Show Me the Way Page 4

  I palm his cheek. “You’re too much, Jack Snyder.”

  “I’m desperate is what I am. Since I couldn’t get you to go ring shopping with me, I had to resort to drastic measures.” He slips the ring on my left hand.

  I stare at the diamond, glimmering pinks and blues from the sunlight streaming in through the window. “I absolutely adore it.” Pinning him against the wall, I kiss him with all the love and passion I feel for him.

  When the kiss ends, in a breathy voice, he says, “Does this mean we can get married before next summer?”

  “How about next spring, after we open the spa building?” When disappointment crosses his face, I add, “Spring is sooner than summer.”

  “And winter is sooner than spring,” he says with a shy smile.

  “No way! I can’t swing a wedding so soon. Not with all the uncertainty with the inn and Jazz.”

  Jack appears wounded. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were having doubts.”

  I lay my head on his chest. “No doubts. We agreed to wait, Jack. We’ve only known each other a few months.”

  Those months now seem like years, and I’m ready to be with him. Or am I? Am I having second thoughts about marrying him? Is that what’s causing this uneasy feeling in my gut?

  After locking up the house, Jack and I go to the lunch counter at the Hope Springs Pharmacy on Main Street for a bowl of homemade chili. While we eat, he shows me drawings for remodeling the kitchen in the new house. “This is over the top, Jack. Shouldn’t we wait?”

  “Take my word for it, we do not want to live through a kitchen renovation.” He rolls up the plans and secures them with a rubber band. “Stop worrying about money, Stella. I stand to double what I’ve invested in my house. I’ll get a lot of the materials at cost and do much of the work myself.” He bonks me playfully on the head with the plans. “If it makes you feel better, you can pay for lunch.”

  I laugh out loud. “I’ll have to pay you back. I don’t have my purse with me.”

  He cuts his eyes at me. “You’re a high maintenance woman, Stella Boor.”

  He pays the bill and we drive back to the inn. Naomi is at the check-in desk when I walk through to my office. “You look flushed,” she says to me. “Did you have a little lunchtime delight with your boyfriend?”

  Naomi claims my engagement to Jack isn’t legit, because he hasn’t given me a ring. I get warped pleasure out of flashing my new diamond at her. “Fiancé, Naomi.”

  Her face turns to stone, and I don’t even try to hide my smile. “So, are you making any progress in booking new conferences?”

  She glares at me. “I’m working on it.”

  “That’s what you said when I asked you about it a week ago. You’ve been the inn’s guest services managers for years. You helped coordinate conferences in the past. You know the contacts at these companies. Are you dragging your feet to annoy me?”

  “Get over yourself, Stella.”

  “We need this business, Naomi.”

  “Okay. I’m on it.”

  “What about our marketing campaign? If we’re not already, we should target brides looking for a destination wedding.”

  She glares at me. “I’ll get right on it.”

  Jazz emerges from the office, licking chocolate-smudged lips. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Stella!” She runs over and hugs me.

  I lift her into my arms. “What’re you doing here, kiddo? Why aren’t you in school?”

  “I have a dentist appointment.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “You’re eating chocolate before you go to the dentist?”

  She hunches her tiny shoulders. “Why not? The dentist is gonna clean them, anyway.”

  I laugh, kissing the tip of her nose.

  When a guest approaches Naomi with a question, Jazz and I step away from the desk. “How are things at home, kiddo?”

  Tears well in Jazz’s amber eyes. “I miss you and Jack.”

  I thumb away a tear on her cheek. “Oh, honey. We miss you too. It's natural for us to miss one another. We lived together all summer.”

  “Can I come live with you again? Mommy ignores me. She never watches TV with me or reads me books. All she does is play with her phone.”

  Typical. “How’s your reading coming?”

  “My teacher thinks I’m getting better. Mommy says I don’t need to go to my tutor anymore.”

