Just South of Perfect

by Grace Palmer

  “This is home.” Drew pulled his truck around the gravel drive to the back of the house and smiled over at Stella before waving for her to follow him inside.

  Before they even got on the porch, though, a woman with coppery blonde hair and an easy smile that mirrored Drew’s walked through the front door. “Hallelujah. Have you brought us another guest, love? There is nothing better than having a full, happy house.”

  “This is Stella Pierce. She had some car trouble on the highway.”

  “Bad for you, but good for us,” the woman said, extending a hand. “I’m Georgia, Drew’s mom.”

  In a matter of minutes, Georgia had Drew carrying Stella’s luggage upstairs and instructed him to send someone named Tasha up to prepare the room. Drew listened without complaint, and it was easy to see that he loved her, but it was also easy to see Georgia was a natural-born leader. She wasn’t afraid to take charge and delegate.

  “Sit on the porch with me while we wait,” Georgia said. “I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but I take advantage of my children’s free labor often.”

  “What else are kids for?”

  Georgia laughed and sank down in a deck chair. “I take it you’re a mom, then?”

  “My only child is eighteen. He just left for school.”

  “That can be tough. How are you handling it?”

  Stella shrugged and gestured around the general area. “About like this, I guess. I tried to take a vacation and ended up with thousands of dollars in repairs.”

  “Sounds about right. Every vacation Richard and I ever took, the kids ended up in some kind of disaster. I think that’s part of the reason I decided to take over the inn—to make sure at least one part of someone else’s vacation went right.”

  “You and your husband own this place?”

  Georgia’s reaction wasn’t as strong as Drew’s was in the car, but it was enough for Stella to know her husband wasn’t in the picture anymore. She smiled. “We did, but now it’s just me. Don’t worry, he isn’t dead or anything. Just…gone.”

  The situation would be uncomfortable with anyone else, but Georgia didn’t look offended or upset. She smiled at Stella and shrugged, accepting of her new reality.

  “My son’s father played a similar disappearing act,” Stella said. “We were never married, but no matter how the situation plays out, it’s always hard to parent on your own.”

  “My kids are grown, but that doesn’t mean as much as I thought it would when they were little.” Georgia looked out on the ocean and smiled at the memories playing in her head. Stella could relate. She still saw flashes of chubby-cheeked Jace as a toddler and long-haired, preteen Jace. “I always thought parenting would be done at eighteen. That I would sit back and watch them live their lives, a spectator. In some cases, it’s true, but in other ways…not so much. I mean, two of them are living with me right now.”

  “A lot of kids move back in with their parents.”

  “I know, and I’m not ashamed of them. Quite the opposite, actually. They both started over—either by force or by choice—and that takes bravery. Embarking on new opportunities and new dreams is scary, and I’m proud of them for taking that leap.”

  Stella couldn’t explain why, but she felt sharp emotions prickling the backs of her eyes. She blinked them away and sat up straight. “It sounds like you embarked on something similar, too. I’m sure they are proud of the way you’ve carried on in the face of adversity.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say. I hope so.” Georgia nodded and swallowed, and Stella suspected she was experiencing a similar prickling of emotions. “But what other choice is there, really? Life hands you lemons, and you can either stomp them into the dirt and be left with nothing to show for it, or you juice them, get a big old bowl of egg yolks, and make yourself lemon squares.”

  “I’ve never heard of turning lemons into lemon squares.”

  “It’s my own spin. I don’t much care for lemonade.”

  Stella’s stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of anything edible at all, and she remembered all at once how hungry she was. “I’d eat or drink just about anything right now.”

  Georgie let out a sharp yelp and jumped to her feet. “I can’t believe I’ve sat here and told you my whole, unsolicited life story but haven’t offered you any food. I’m so sorry!”

  “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll probably just freshen up upstairs and find somewhere in town to eat. I saw a fast food place on the road coming in. Maybe I’ll just go there since it’s getting so late.”

  The screen door opened and Drew stepped out with a curly, dark-haired woman just behind him. She had the same caramel eyes as Georgia, though her features were longer and sharper.

