Love at Christmas Inn Collection 2
Page 16
“That’s simply an old wife’s tale.” Lila sniffed and the pollen from a cluster of Bradford pear trees along the drive made her sneeze. When she’d caught her breath and thanked Morgan for his God bless you, she continued. “This house is nothing of the sort. Talk like that is just…well, it’s merely superstition. I would prefer to keep such rumors where they belong—out of the limelight.”
“Whatever you say, but I’m not the one who’s seeing shadows.” Morgan tucked his car keys into his pocket. “Anyway, why don’t we shelve the so-called rumors until later and get this party started?”
“Yes, and I saw the reflection of a tree limb.” She nodded stiffly to drive the point home. “You were right. That’s all it was. Nothing more.”
Yet, now she wasn’t so sure.
“Of course you did.” He tucked the notebook beneath one arm. “Are you ready to head inside?”
“Oh…I’m more than ready. I think I may have seen a vase for these flowers in an upstairs room.” The previous owners had left several pieces of furniture and a flurry of belongings—almost as if they’d left in a hurry. “And the water should be running—I called the company last week to have it turned back on.”
“All systems are go, then.”
“Yes, they are.” Suddenly, Lila felt a tiny trill of excitement at what lay in store. Her life-long dream to own her own business was taking flight now—at this very moment. She’d be her own boss, make the boutique exactly what she wanted it to be. Her imagination—and her budget—were the only limits. The very thought was almost surreal. She stepped carefully along the gravel drive, holding her balance as she crossed to the stairs. “And, Mr. American Idol wannabe, I can manage in these shoes just fine.”
“Sure you can.” Morgan covered his mouth with one hand. Lila was sure his light snickers were directed at her. He bowed once more as he swept his free hand across the drive. “After you, princess. Let’s go.”
Veiled Gems
Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection - Kindle
Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection - Print
About Mary
Where friendship blossoms
and love blooms…
MARY MANNERS is a country girl at heart who has spent a lifetime sharing her joy of writing. She lives in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains of East Tennessee with her husband Tim, their rescue dog Axel, cats Colby and Rascal, 6 chickens, and 14 fish.
Mary writes stories full of faith and hope. Her books have earned multiple accolades including two Inspirational Reader’s Choice Awards, the Gail Wilson Award of Excellence, the Aspen Gold, the Heart of Excellence, and the National Excellence in Romance Fiction Award.
Mary loves long sunrise runs, Smoky Mountain sunsets, and flavored coffee. She enjoys connecting with reader friends through her website: www.MaryMannersRomance.com.
More Titles by Mary Manners
Honeysuckle Cove Series
Sunrise at Honeysuckle Cove
Beyond the Storm
Honeysuckle Cove Secrets
Showered by Love
Moonlight Kisses
Sweet Tea and Summer Dreams
A Pair of Promises
Honeysuckle Cove Collection 1 - Kindle
Honeysuckle Cove Collection 1 - Print
Diamond Knot Dreams Series
A Tender Season (Diamond Knot Dreams Prequel)
Veiled Gems
Jeweled Dreams
Precious Fire
Crystal Wishes
Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection - Kindle
Diamond Knot Dreams: The Collection - Print
The Mulvaney Sisters Series
Love on a Dare (The Mulvaney Sisters: Alana)
Captive at Sea (The Mulvaney Sisters: Claire)
Somewhere Beyond the Blue Collection
Dream Come True
Heart’s Haven Collection
Dance with Me
Love Notions
Designed by Love
Babycakes
Christmas Novellas
Angel Song
Christmas Wishes...Special Delivery
A Splash of Christmas
A Boulder Creek Christmas
Sugar Cookie Kisses
Christmas Collections
Love at Christmas Inn: Collection 1
Love at Christmas Inn: Collection 2
Novelettes
Starfire
Wounded Faith
Sweet Treats Bakery Series
Kate's Kisses
Grace's Gold
Tessa's Teacakes
Mattie's Meltaways
Sweet Treats Bakery: 4 in 1 Anthology
Lone Creek Ranch Series
Lost in Lone Creek
Lullaby in Lone Creek
Lesson in Lone Creek
Love in Lone Creek
Miracles at Mills Landing Series
Miracles and Mischief
Stolen Miracles
Miracles and Dreams
Willow Lake Series
Whispers at Willow Lake
Warrior at Willow Lake
Wishes at Willow Lake
Wedding at Willow Lake
Wildflowers and Wishes Series
Daffodils and Danger
Freesia and Faith
Lilies and Lies
Evergreens and Angels
Sins and Virtues Series
Disguised Blessings
Heartache and Hope
Secrets Unveiled
Labor of Love
Wants and Wishes
Hearts Renewed
Songs of the Soul
Pure Amore
Blackberry Ridge
Simple Blessings
Stand-alone Titles
Buried Treasures
Wisdom Tree
Promises Renewed
Tragedy and Trust
Hopes and Kisses
A Pocketful of Wishes
Winter Wishes and Snowflake Kisses
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The Second Time
Around
Marianne Evans
Dedication
To Vicky Weiss, my 5th grade teacher,
who first saw and encouraged my abilities as a writer.
