…” he corrected, waving his hand toward the lobby, his words diminishing as he spoke.

  Lizzie considered him for a moment, her expression tentative. “We did get a lot done, thanks to all the ladies who showed up, but there’s still tons to do. I’ll be back early tomorrow…” Her voice faded as she couldn’t help but notice that Elliot was staring at her chest. She glanced down, then back up. “Is something wrong?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

  His gaze darted back up to hers and he flushed. “No—no, I’m sorry, I was just looking at your—” His brow wrinkled as he searched for the word. “Necklace…?” he offered.

  Unfolding her arms, she lifted her necklace with one finger. “This?”

  He nodded. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.” And it was true. He’d dated extensively, and the women he’d been with dressed in the latest outrageous styles. They wore all sorts of jewelry, from horrifically expensive gems to costume designs, but Lizzie’s outfit and accessories were unreal, and the whole thing appeared to be pieced from a scrap bin.

  “Yeah, it’s a necklace,” she said, admiring the jewelry she’d bought at a prairie-style boutique a few weeks before. The long chain was tied with bits of lace and scraps of fabric, between charms and feathers.

  “It goes with the rest of your outfit,” Elliot said, then blushed again, seeing as how he knew far more about women’s designer gowns than he did about Lizzie’s attire.

  With her head tilted to one side, Lizzie wondered if he was making fun of her. “Thank you…” she drawled, obviously undecided.

  “So—did this room turn out like you’d planned?” Elliot asked, desperate to reclaim the conversation but without hope that she’d see his point of view. He was not comfortable with any part of the spa at this point. And he was certain his father would feel the same way. The man was demanding when it came to running his architectural firm and up to now, Elliot hadn’t incurred his wrath by allowing a pro
ject to stray.

  She stared at him hard for another long moment with those glowing dark eyes, looking for all the world as if she could read his mind and found him lacking.

  A little shocked, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. Women typically found him fascinating, flocking to his side, more than eager to talk about themselves and their careers. They usually didn’t stand glaring without speaking or smiling.

  Finally, Lizzie brushed past him into the lobby. “This place is perfect. Tara is a genius.”

  “Well, I’m thrown by it, to be honest,” he commented. “This is very different than the spas I’ve designed for other clients.”

  She turned back to face him, a question in her eyes. “How so?”

  “My clients want ultra-modern, pristine spas.”

  Lizzie stood silent for a moment, her expression dark.

  He tried again. “Clean, professional, and all that”

  Her fists planted on her hips. “Are you insinuating that this spa won’t be professional?”

  “Not at all,” he replied. Or was he? “I’m just wondering what your thought process is, that’s all. This looks more like someone’s lake cottage than a spa waiting room.”

  “Exactly,” she replied.

  He stared blankly at her. “I don’t understand.”

  Lizzie hesitated, then appeared to resolve herself to some great task and sighed. Her shoulders dropped and she motioned toward the sofa. “Do you mind? My feet are killing me.”

  “By all means, please,” he nodded, his hand extended an invitation to be seated.

  Lizzie dropped onto the couch and leaned back into the pillows with a long sigh. She plopped one laced boot onto the ottoman, then the other, crossing her feet at the ankle. “Thanks.”

  Elliot watched her, noting her boots with amusement. Once she was settled, he found his way to perch on the far end of the sofa. His eyes crinkled with a smile as he tossed another glace at her boots. Then he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  “Where were we?” Lizzie asked, her eye meeting his and catching there.