  “Tasha and I got your room all ready for you, but Ms. Pierce, may I be bold?” Drew asked.

  “Call me Stella, but yes.”

  Drew stepped forward and lowered his eyes to hers, his dark brows furrowing in concern. “Stella, you cannot come into our town and stay in our home and eat a fast food hamburger. Especially after such a long day.” Drew shook his head, dismissing the idea entirely. “It’s unacceptable, and I won’t stand for it. What kind of vacation is that?”

  “I don’t mind, really. No one needs to go to any trouble for me. This isn’t really a vacation, anyway.”

  The woman, Tasha, frowned. “Why are you here, then?”

  “She’s just passing through,” Drew said. “Willow Beach was a forced detour on her way to Boston.”

  Stella nodded in agreement. “Sam says my car will be ready tomorrow. I’ll be out of here and back on track as soon as I can, so I don’t want any of you to go out of your way for me.”

  Suddenly, Georgia sidled up to her and looped an arm around Stella’s shoulders, drawing her close. “Lucky for you, showing off our little corner of paradise and being hospitable to our guests is customary and not out of our way at all.”

  “It’s true,” Tasha said. “This is kind of what Mom lives for.”

  “Plus, you aren’t off track, dear. The road may have taken an unexpected left turn, but your wheels are still firmly on the road, and I think you’re going to like what we have to offer.”

  It was a nice thought, even if Stella couldn’t entirely agree. Paying thousands of dollars and subsisting on half of a granola bar since lunch certainly felt off track, but she was too hungry and tired to argue with the Baldwin family’s excitement.

  “Okay. Then what do you all have to offer?”

  “You go freshen up however you wish and meet us back here in fifteen minutes.”

  Stella nodded, and Georgia began pushing her gently into the house. “We are going to make your time in Willow Beach equal to or better than anything Boston can offer, I promise you that.” She told Stella to head upstairs and into the first room on the left, but as she was going, Stella heard Georgia’s kids talking behind her.

  “Detour, shmetour,” Tasha whispered softly.

  And in a softer voice yet, Drew made a bet. “Twenty dollars says she never makes it to Boston.”

  A couple of hours ago, those same words from Drew would have sent ice down her spine. Now, knowing him and the family a bit better, Stella suspected she might be in for something she hadn’t had in far too long: fun.

  5

  Fried chicken with gravy, flaky buttermilk biscuits, and creamed corn were piled on the plate in front of Stella. She suddenly wasn’t sure whether she had broken down in Maine or somehow made it to the Deep South. She hadn’t tasted cooking like this since she and Jace visited her great aunt Pat down in Georgia ten years earlier. Aunt Pat had died a year after their visit, but Stella could be convinced she was still kicking and working in the kitchen of the Duke Saloon because this was authentic Southern cooking if she’d ever tasted it.

  “Y’all better be saving room for dessert.” A tall woman came out of the kitchen, an apron wrapped around her waist and a pie plate held aloft in her hands. “Pecan pie from Good Stuff Cupcakes. Katie makes a mean pie, and I wo
uldn’t dare try to upstage her.”

  Georgia stood up and leaned across the bar to wrap the woman in a one-armed hug. “There she is! Stella, this is Alma. The owner of the saloon. Alma, this is our new friend Stella.”

  Stella had no trouble believing this woman owned a saloon. Alma was tall and loud with a Texas drawl straight out of a John Wayne movie, and when she walked around the side of the bar, she revealed that she had a white flower tucked behind her ear to match her red and white cowboy boots.

  Alma smiled warmly and slid the pie onto the bar between Georgia and Drew. Immediately, Drew reached his fork out for a bite, but Georgia swiped the fork out of his hand and shook her head, a look of shocked amusement on her face.

  “Are you the same Stella who broke down on the highway?” Alma asked.

  Stella had always heard news traveled fast in a small town, but she didn’t expect it to travel quite this fast. Especially since, according to Sam, he dealt with tourists’ cars regularly. Surely Stella’s story wasn’t special enough to be hot gossip. “Wow. News travels fast around here, I guess.”

