Presley nods. “I’ll keep that in mind when I talk to Stella tomorrow.” She removes her phone from her purse. “What’s your number? I’ll text you mine, so you can share your landlord’s contact information.”
Here we go, Everett thinks. Why does every conversation circle back to the phone? “I don’t have one.”
“You don’t have what? A phone?” she asks, distracted as she thumbs through texts. “Did you leave yours back at the apartment? You can text me the information later.”
“No, Presley. I don’t own a phone. I’m taking a break from social media. I highly recommend it. There’s a withdrawal period of about a week. But now, I’m way more productive and much less distracted.” He clears his throat to emphasize his point.
Presley looks up from her phone. “Oh. Sorry.” She drops her phone in her bag. “You’re crazy, Everett. Not having a phone is social suicide.”
He laughs. “You should try it sometime. You might be surprised.”
He feels her eyes on him, studying him. She’s suspicious of him because he doesn’t own a phone.
The portico is empty of valet attendants and guests when Everett pulls up in front of the inn. “I plan to be here early tomorrow,” he says. “I imagine a fair number of guests will spend the day drinking in the bar instead of standing in the rain at the football game. I have the landlord’s contact information at my apartment. If you decide you want to get in touch with him, stop by after your meeting with Stella, and I’ll give it to you.”
“Sounds good.” She opens the passenger door, but she doesn’t get out. “And Everett, I didn’t mean to judge you about the phone thing. Maybe I need to try life without mine. Maybe a drastic change of lifestyle will show me the path to the future. Because, after these last few years with my mother, I seem to be treading water, not sure in which direction to swim.”
“If you truly feel that way, Presley, I recommend you think seriously about taking this job, if only for a year or two.”
“I will. I promise.”
“One more thing, Presley. I think ditching your phone would mean career suicide for an event planner.”
Presley laughs. “I think you’re probably right. Goodnight, Everett.” She slides out of the truck and hurries inside, his red rain jacket flapping in the breeze behind her.
8
Presley
Presley spends a sleepless night contemplating every aspect of accepting the job. Planning events and weddings at a resort like the Inn at Hope Springs Farm is her dream job. She’d prefer to live in a Southern city like Savannah or Charleston or Richmond. To be considered for a job of this magnitude in any of those places would require experience she doesn’t have. At Hope Springs Farm, she’d be the primary event planner. She’d be in charge, answering only to Stella and the guests whose parties and weddings she’s organizing. After two or three years, when she’s more qualified, she can apply for jobs in a more glamorous city.
Logistically, the move wouldn’t be difficult. She’d fly back to Nashville on Sunday as planned, load up her Volvo with clothes and other essentials, and return to Hope Springs on Monday. Her realtor can handle the sale of her mother’s house. Most of her high school friends are living elsewhere. There’s absolutely nothing else keeping her in Nashville.
Rita ends up being the deciding factor. While Presley’s not yet ready to reveal her true identity to Rita, the thought of living in the same town with her biological mother appeals to her. It buys her time, allowing her to warm up to the situation. Maybe Presley will become friends with Rita, before she confesses that she may be Rita’s daughter.
By the time Presley enters the general manager’s office at nine o’clock sharp on Saturday morning, she has talked herself into accepting the job. Stella—looking stylish in black leggings, booties, and a gray knit top—comes from behind her mahogany desk to greet her.
The office is handsomely decorated with a small conference table, comfortable seating area, and two large windows overlooking the front lawn. Presley circles the room, studying the framed photographs of famous people who’ve visited the inn over the years. She recognizes musicians and actors and politicians. There’s even one of John and Jackie Kennedy.
“I had no idea the inn was such a hot spot for the rich and famous,” she says.
“In its heyday, the Inn at Hope Springs Farm was one of the South’s best-kept secrets. If you’re interested, check out some of the old photo albums in the library.”
Presley gives her an eager nod. “I’ll be sure to check them out.”
“Shall we?” Stella motions her to the seating area. “I had breakfast sent over from the kitchen.”
Presley sits down in one of four leather chairs. On the coffee table is a tray that bears an insulated coffee carafe and a platter of pastries.
Sitting down in the chair nearest her, Stella pours coffee into two china mugs. She hands a mug to Presley and then peels back the plastic wrap on the pastries. “Help yourself.”
“They look delicious.” Presley chooses a cinnamon roll and one with cream cheese and blueberries.
Stella says, “I’d like to congratulate you on a job well done last night. I’m comping your room, unless you’d rather I pay you outright.”
Presley smiles at her generosity. “Neither is necessary.”
“Oh yes, it is. You worked hard, and you earned your keep. Your stay this weekend is on the house.” Coffee mug in hand, Stella sits back in her chair and crosses her legs. “Now, what’s it gonna take to get you to accept the job permanently?”
Presley lets out a little laugh. “Not much, actually. I’m thrilled about the opportunity. But I have a few reservations I’d like to discuss with you before I commit.”
“You can talk to me about anything, Presley. Now and in the future.”
Stella’s warmth and kindness set her at ease. “My mother recently passed away, and I’m in the process of settling her estate.”