Thank you for helping me realize I can, and should,
be a story teller. Teachers like you
are a precious gift.
Key Verse
He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion
until the day of Christ Jesus.
~ Philippians, 1:6 ~
Chapter 1
THE INSTANT GLENN PORTER SWAGGERED across the threshold of Dustin Farrell’s office, Dustin cringed. “DJ—I’ve got a business op for you.”
Okay, sure, his full name was Dustin James Farrell. Nonetheless, Dustin hated being referred to as DJ. But since this was his boss and everything…
Before breaking away from his computer’s dual display monitors, Dustin completed a complicated excel calculation. Just another day in the trenches of Unico REIT. He was right in the middle of tweaking a budgetary spreadsheet for a shopping center construction project he was managing for their client, Realto. Dustin had scored the 3.5-million-dollar development assignment, but his job didn’t end there. He needed to make sure his team followed through and stayed on-point per Realto’s very tight and demand
ing schedule.
Meanwhile, Glenn thundered on. “So. There’s this little local arts shop located in the middle of middle Tennessee that’s got growth potential written all over it. I want you to check it out.”
“A little shop? You want me to check out a little arts shop with potential? Sorry, Glenn, but I’ve got busy written all over me. Sounds like a great op for an associate.”
“But I want you.”
Dustin stifled a groan. “Why would you want your development manager to wrestle with a small-time one-off?”
“Because it’s Hope Creek.” Glenn left his comment right there and waited expectantly, letting silence build.
“No.” To soften the blow of outright rejection, Dustin focused fully on Glenn and folded his hands, resting them against the top of his desk in what he hoped sufficed for a supreme display of patience and calm resolution.
“Hope Creek, Tennessee.”
“I know the place. Repetition’s unnecessary.”
“Come on, man. You’re the hometown boy made good. Very good, in fact. You’re also the hometown boy who can reel in Kilgore Group with a great investment opportunity and build on their portfolio from there. I want you to take a first-hand look at what seems to be a solid franchising opportunity. This small-time one-off is right up their alley.”
Kilgore Group. They were New York retail capital dressed in the clothing of hipster investors. The Kilgore mission statement focused on spurring the discovery and development of creative businesses, local shops and artists. Bent on beating back commercial homogenization, Kilgore Group was all about growing the talents of small-town artists and fostering unique talent. In concept, Dustin lauded that effort. Anything that defeated the cookie-cutter mold appealed to him. In fact, that character nuance had served him well in spotting up-and-coming business opportunities.
Still, like any corporation, Kilgore was also about making lots of money with minimal risk. Ultimately, a certain degree of homogenization took place once Kilgore moved in. Such was the nature of the development beast.
“Kilgore can step in and back the growth as well as a small-scale, manufactured production of goods.” Glenn kept right on pushing. “You know. Enough production to expedite quantity and supply an increased demand without too much of a sacrifice in the way of quality.”
Dustin snorted. Couldn’t be helped. Therein lay the issue, plainly stated. That kind of double-standard grated against Dustin’s nerves, but he quelled the reaction by shuffling a project folder across his desk and issuing a sardonic laugh. “Without too much sacrifice, eh?”
“I hear the sarcasm.”
“Good catch, but I was laying it on pretty thick.” Dustin swiveled in his chair.
Glenn flopped into the chrome and leather seat across from Dustin’s desk and gave a hoot. “This is precisely why you’re the ideal choice to spearhead the initiative. Even after five years in Manhattan, you’ve still got that protective, hometown vibe going for you. Kilgore will love it, and so will the owners of the shop. Everyone will get the warm fuzzies, and everyone will win.”
“I’ll try to take that as a compliment.”
Glenn shrugged, appearing magnanimous when he was anything but. “Hey, it’s better than me saying you have a small-town chip on your shoulder that could use some sanding.”
“Uh-huh.” Dustin refused to rise to the bait. “I’m still not interested. Now more than ever. Thanks, though. Give it to someone else. Please?”
“Oh, come on. Ours isn’t to quibble. Just check it out. The place is called Purple Door Art Market. It’s owned by a woman named Maxine Culver.”
Maxine. A blast from the high school past. “I remember a Maxine Culver. Back in the day she taught art at Hope Creek High.” Dustin did some math—guesstimating her age and adding in the ten years that had passed since graduation day from Hope Creek High. “She might have retired by now.”
“Retired or reinvented. She’s not teaching that I could see. Instead, she’s a businesswoman. She has a partner, too – a minority stakeholder in the company. Evidently the partner is an artist who manages the shop and creates some of the store’s better selling pieces.”
“For the record, I hated art class. I’ve always been more of an economics and math/stats kinda guy.” This go-nowhere business offering was sucking him down by the ankles. Glenn had already completed a heavy amount of research which exponentially decreased Dustin’s ability to back away.
“That’s such a shocker. Not. Anyway, Lillianna Bennett is the partner at Purple Door, so you’ll need to get buy in from both parties, of course, and—”
Wait a minute. Lillianna Bennett?