  I manage a smile. “Good girl! Keep up the hard work.” I feel totally frustrated by this situation. When Jazz moved back in with Naomi at the start of the school year, Naomi agreed, at my insistence, to let Jazz continue with her tutoring sessions and ballet lessons. Naomi is her biological mother and legal guardian. As much as it pains me to admit it, she doesn’t owe me any explanations about reading tutors or ballet lessons.

  5

  Everett

  On Thursday morning, after a five-mile run, Everett makes his weekly trip to the town’s library. Sitting down at one of the public-use computers, he signs into his Gmail account and deletes all of the expected emails from Carla and Louie without reading any. His mom has written her usual chatty email, relaying funny stories about the rich women who pay her to alter their expensive clothes. She talks about these women as though they’re her friends. She has no other social life. When she’s not sewing, she’s taking care of his diabetic father who doesn’t appreciate the sacrifices she makes for him. Everett is her only child, and he suspects not having him around has been difficult for her. But she’s a good sport. She doesn’t ask where he’s living or when he’s coming home. She understands he needs time to himself to sort through some issues.

  He types out a quick response, telling his mom he loves and misses her, and clicks send.

  Everett takes his time walking to work, enjoying the warm autumn weather. Despite the early hour, tourists and locals crowd the sidewalks, window shopping and dog walking. Like most college towns, boutiques and eating establishments, many of them geared to students, line Main Street. Caffeine on the Corner offers a mean Frappuccino, but he prefers to satisfy his sweet tooth with two scoops of butter pecan ice cream from Dairy Deli across the street. The locals claim Elmo’s Bistro has the best food in town. He’s only been there once for Sunday brunch, but in his opinion, it can’t compare to Jameson’s.

  When he arrives at the inn, he’s relieved to see the fisherman loading luggage into two cars. He feels Turkey Neck’s eyes on him as he rounds the side of the building to the kitchen entrance. Turkey Neck knows Everett from somewhere. It’s entirely possible he heard Everett sing at Blue By You.

  He shakes off an uneasy feeling as he enters the kitchen. Cecily, who is pacing the floor and gnawing on a fingernail, appears to have her own brand of nervous energy.

  He drops his backpack on the counter. “What’s wrong?”

  She continues to wear out the tile floor. “My shipment of seafood is late, and salmon is one of our specials tonight.”

  “Have you called the vendor?”

  “Duh. They said it was on the way, should be here any minute.”

  “Okay. Stop.” He grabs her by the arm. “The pacing is making me nervous. Talk to me. Why are you so stressed out?”

  When she looks up at him, Everett sees genuine fear in her eyes. “This job means a lot to me, Everett. If Jameson’s doesn’t work out, I’ll have to move away from Hope Springs. And I really like it here.”

  Everett pinches her cheek. “You mean, you really like a certain lacrosse coach who lives here.”

  A pink blush travels up her neck. “I don’t like Lyle. I love Lyle. I want to make a life with him. And his job with the college is secure.”

  “Come with me.” Taking her by the hand, Everett cracks the door to the dining room, and seeing there are no guests, he drags her over to a table by the window and pulls out a chair for her. Sitting down opposite her, he says, “You need to get a grip, Cecily. Business may not be what we hoped for, but Stella has assured us the inn is financially sound. We will weather th
is storm.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then what else is bothering you?”

  “The same thing that was bothering me last night. The menu for the football party. You promised to help me with it.” She removes a pen and notepad from the pocket of her black apron, tossing both on the table.

  He picks up the notepad. “The page is blank. What happened to the menu you were working on last night?”

  “I scratched it,” Cecily says. “I need fresh menu ideas, and I can’t come up with any.” She buries her face in her hands. “We’ve only been open six weeks, and I’ve already reached my professional peak.”

  Everett chuckles. “All your ideas are still fresh. And your old menu items are very good. Incredible, even.” He jots down his five top favorite menu items she serves at parties. Sweet Potato Ham Biscuits. Pecan-Crusted Chicken Skewers. Mini Crab Cakes. Tuna Tartare on Toast Points. Pimento Cheese Bites. “This is a start. I can think of more.”

  “Not necessary. I have a file with hundreds of recipes on my computer.” Lifting the notepad, she studies his menu. “None of these relate to football.”