Stella touches her fingers to her lips. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Thank you.” Before Stella can question her further about Renee’s death, Presley continues, “Mom’s house goes on the market on Monday, but my realtor can handle the showings. At some point, I’ll need to make a trip to Nashville to clean out the house. But, until I have a contract, I won’t know when that’ll be.”
“Understood,” Stella says.” We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”
Presley takes a bite of the cream cheese pastry, closing her eyes while she savors it. “I have to stop eating like this if I’m going to be working here. I’ll gain ten pounds the first month.”
Stella laughs. “Isn’t that the truth? I stay away from the kitchen as much as possible.”
Presley adds cream to her coffee and takes a sip. “You, being from New York, should understand my hesitation in moving to a small town. I’m not convinced I’ll love Hope Springs as much as you do. But I’m willing to give it six months. If I’m not happy, I’ll turn in my notice. But I won’t leave you in a bind. I’ll stay as long as it takes to find a replacement and train him or her. I hope this is something you can live with.”
Stella doesn’t bat an eye. “I totally understand. It’s my job to make you happy, so you’ll stay. I appreciate your honesty, Presley. You’ll be a welcomed addition to the team. Now, about salary,” she says and tells Presley the amount she’s willing to pay her.
“Wow! That’s extremely generous.”
“Believe me, you’ll earn every penny,” Stella says. “When can you start?”
Presley tells her about the apartment in Everett’s building, and her plan to fly to Nashville tomorrow and drive back early in the week with her belongings. “I should be able to start on Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.”
“That would be outstanding.” Stella is visibly relieved, as though hiring an event planner had been weighing heavily on her. “We have plenty of rooms available next week if you need a place to stay while you make this transition.”
/> “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. But I should be fine.” Presley pops the rest of the cinnamon roll into her mouth. “You mentioned hosting a party for the townspeople. If you’re serious about it, we should plan something for the last weekend of October or the first weekend in November. Any later and we’ll be getting close to Thanksgiving. How do you feel about a Sunday afternoon event? After the weekend guests check out.”
Presley can see the wheels spinning in Stella’s head as she thinks about it. “I love the way you dive right in. But are you sure it’s not too much for you, with moving and starting a new job?”
“I’m positive. In my opinion, we should make this party a priority.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.” Stella leans forward in her chair. “I say we go for it. I’ll talk to Cecily and Naomi about which date works best. When you get back from Nashville, we’ll set up a meeting. In addition to this party, we need to start planning for the holidays and working with the brides on their wedding plans for next summer.” She uncrosses her legs and gets to her feet. “In the meantime, go enjoy what’s left of your weekend. This might be the most relaxation you have for a while.”
Presley stands to face her. “No relaxation for me. I’m on my way to see a man about an apartment.” They cross the room together. When they reach the door, Presley turns to her. “Thank you for this opportunity, Stella. I promise to give this job a hundred percent.”
Stella smiles warmly at her. “I have faith that you will.”
Presley nearly skips down the hall to Billy’s Bar. Her new job is a solid gig. The work excites her, and the salary is way more than she expected. Although she’s not ready to give up her cell phone, she’ll borrow from Everett’s playbook and use her time in Hope Springs as a hiatus from the real world. Who knows? She might enjoy small-town living. If nothing else, she’ll figure out what she wants to do with the rest of her life.
When she enters the bar, Everett looks up from tallying credit card receipts. “You took the job!”
She slides onto a barstool. “How can you tell?”
“It’s written all over your face.” He stuffs cash and credit card receipts into a bank bag and zips it up.
Presley notices Everett’s damp hair and shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. “Oh shoot! I forgot to give you back your raincoat last night. I left it in my room. I’ll bring it down later. You didn’t walk to work this morning, did you?”
He combs fingers through wet hair. “I always walk, rain or shine.”
She offers a guilty smile. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “What are friends for?”
Presley thinks back to their kiss last night. She must forget about his sexy lips on hers if they’re going to just be friends.
She looks through the lounge to the windows. “I’m glad I don’t have to go to a football game in this weather.”
“Right! We’re gearing up for a busy afternoon. I imagine a lot of parents will bail on their tailgate plans.” He hands Presley a slip of notepaper with a phone number and the name Ruben Sanders scrawled in messy handwriting. “In case you’re still interested in the apartment.”
“I’m definitely interested.” She unlocks her phone screen. “It’s almost ten o’clock. Is it too early to call him now?”
“Go for it. I’ve seen no one coming in or out of the apartment. I assume it’s still available.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “It better be, now that you got my hopes up.”
Ruben Sanders answers on the second ring. She introduces herself and explains her situation. “Is the apartment still available?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He sounds like a Southern gentleman. “When would you like to see it?”
“I can be there in twenty minutes?”
He chuckles. “You’re an eager one. Let’s make it thirty.”
She ends the call and sets her phone on the bar. “How old is that guy?”
“Old. He’s super nice, though, and cool in an old-fashioned kinda way. He’s the most senior partner at his law firm, which takes up the whole first floor of the building.”
Presley gets to her feet. “I need to run up to my room before I meet Mr. Sanders. Do you mind if I borrow your raincoat again? I promise to bring it back this afternoon.”