  Alma laughed and tipped her head to the far corner of the saloon. “Actually, a little birdie told me.”

  Tucked away in a shadowy booth was Sam. He was spread out in his seat, one leg sticking out the side of the table, his arm draped across the back of the vinyl-covered cushion. He lifted a hand in a small wave when he realized everyone was looking at him.

  “Sam is in here every Friday night for my fried chicken. Aren’t you, Sam?” Alma yelled across the room, though her normal speaking voice was already loud enough to be heard by everyone within county limits.

  Sam tipped an imaginary hat. “The best grub in town. Heaven-sent, truly.”

  Alma rolled her eyes, but it was obvious the compliment pleased her.

  “If you haven’t noticed yet, Alma is a Texas transplant,” Georgia said. “But she’s adapted to our East Coast lifestyle just fine, and it didn’t take any adapting for us to fall in love with her Southern cooking.”

  “It’s amazing.” Stella directed the compliment to Alma. “It’s all so good—the food, the atmosphere…everything.”

  Stella meant it. The Duke Saloon was so much more than its exterior had led Stella to believe. From the outside, it was a small brick building with double doors and an understated sign affixed to the side. The building could just as easily be a dentist's office or an accounting firm as anything else. Inside, however, Stella had been transported to another world. The walls were wood-clad and covered with coiled lassos nailed to the wall, pictures of men riding on the backs of bulls, one arm lifted in the air, and an exposed, weather-worn brick wall with “The Duke Saloon” painted in faded white letters. The tables were sturdy and wooden with upcycled barrels topped with cushions for chairs. Stained-glass windows on the side of the building filtered in golden shafts of faded light, and the warm lights hanging above the tables and booth blotted away most of the other shadows. It was rustic and comfortable and charming, and Stella loved how friendly everyone was with one another.

  When Georgia wasn’t looking, Alma grabbed a spoon from under the counter and scooped out a bite from the middle of the pecan pie for Drew. He took it from her happily, covering his mouth and laughing when his mom caught him and pinched his side in punishment.

  “Barbarians, all of you.” Georgia pointed her finger at her friend and narrowed her eyes, but there was nothing but love between the two of them.

  Stella hardly knew these people, but she found herself feeling jealous of them. Of their closeness and friendships.

  Stella had Brenda—Brenda, as in the entire reason Stella was even here to begin with—but it wasn’t the same. They lacked the intimacy and comfort these people had with one another. Even Sam, sitting in the corner by himself, laughed openly when Drew tried to steal another bite of pie. Georgia caught him and carried the pie across the saloon to Sam, who promised to guard it with his life.

  There was affection in his eyes when he tipped his head and made his promise to Georgia, and Stella couldn’t help but feel jealous of that, too. Drew said Sam was a friend of his father’s, but what did that mean now that his father was, apparently, gone? Were Sam and Georgia still friends? Were they more than friends?

  None of that mattered—Stella knew that. No matter how much fun she had tonight, her plans hadn’t changed. She’d be gone the moment her car was ready, headed for Boston and whatever was awaiting her there.

  Maybe she would find a new future in the big city. Maybe she’d find a community and friends who would have dinner with her at a local restaurant and spend the meal teasing one another like family. Maybe she’d find people to help her fill her time and keep her laughing.

  Even when Jace was at home, Stella didn’t have friends like that. She had Jace before any of her friends were even married. While she was at home making bottles, they were out popping bottles. And now that Stella was moving into a new phase of life, many of those same friends had preteens at home. They had years of active parenting lying ahead of them, and Stella felt out of sync.

  She always felt out of sync—even now. All of these people knew and cared about one another, and Stella was an intruder. The Baldwins were nice to invite her to eat with them, but she ought to go and let them all enjoy one another’s company without the weight of strange eyes on them.

  “Should I ask Sam to bring you a piece of pie, Stella?” Alma asked. “Drew has had all of his shots, so you don’t need to worry about catching anything from him.”