  He falls back in his chair. “We’re not hosting the Super Bowl, Cecily. And we aren’t throwing a tailgate party. Our guests don’t want buffalo chicken dip. Have your pastry chef make football-shaped brownies or something. No one cares if the food has a theme as long as it’s tasty.”

  She hangs her head. “I guess you’re right. I’m worried I’m losing my creative edge.”

  “You’re barely thirty years old. You’re just getting your creative juices flowing.” He sits up straight again. “You’re putting too much pressure on yourself. I’ve sampled most of your specials. They’re inventive and flavorful. You’re offering our guests fresh ideas every single night.”

  “Do you think so, really?” she says in a pathetic tone.

  “Now you’re fishing for compliments.”

  She laughs. “You’re right. I am fishing for compliments. My ego needs a boost.” She drops her smile and looks closely at him. “Why doesn’t a nice guy like you have a girlfriend?”

  Everett smiles at her. “I’m recovering from a relationship gone way wrong.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.” Her gaze shifts to something or someone behind him. “She’s into you, you know?”

  He turns in his chair to see his part-time bartender standing in the doorway. “Kristi’s sweet, but she’s just a kid.”

  When Kristi waves him over, he holds up a finger to let her know he’ll be there in a minute. He turns his attention back to Cecily. “So . . . about the party. Do you want me to come up with a signature beverage?”

  “That would be great. As long as it’s not trash can punch.” Cecily wears a dazed expression, as though her mind’s running in a million different directions. “What if it rains?”

  “Is it supposed to rain? I haven’t heard the forecast.”

  Cecily pushes back from the table. “A hundred percent chance, remnants of that tropical storm in the Gulf of Mexico. The forecast predicts the bulk of the rain will hold off until Saturday morning. Fingers crossed.” She lifts her hand to show him her fingers are just that.

  “That sucks for the football game.” He stands to face her. “But that’s not our problem. Let’s not worry about rain until we have to. Okay, Cecily?”

  She smiles at him. “Okay, Everett. Thanks for the pep talk.”

  He gives her arm a squeeze. “Anytime.”

  Everett and Kristi spend the next couple of hours mixing their way to a cocktail they call the Sparkling Hail Mary—a combination of apple juice, orange liqueur, and Prosecco with slices of fresh apples and pears. He’s taking inventory of their supplies, preparing to place an order for Friday deliveries with their local beer, wine, and liquor distributors, when he feels someone watching him. Turning, he sees a pair of golden eyes peeking around the corner of the entryway at him. Crouched down, he hurries toward his young friend.

  “What’re you doing sneaking up on me like that? Huh? Huh?” He pokes the child in her tummy several times until she giggles.

  “Turn me upside down, Everett!”

  “You mean like this.” In one swoop, he lifts her up by the ankles.” Her knit top slides down, revealing her belly button. When he tickles her tummy, she squeals. “Stop! Everett!”

  He looks up to find Naomi glaring at him. “Put her down, Everett. We have guests in the house.”

  “Sorry, Jazzy. Your mom says I have to put you down.” He lowers the little girl until her hands are on the ground before letting her feet drop.

  “And why aren’t you in school?” he asks Jazz, patting the top of her head.

  “I got out early to go to the dentist.” She sticks out her tongue. “Yuck.”

  “Let’s see.” Bending over, he opens her mouth and inspects her teeth. “I don’t see any cavities. You should be fine.”

  She shoves him away. “You’re not a dentist.”

  He laughs. “No doubt about that. Do you have ballet today?” Everett has seen this kid dance. He doesn’t have to be an expert to recognize talent.

  Jazz bobs her head up and down.

  “Will you dance for me afterward?”

  “Yes!”

  He offers her a high five. “I’ll be waiting.”

  She cranes her neck to look back at him as she walks off hand in hand with her mother.

  He waves at her, fingers wiggling under chin. “Bye, Jazzy.”

  Suddenly at his side, Kristi says, “She’s a cute kid. Too bad she has such a bitch for a mother.”

