Show Me the Way Page 5

  Standing, Presley crawls her way over the row of spectators to the aisle and hurries out of the stands to the safety of the parking lot. She drives around town for an hour trying to figure out her next move. She made a mistake in coming to Virginia. For Rita’s sake and her own, she should let the matter go. But she’s not sure she’s ready to do that. What exactly is she afraid of? Of disrupting Rita’s life? Or the possibility of rejection? Should she cut her trip short and go back to Nashville? Why do that when there’s nothing and no one waiting for her there. Better to be here amongst strangers than with her mother’s ghost in her cavernous house.

  Presley turns back toward the inn. She’ll stay a while longer. Maybe by Sunday, she’ll have a better idea of how she wants to handle the Rita situation. If she wants to handle it at all.

  She parks under the portico and hands her keys to the valet. Wandering aimlessly around the lounge, she admires the exquisite collection of landscapes by an artist who signs her work Opal. Even though she skipped lunch, she’s still full from her french toast breakfast. When she hears cheers coming from a crowd gathered in Billy’s Bar, Presley investigates the focus of their attraction. She nudges her way through to the front of the crowd where a precious little girl is dancing ballet to Prokofiev’s Peter and the Wolf. While Presley knows music, she knows very little about dance. From what she sees, this kid is exceptional, poised and graceful for someone so young. She’s dressed all in white—tights, leotard, and tutu—with pink ballet shoes tied up her toothpick legs. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, and her eyes are the same golden brown as her skin.

  When the song ends, she dances on her toes over to Everett, who lifts her onto his shoulder and parades her toward the entrance. When he puts her down, she glides through the lounge and out of sight.

  Everett catches sight of Presley and waves her over to the bar. By the time she gets through the horde of people, he has a club soda with a lime twist waiting for her.

  “Your little ballerina is amazing,” she says, taking a sip of club soda. “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Jazz, short for Jasmine.” His blue eyes twinkle when he talks about the child, and the notion he’s a decent guy at heart strikes Presley again.

  “What’s she doing at the inn? Is her family staying here?”

  He shakes his head. “Her mother, Naomi, is our guest services manager.”

  “Oh, right. I met Naomi yesterday when I was checking in.”

  A customer seated at the bar summons Everett for a refill. When he returns, he asks, “Have you enjoyed your first day in Hope Springs?”

  Presley thinks about the field hockey game. Enjoy is not the word she’d use to describe it. “For the most part. I had a nice chat with Stella this morning. I really like her.”

  “I knew you would,” Everett says with a nod. “She’s pretty special.”

  “I went out to explore the town. While I was gone, a few hundred guests checked in.”

  He chuckles. “That’s the way it is around here on the weekends.”

  When a gentleman seated next to where she’s standing vacates his barstool, she quickly claims it.

  “If you’re thinking of dining in-house tonight, I’ve sampled the specials, and I highly recommend the scallops. If you’re not a fan of seafood, you can’t go wrong with the rack of lamb or roasted duck. Jameson’s is booked for reservations, but the community table is first come, first served.”

  “Good to know. And I love seafood. Thanks.”

  Customers suddenly inundate Everett with drink orders. With only her empty hotel room waiting for her, Presley remains at the bar, taking her time in finishing her drink. When Everett finally gets a break, she tries to give him her credit card, but once again, he refuses to take it.

  “Then charge it to my room,” she says and gives him her room number.

  “It’s club soda, Presley. It’s not worth the effort.”

  “At least let me tip you.” She places a five-dollar bill on the bar.

  “Fine, but only because I don’t want to argue with you,” he says and pockets the five.