  “It’s true,” Drew agreed with a grin.

  Stella put down her fork and pushed away from her empty plate. “I’m sure the pie is as good as you’ve said, but I couldn’t eat another bite if I wanted to. Actually, I might go back to my room and get to sleep. It has been a big day, and I’m feeling tired.”

  “That’s your full stomach talking! You just need to work off some of the food, and you’ll feel good as new.” Georgia laid a hand on Stella’s back and then twisted around, waving at Sam. “Sam Warren, come over here. Your services are required.”

  “No. I mean, this isn’t necessary. Really, no one needs to—” Stella stammered, trying to cut off whatever Georgia had planned before it got too far.

  “Yes,” Georgia said firmly, pulling Stella from her stool just as Sam arrived, the pie in his hand. Georgia plucked it from him. “You are off pie duty and officially on dancing duty. Stella needs to be shown a good time, and what better way to ensure that than partnering her with the best dancer in all of Willow Beach?”

  “The best dancer in Willow Beach isn’t a very impressive title, but I’ll take it.” Sam bowed at the waist and raised an upturned hand to Stella. “May I have this dance?”

  Stella wanted to refuse—partly because she was so full she was sure she’d sooner roll across the dance floor than dance across it, and partly because she hadn’t danced with anyone in years—but before she could, Georgia accepted on her behalf and placed Stella’s hand in Sam’s. He closed his warm fingers around hers and led her onto the dance floor.

  “I don’t think anyone is dancing. The music is so quiet. Maybe we should—”

  Before Stella could finish the sentence, the volume increased, and she looked over to see Alma turning the knob on the sound system and giving Stella a thumbs-up.

  Despite the knot of apprehension in her stomach, she laughed. “This is a pushy bunch.”

  “You have no idea.” Sam put them into position, one hand holding hers in the air, the other on her hip. “But you just say the word, and I’ll let you go and head back to my booth. My friends may be pushy, but I don’t like to be where I’m not wanted.”

  “It isn’t that at all. It’s just that I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “Lucky for you, I’m a great leader.” Sam winked, and in an instant, he whirled her away.

  Stella had been dancing a time or two over the years. It was never her first choice for a date or an event—she steered clear of the dance floor at
every wedding reception she ever attended—but she’d manage some slow swaying or an upbeat two-finger point shimmy if necessary, fighting through the embarrassment until the song ended and she could sit down.

  Dancing with Sam wasn’t like that at all.

  He moved so fast, keeping with the beat of the fast-paced country music, that Stella didn’t have time to be nervous or awkward. Even more surprising, there wasn’t a need to be. Like he’d said, Sam was a great leader. Even though Stella had no idea what he was going to do next, she followed his moves with ease. With light pressure on her hip and quick squeezes of her hand, he let her subconscious know which way they were about to move, and Stella followed.

  For a man who spent his days hunched over broken-down cars, Sam was a well-oiled machine. By the time they’d danced through two songs, Stella was breathing heavily, but Sam was as calm, cool, and collected as ever.

  Stella moved to pull away and go back to the bar, but the next song was a slow one, and Sam held onto her hand. “Georgia and Alma will never let us sit down unless we dance through one slow song.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Between you and me, they’ve been trying to set me up for years.” Stella flushed, and Sam must’ve noticed. “But don’t worry, I don’t have any ideas. I know you are only passing through. You staying to dance with me will just save me an argument with Alma later. The woman is taller than I am, and frankly, I’m afraid to disappoint her. You’ll be doing me a favor, nothing more.”

  Stella let herself be drawn to him again and smiled. “It’s the least I can do since you skipped dinner to save me.”

  “I’m sorry it took me so long. If I’d seen the message sooner, we both could have eaten before dark. Was Alma’s cooking worth it, at least?”

  “Beyond worth it. It’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten in a saloon, that’s for sure.”

  Sam raised a dark eyebrow. “My guess is it is the only meal you’ve ever eaten in a saloon.”

  “Okay, you caught me, but that doesn’t make the food any less delicious.”