by Grace Palmer
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Sneak preview of Just South of Paradise…
With one week until Memorial Day, Georgia Baldwin can feel the busy season just ahead of her like a tingle of electricity in the air. It makes her climb out of bed a little faster and adds a little spring to her step.
It’s rare for the Willow Beach Inn—the bed-and-breakfast she and her husband own—to ever be empty. But the summertime period bookended between Memorial Day and Labor Day is inevitably guaranteed to be chock-a-block full. And that means there is lots of preparing to do.
Georgia wakes her husband Richard by gently prodding him as she brushes her teeth. He sleeps through any and every alarm, so a little jab in the ribs is often the only way to wake him in the morning. It’s one of his favorite things to grumble about, but Georgia doesn’t let that faze her. Besides, he gets her back whenever he gives her a playful pinch if she happens to bend over within arm’s reach. Fair is fair, Georgia supposes. She’s always thought that much of having a successful marriage comes down to deciding which of your partner’s little peccadilloes to tolerate or learn to love.
“Good morning,” she chirps to him, voice muffled by the toothbrush. “I’ll see you downstairs in ten.”
Richard groans and rolls over, but Georgia leaves him there. He’ll get up sooner or later. They have been running the inn together for the past fifteen years and Richard has never shirked his duties.
Georgia heads downstairs to the living room of the owners’ quarters, then through the swinging door into the kitchen. She flicks on the light, dons her apron, and takes a deep breath.
Of their six en-suite guest rooms, three are currently occupied. There is a lovely young newlywed couple in the Magnolia Suite, their most expensive ocean-view room that features its own sitting room. Mr. and Mrs. Kleinman are in room 2. They are regulars who have returned to the Willow Beach Inn every year for the past five years. They usually spend the week before Memorial Day here, which Georgia has always found quite odd since everything seems to happen in the weeks afterward, but the Kleinmans say they like Willow Beach best right before the crowds hit.
It’s a sentiment Georgia can understand, even if she disagrees. Personally, her favorite time is the height of summer, when the inn is just as bustling as the beaches outside, and at all times of the day there is at least one person sitting on the breezy patio overlooking the ocean. When she has the time, Georgia likes to be that person.
Room 4 has been taken by a man around Georgia and Richard’s age, Mr. Brunswick. He is attending a conference in Portland but would rather slog through the forty-five-minute commute every morning than stay in the big city—not that Portland, Maine, would be considered a big city by most people’s standards. Georgia can’t complain about Mr. Brunswick, though. He is quiet, respectful, and always complimentary about her breakfasts.
Speaking of which, Georgia has a lot of work to do.
She turns on the oven and starts grinding coffee beans, drinking in the fresh aroma as it fills the room. She procures the beans from a woman that Georgia’s middle child, Tasha, was friends with in high school. The woman and her husband owns a roastery and coffee shop on Main Street that always has a line out the door during the summer. The coffee is truly top-notch, and the smell alone is intoxicating.
As soon as the coffee is on, Georgia pours the batter she made last night into a muffin tray. She pops it into the oven just as the first pot of coffee finishes brewing, which is when Richard makes his grand entrance into the kitchen.
“Good morning, honey,” she greets him with a wry smile.
“Mornin’,” he replies, still a touch surly as he pours two cups of coffee from the fresh batch. He adds milk to his and slides Georgia’s black coffee across the kitchen island, towards where she is opening a pack of bacon.
Georgia glances up at the clock on the microwave. Beautiful—seven thirty on the dot and they are right on schedule. “Thank you,” she says. “Did you—”
“Pick up the new tablecloths from Ginny’s Fabrics?” Richard guesses with a wink. “Yes, and they’re washed, ironed, and ready to go on the tables. I’ll go get them now.”
“You’re a gem, you know that?” Georgia takes a sip of her coffee and smiles at her husband. “What would I do without you?”
“Haven’t the foggiest,” he says in a horrendous fake British accent, pulling a wooden cart over to the fridge. “But I know you’d be doing it on threadbare tablecloths.”
Richard loads the cart and disappears into the breakfast room to put out juice, butter, jams, and all the other little breakfast sundries the guests might want. As he sets up the breakfast room, Georgia takes her coffee over to the window and takes a sip while watching the first few beachgoers plod across the sand. The day is gray and a little misty so far but it usually burns off by the early afternoon. She likes watching that happen, like the day is opening up its own curtains to the citizens of the town.
It’s remarkable how a place like Willow Beach can change so much and yet still stay the same. In all the years that Georgia and Richard have lived here, they’ve seen restaurants and businesses come and go—mostly the former, thankfully. Families, too, arrive and grow and spread, and little by little, the town takes on a life and a momentum of its own.
But some things never change. There have always been cawing birds in the sky, and beautiful misty dawns, and the smell of salt on the air. Those are some of the things that keep her grounded here.
The timer rings for the muffins. Georgia gets back to work…
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A Note from the Author
My dearest readers,
Another book in the Benson family saga is done! I cannot thank you enough for the love and care you have shown this story. No Love Like Nantucket would not exist without you.
I want to convey to you my deepest thanks for taking the time to read and share my work. It still amazes me that there are people out there who care about the stories I have to tell!
I hope that you and your loved ones are all happy and healthy in this crazy time. If I may, one piece of advice: as Toni learns in this book, the sun is always just around the corner. Love and home are what keeps us safe until the morning returns.
As for me, it’s back to the writing chair to dive in once more. As always—thank you.
With love,
Grace Palmer
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Also by Grace Palmer
Sweet Island Inn
No Home Like Nantucket (Book 1)
No Beach Like Nantucket (Book 2)
No Wedding Like Nantucket (Book 3)
No Love Like Nantucket (Book 4)
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Willow Beach Inn
Just South of Paradise (Book 1)
Just South of Perfect (Book 2)
Just South of Sunrise (Book 3)