  Presley leaves the stuffiness and noise of the bar and ventures out to the terrace for fresh air. The sun has begun its descent over the mountains and the view is breathtaking. An attractive group of women is chatting and laughing around a fire pit. One of them smiles at Presley and moves over, silently inviting her into their fold. The women bombard her with questions about herself, and she quickly learns about their lives. They are mostly from the Carolinas and Virginia, except for one from New Orleans. They left their husbands at home for this long-planned girls’ weekend. Their daughters, all seniors at the college, belong to the same sorority. The girls stopped by the inn earlier to visit with their moms but have returned to campus to log a few hours in the library before going to a late-night party. When the moms invite Presley to join them for dinner at Jameson’s, she eagerly accepts. She feels more at ease with these women, whom she’s only known for an hour, than she ever felt with her own mother.

  It’s this place, Presley decides, as she’s walking back to her room after dinner. Everyone is in a good mood here. They are on vacation, relaxing on the veranda, breathing mountain air, and eating delicious food. They all have problems awaiting them at home, but they’ve put those problems on hold for the weekend. Presley could totally get used to this fairytale way of life.

  With rain in the forecast for the weekend, Presley books a bike outing for Friday morning with Allen Farmer, the town’s bike shop owner. The workout is rigorous and the views are stunning. It’s pushing three o’clock by the time she returns to the inn. When she enters Jameson’s for a late lunch, she hears loud arguing coming from the kitchen. Recognizing one voice as Everett’s, she sticks her head through the door.

  Everett, who hasn’t yet changed into his bartender clothes, is sporting a Widespread Panic T-shirt that shows off his biceps and the outline of very nice abs. He’s squared off against a woman wearing a chef’s coat and frantic expression.

  “Sorry for the intrusion,” Presley says. “You might want to lower your voices. I can hear you out here.”

  Stella appears behind Presley, pushing through the swinging doors. “I heard you all the way out in the lounge. What on earth is going on?”

  “The weather forecast changed,” the chef says. “The rain is moving in earlier than predicted. The restaurant is booked solid. Where are we going to put these hundred football parents of yours? The veranda isn’t big enough.”

  “Can you rent a tent?” Presley suggests.

  “We called the local rental companies,” Everett says. “There are no tents available.”

  “With a property this size, you should probably own your own tents.” Presley’s hands shoot up. “Sorry. None of my business. But something to think about for the future.”

  Stella’s fingers graze her arm. “That’s actually a wonderful idea, Presley. And come to think of it, I may have seen a tent in the attic at the barn. Let me check with my groundskeeper.” Removing her cell phone from her back pocket, she steps away to place the call.

  Presley holds out her hand to the chef. “I’m Presley Ingram, nosy guest.”

  The chef shakes her hand. “Cecily Weber, head chef. And your nosiness is greatly appreciated. Do you know Everett?”

  Everett and Presley exchange a smile. “We’ve met,” she says.

  Stella rejoins them. “Katherine confirmed that there is at least one tent in the attic, but she thinks there may be more. Her crew is getting them down now.”

  Everett says, “Katherine’s crew comprises mostly non-English-speaking Hispanics. I doubt any of them knows how to put up a tent.”

  “We’ll get Jack to help us,” Stella says.

  “Good thinking,” Everett says. “Jack knows how to do everything.”

  Cecily rubs the back of her neck. “This whole situation is stressing me out. We really need to hire an event planner, sooner rather than later. You know what a team player I am
, Stella, but I don’t feel like I can give the restaurant my undivided attention if I’m having to organize all these parties.”

  Stella falls back against the stainless-steel counter. “I know, and you’re right. What do you say, Presley? Are you interested in being our event planner?”

  Stella’s tone sounds like she’s joking, but her eyes are fixed on Presley as she waits for her reply.

  “Believe it or not, I have a degree in hospitality management with a concentration in event planning.”

  Stella’s mouth falls open. “Then it’s fate. Will you consider taking the job?”

  Presley laughs. “I’m not sure I’m ready to move to Hope Springs, but I’d be happy to help out tonight.”

  Relief crosses Stella’s face. “That would be wonderful. Let’s get through this party, and tomorrow morning, we’ll have a serious chat.”