“Take it,” he says, flicking his wrist at her. “You’ll need it. Park on Marshall Street if you can find a spot. You’ll be closer to the entrance to the stairs.”
She takes note of his suggestion, but when she arrives at the building, all the parking spaces on the street are taken. She parks in the back lot beside Everett’s Ford pickup. In the dim light of a rainy day, she sees how old and worn out it is. Noticing his Georgia tag, she makes a mental reminder to ask if he’s from Atlanta. And if he is, whether he knows any of her many college friends from there.
Ruben Sanders, wearing a Barbour coat and an Orvis fedora, is waiting for her in the hall outside the corner unit. He reminds her of her late grandfather with a slight build and jolly looking face.
As he’s unlocking the door, he talks about his grandson, Jackson, who is on the football team at Jefferson College. “My daughter insists my wife and I go to the game in this nasty weather, even though Jackson probably won’t see any playing time. Between you and me, I’d rather be at home in front of the fire watching Alabama beat the tar outta Mississippi State on the television.” He chuckles, nudging Presley with his elbow.
Presley’s face lights up. “I went to Bama. Roll tide!”
He punches the air. “Roll tide, roll! I didn’t go to Alabama, but I’m originally from Mobile.”
“The apartment is over a thousand square feet. I haven’t been able to find a tenant. Most people want two bedrooms in an apartment this size.” He opens the door and motions her inside ahead of him. “Make yourself at home.”
Presley wanders through the empty rooms. The apartment is scrumptious, like Everett’s but on a larger scale. The enormous bedroom includes a walk-in closet and the spotless bathroom shines with white subway tile and a shower stall. Shelves line the walls in the kitchen, and the base cabinets are black with fake marble tops. There’s a gas stove, dishwasher, and stainless side-by-side refrigerator. In the living room, the windows are floor-to-ceiling, two on Main Street and another pair looking out in the direction of the inn. She can’t see much through the fog, but on a clear day, she’ll have a marvelous view of the mountains.
Ruben joins her at the window. “I’ve owned this building for decades. As Everett probably told you, my law practice occupies the first floor. But I only recently converted the upstairs into apartments. If you lease it, you’ll be the first to live here.”
“How much is the rent?” she asks, even though it doesn’t matter. She’ll take the apartment at any cost. She’s never had her own place. Something about the space feels right. Like home.
When Ruben tells her the amount, she asks him if she can move in right away. The rent is a fraction of what an apartment of this caliber would cost in Nashville. He presents a lease, she signs it, and writes him a check to cover the security deposit and first month’s rent. He gives her the keys and they walk to the door together.
“Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I promise I’ll be an ideal tenant.”
“I believe you will, Miss Ingram. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call.”
After he leaves, she roams from room to room, imagining a bed here and a sofa over there. Presley has some furniture in storage from previous apartments, most of which is junk and not worth the effort to move. She tries to envision the apartment outfitted with the somber furnishings from her mother’s house. Once she sells the house, she’ll bring back a few of the more valuable accent pieces, but she’s going for a more youthful and contemporary vibe for her new home. At least she’ll have no trouble outfitting the kitchen. Her mother fancied herself a gourmet chef, but she rarely cooked.
On her way back to the inn, Presley makes a detour past 237 Hillside Drive. The minivan is parked in the driveway
and dim lights burn from within. How does a single mother and her teenage daughters spend a rainy day together? Are they playing board games or in the kitchen baking cupcakes? Is Rita reading a book in front of a fire while the girls listen to music and FaceTime with their friends in their respective rooms?
As she drives away, Presley has a gut feeling she’s making the right decision in moving here, that given time she will come to know her biological mother and half sisters.
Back at the inn, after retrieving her laptop from her room, she stops by Billy’s Bar to return Everett’s raincoat. But Everett is too busy to talk, and she leaves the raincoat folded at the end of the bar.
The lunch crowd swarms Jameson’s. She adds her name to the list, and she’s rewarded for her thirty-minute wait with a table by the window. She orders a crab cake sandwich, and while she eats, she explores websites of popular furniture stores. Reid and Tarten, a nationwide chain with a store in nearby Roanoke, best suits her taste. When she calls the number, she’s connected to a helpful salesclerk. Room by room, she orders a few primary pieces of furniture including a blue velvet sofa, coffee table, bed, and dresser. With a stroke of luck, the store has a delivery time available for this coming Tuesday morning.
She thanks the salesclerk and ends the call. She orders a coffee and stares out at the rain, thinking how drastically her life has changed in three short days.
9
Everett
Everett arrives at work early on Sunday morning. While he takes an inventory of his liquor supply, he keeps one eye on the doorway, hoping Presley will stop by. He missed her when she dropped off his raincoat yesterday afternoon, and he’s curious what she thinks of the apartment. When lunchtime rolls around with no sign of her, Everett assumes she’s already checked out and headed back to Nashville. Their kiss remains at the forefront of his mind. He can taste Presley’s sweet lips and feel her slim hips beneath his hands. While he wants more from her, friendship will have to be enough for now.
Show Me the Way Page 6