Dustin blinked—and held his breath. Glenn’s babble faded to the background while memories of Lillianna froze him within moments from the past that moved through him fast and hard, carrying with them the image of a petite, wall-flower of a girl he had known in high school. Plump, bespectacled, she had most often styled her thick mane of long blonde hair into tumbling waves, free of constraint. Many times, those dancing curls would slide over her shoulders when she dipped her head shyly, thereby hiding a pair of luminous, large hazel eyes. She was the quiet type. The observer. The Lillianna he recalled was smart but reserved.
What remained once the memory storm ebbed was the way those doe-like eyes of hers would light and sparkle whenever her world turned to art, to creation, to making something of her own…out of nothing more than a blank canvas of any type—though he knew she favored the medias of wood and metal. She had placed top ten in a statewide competition her senior year with a glossy rectangle of cherry wood she had sculpted and burned with a compelling level of detail. The hanging depicted a sunrise bursting across the pine-rimmed waters of a lake. She had called it ‘North Michigan Idyll.’
Dustin frowned. How in the world had he remembered that obscure factoid after more than a decade?
They traveled in different social circles at Hope Creek High, but they had been friends. From time to time, they’d share table space at the cafeteria during lunch periods, but for the most part one-on-one interaction was hindered by the larger pack of friends who surrounded them and detracted from her quiet, introverted demeanor.
During their junior year, she took advantage of the Co-Op program—earning credit for Intro to Business class while working after school for a few hours as a part-time receptionist. It had been an insurance company, right? Located at the heart of town on Main and Second. He recalled the location for sure, because one day, he had pulled out of the school parking lot, the wipers of his late-model Honda barely able to keep on top of the deluge of rainwater that pounded his windshield and spied her starting the quarter-mile trek to work.
Head bent, the hood of her rain jacket pulled into place, she had extended an umbrella, but between blurry blade swipes, Dustin could see the gesture was futile. An angry wind pushed the downpour against his car windows and drummed the hood of his car and basically demolished her sole source of protection.
There was only one thing to do.
Slowing his vehicle to a stop near the sidewalk where she walked, Dustin had called out to her and offered a ride. She climbed in, claiming shotgun with a heartfelt thank you but not much more. As he pulled away, though, she apologized for her sodden apparel. Dustin couldn’t have cared less about water-marks on the seat fabric. Instead, he was left intrigued by the way she clutched her book bag tight against her chest, like a lifeline almost, her head bowed and those pretty eyes of hers diverted.
From that point on, Lillianna’s shy sweetness pulled at him…like a mystery he longed to solve.
But her introversion became the enemy. She lived far too within herself to ever be part of the active, athletic, scholarly life Dustin had fought to achieve. So, at the end of the day, nothing had been ventured, so nothing had been gained. Dustin shrugged internally, yet still, the memory of her quiet innocence kicked a warm flame to life in his heart. A bout of curiosity about Lillianna Bennett, and the people of Hope Creek, left him
thinking. Maybe a quick trip home for the Christmas holidays wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“The first rule of wood burning? Never be afraid of a blank canvas.” Slow, measured steps took Lillianna Bennett around the perimeter of the dining room at Christmas Inn, a space temporarily transformed into classroom space for her weekly wood burning class at the famed B & B. “Yes, you can see the stencil I provided—the outlines of a Christmas tree, of words to be engraved. There’s a foundation, but beyond that, the canvas is blank, isn’t it?”
Her students nodded, a few of them fingering the scalloped edges of a light colored, Baltic birch plaque that rested before each participant. Satisfaction and contentment swelled while Lillianna took in the already stenciled outline of a tree against the right edge of each plaque, the swoop and swirl of the words, ‘Joy to the World’ which she had penciled lightly into the open space, words which were now ready to be burned to permanence.
“Rule number two? Don’t be afraid to create. There’s no right or wrong in the art we’re creating today. Add a couple of ornaments, or maybe a gift. Some candy canes. But…” Lillianna lingered over the foreboding word, her enthusiasm and energy carrying to the dozen expectant, people now turned her way. “Don’t be afraid of blank space. Blank space can be like taking a breath of air. Blank space can be freeing, with a beauty all its own.”
One of her participants, a guest of the Inn, spoke up. “But I can’t even draw stick figures. Seriously.”
Lillianna joined a circuit of laughter that engulfed the table. She rested her hand gently on the forearm of the middle-aged woman. “Don’t even worry about that. This is going to be fun, and you have a general outline to follow in the stencil on the wood before you, so just relax and enjoy!”
Murmurs increased to a conversational flow as her students prepared to burn wood and create a Christmas-themed wall hanging to take with them as a memento of their visit to Christmas Inn. Five-by-seven-inch wood pieces were stationed next to small, hand-held wood burners. There were also sanding blocks meant to be a prop for hot instruments to keep heated tips away from table surfaces. Within small metal bowls rested a variety of burning tips with a pair of tongs meant to be used for removal. Next to that lay a stack of colored pencils.