  7

  Everett

  Kristi holds down the fort in Billy’s Bar while Everett helps set up for the party. Presley is a miracle worker. Not only does he enjoy watching her hot little body run around in form-fitting exercise attire, she has a solution for every problem they encounter.

  Cecily freaks out when a server calls in sick. “This is a disaster. We were short-staffed to begin with. I can’t pull anyone from the restaurant.”

  “Why don’t you recruit some servers from the college?” Presley suggests. “I’ll bet plenty of them have restaurant or catering experience. It’s not like passing a tray of food is rocket science. Besides, college kids are always eager to earn beer money.”

  Cecily’s face lights up. “That’s a brilliant idea. My boyfriend is a lacrosse coach. I’ll have him spread the word.”

  Cecily texts Lyle, and within the hour, four students contact her for the details.

  When Presley goes to her room to change for the party, Everett walks with her to the elevators. “I’m impressed with your ability to think fast on your feet. What kind of job experience do you have?”

  “I worked in event management for a country club in Nashville for a few years out of college. Until Mom’s condition worsened and I began managing the social aspects of her career. Which, as you might imagine for a music producer, was a full-time job.”

  “The other night you mentioned you’re looking for a new direction for your life. Might event planning for the Inn at Hope Springs Farm be that?” Everett flashes her his most brilliant smile.

  They reach the elevators, and Presley jabs at the up button. “I will eventually look for a job. Right now, I’m taking some time for myself. I’m not sure I can see myself living in a small town like Hope Springs.”

  “To be sure, it’s an adjustment. But small town living definitely has its perks. The cost of living is way less. I can walk almost everywhere I need to go. And there’s a ton to do if you enjoy outdoor activities.”

  “I experienced that today on my bike tour.” Presley punches the up button again. “Do you live nearby?”

  “Yep. In a studio apartment two blocks down on Main Street. Our building has a vacancy if you’re interested, the best unit with lots of windows overlooking the mountains. I’m happy to show you the building after I get off work tonight.” When Presley hesitates, he quickly adds, “I promise not to make a move on you.”

  She laughs, a delightful giggle that’s both childlike and sexy as hell. “In that case, I accept your offer. Seeing the building will help when I talk to Stella tomorrow morning.”

  “So you are considering the job.”

  The elevator doors open, and a handful of guests emerge. “Let’s just say I’m exploring my options.” She steps inside the cart and the doors close.

  Everett experiences the strangest feeling of loss. In the brief span of a few hours, this girl has gotten under his skin.

  Despite being crazy busy, the minutes drag until he sees her again at almost midnight. He finds her waiting for him in the lounge outside Billy’s Bar.

  “We’ve been slammed all night,” Everett says. “I never had time to get over to the party. How did it go?”

  Presley stands to face him. “Aside from a small leak in the tent's corner, everything went off without a hitch. Stella seemed pleased. I’m meeting with her at nine in the morning.” She glances at her Apple Watch. “It’s late, and it’s been a long day. I understand if you’d rather show me your building another time.”

  “Not at all. I’m still wired from work. I’m game if you are.” He holds his arm out to her and she takes it.

  The hallways are empty as they walk toward the front of the building. Most of the guests have retired for the night in anticipation of the big game tomorrow. The rain has momentarily stopped, and they stroll leisurely down the front driveway. They make it to Main Street before the skies open up again. Everett takes Presley by the hand, and they run two blocks to his building. They’re dripping wet by the time they arrive. Under her cashmere wrap, Presley’s maxi dress is soaked through and clinging to her curves. He can barely take his eyes off her as he leads her up the back stairs to the second floor. By the time he unlocks his door, she’s shivering. He grabs two clean towels from the bathroom, and while she’s drying off, he slips his guitar into the closet. They’ve only just met. He’s not ready to share his music with her.