  His neck snaps as he looks down at Kristi, who rarely says anything negative about anyone. “Something’s going on with Naomi. I’m still trying to figure out what it is. For Jazz’s sake, I’m hoping it’s just a phase.”

  Everett thinks about what Cecily said earlier about Kristi being into him. No doubt she’s beautiful with a tight body and pert breasts. She’s always flirting with him, and he wouldn’t have to try very hard to get into her pants. But, not only is he her supervisor, he’s not that kind of guy anymore. At least he’s trying not to be that kind of guy. He’s had more than his share of hookups in his life. Groupies throw themselves at him, offering more than applause for his performances. Sometimes it’s hard to say no. All the more reason to stay secluded in the mountains a while longer. There are two types of girls in this town. College kids who hang out at the bars on Main Street, and guests at the inn who are mostly older than forty. Not that some college moms aren’t cougars. And plenty have made passes at him.

  Since coming to Hope Springs, he’s only met one woman who intrigues him. He’s been on the lookout for Presley all day, but so far, much to his disappointment, he hasn’t seen her.

  6

  Presley

  According to the high school’s website, the varsity girl’s field hockey game against Lynchburg’s E.C. Glass is scheduled for four o’clock on home turf. At three thirty, Presley leaves the inn and drives over to the school. She’s among the students and parents packing the bleachers when the referee blows the whistle for the face-off. Based on the conversations around her, the Hilltoppers are the Hawks’s biggest rival.

  The woman sitting next to her, the proud mother of the Hawks’s goalie and team captain, has a stack of rosters, and she’s happy to give one to Presley. There is one pair of sisters on the varsity team. Emma and Abigail Reed. Emma, number twelve, is a senior while her sister, number twenty-three, is a junior. Both are in the starting lineup, but within minutes, it’s clear that Abigail is the team’s star. By halftime, she has five goals to her credit.

  Three minutes into the second half, Abigail scores again, prompting the woman behind Presley to say to her friend sitting next to her, “Did you hear Abigail is being recruited by UVA?”

  The friend says, “I guess so. Her father’s some bigwig alumni there. I’m sure he’s trying to get back into his daughter’s good graces after he left her mother for another woman.”

  Presley’s ears
perk up.

  “He’s trying to get her a scholarship is what he’s doing,” the first woman says. “He’s bankrupt.”

  The friend gasps. “You don’t say.”

  “Yep. He owned a chain of high-end restaurants in Charlotte. Ran them all into the ground.”

  “So that’s why Rita moved back in with her parents,” Friend says. “I thought she was living with them while she looked for a house.”

  “She’s not living with them. They gave her the house. They moved into independent living at Shady Grove before they were even ready to be in a retirement facility.”

  It strikes Presley that these women are talking about her biological grandparents. Will Presley ever get to meet them?

  “Can you imagine?” Friend says. “How humiliating for poor Rita.”

  There is no sympathy in the woman’s voice, and while Presley can’t see her, she imagines the malicious smile on her face.

  Presley spots the woman, whose name she now knows is Rita, three rows down in the middle section. She’s totally engrossed in the game, oblivious to what these catty women are saying about her. If she’s not Presley’s biological mother, she’s her aunt, and Presley takes offense to their gossip.

  Now is Presley’s big chance. She could politely ask Rita, who is seated at the end of the bleacher, to slide over and make room for her. The imaginary scene plays out in her head. She joins Rita, and they strike up a conversation about the game. Presley makes up a lie as to why she’s here. She tells Rita that she came to pick up her little sister from school. Her sister is a freshman and wants to stay until the end of the game. Rita tells Presley her daughters are numbers twelve and twenty-three, and Presley congratulates her on their performance. Presley asks Rita if she has any other children, and she tells her she had another child once, a daughter she gave up for adoption.

  The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the third quarter and jerking Presley back to reality. Rita has enough on her plate—dealing with the divorce, being a single mother, and moving her parents to a retirement home. And what if her ex-husband can’t afford to pay her alimony? She may be struggling financially. She doesn’t need the child she put up for adoption thirty years ago wreaking havoc on her life.