  “Thanks.” Presley hands him the wet towel and looks around his apartment. “Your decor gives new meaning to spartan. Where’s all your furniture?”

  He laughs. “I’m a man of few needs.”

  “Apparently,” she says, with her infectious giggle.

  “So, there are four apartments. Mine is the smallest. The available apartment is next door.” He throws his thumb over his shoulder at the wall behind him. “If you’re interested, I’ll put you in touch with the landlord tomorrow. Basically, the unit is a one-bedroom, thousand square foot version of mine with heart pine floors, oversized windows, and exposed brick walls. Girls go nuts over exposed brick walls.”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “And men don’t? Brick walls add character.”

  He gestures at his air mattress. “Obviously, I know nothing about interior design.”

  She wanders over to his galley kitchen. “What do you remember about the kitchen in the available unit?”

  “It’s larger than mine.”

  She turns to face him. “Yours isn’t technically a kitchen. It’s a stove built into a counter in the corner of your apartment. What about the appliances next door?”

  “All new. The landlord has owned the building for decades, but he only recently converted this floor into apartments.”

  Moving to the window, she looks out at the rainy night. “Have you tried any of the restaurants on Main Street?”

  He goes to stand behind her. “A few of them. I spend most of my time at the inn. If you don’t mind the college crowd, Town Tavern”—he nods at the restaurant across the street—“has excellent bar food.”

  Everett breathes in her scent. She smells like lemons and summer rain showers. She turns around and they’re face-to-face, their bodies inches apart. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against hers. She tastes delicious, like dark chocolate and strawberries, and he’s hungry for her. He teases her lips open with his tongue, and she presses her body against his. When she wraps her arms around his neck, he’s all over her, hands on breasts and sliding down to her thin hips. He wants her more than he’s ever wanted any girl. His bed, such as it is, is merely feet away. He could strip off her clothes and have his way with her. He hasn’t had sex in six weeks. The last time was with Carla. The thought of his old girlfriend, his friend with benefits, brings his desire to an abrupt end.

  He’s about to push Presley away when she beats him to it.

  “I’m sorry, Everett. I don’t know what got into me. I’m not in a good place right now. My life is . . . um . . . complicated.”

  Hands in the air, he takes a giant step backward. “No problem.”

  “I’ve offended you. I’m sorry, Everett. It’s not you. Really. It’s me.”

>   Is he offended? A little, maybe. Mostly he’s relieved. He has his own complicated life to sort out. Besides, he might only get one chance with Presley, and he doesn’t want to screw it up. “No worries. I totally understand.”

  She holds her hand out to shake. “Friends? I could really use one right now.”

  Everett takes her hand in his. “Friends.” As the words leave his lips, he realizes that a friend is what he needs right now too. He’s tired of going it alone. His gut tells him he can trust Presley. Maybe she can help him figure a way out of the mess he’s made of his life.

  A gust of wind drives heavy rain against the window. “Ugh!” Presley says. “I hope this town has Uber.”

  “If you want to call it that. We have only a handful of drivers, and the service is spotty. Don’t worry. I’ll take you back in my truck.”

  She appears relieved. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Positive.” He flashes her a grin. “What’re friends for?”

  Helping her into his only raincoat, he pulls a baseball cap over his head and shows her down the backstairs to the parking lot. They make a run for his truck. Fortunately, it’s raining too hard for Presley to notice his Georgia license plate. They’re soaking wet again, and it takes a minute for the heat in his clunker to come on.

  Once they’re on the way, he asks, “Did seeing the building help you decide about the job?”

  “Yes and no. Based on yours, I’m sure the available apartment is lovely. The location is ideal. But I don’t think now is the right time for me to be making such a drastic move. Mom has only been dead two months.”

  “Speaking from personal experience, getting away helps put your life into perspective. There’s something magical about this place, the history of the inn and being in the mountains. And Stella has done a commendable job of recruiting her management team. We work well together. Most of us are young and hungry for success.”