“Also good, though I’m sorry about your granny. She was always so kind and sweet to Mama and me.”
“She couldn’t do or be anything else.”
“So, you’re the owner now?”
“I am.” Ben settled the chain saw against the tree and removed his goggles. “Did you come for your mom’s painting?”
“I came to— What? Mom’s painting?”
“The one in the lobby. It’s actually been on loan to us. I think it was a gift for your dad. Birthday, anniversary, but after—” Ben’s voice trailed off.
“She died…” She could say it. The two little words that had changed her life.
“Yeah. He told Granny to keep it, hang it in the lobby.” He removed his gloves and slapped them against his jeans.
“The painting in the lobby was a gift for my dad?” She hadn’t even noticed the painting. How could she not recognize Mama’s work? Had she forgotten already? The idea made her sick.
Mama’s last summer, they’d booked into Cottage Three every weekend. Annalise had been working for college spending money, and Dad had turned into the Brant Jackson Cami knew today, so it had just been the two of them. While Mama had worked on a large canvas, Cami had painted several smaller, much less impressive pictures.
Mom would pause, lean over from her position facing the southwest corner of the inn’s grounds, and inspect Cami’s work, her brush poised elegantly in her hand. Her favorite spot had been the small opening in the garden where they could see the barn. Mama had painted her final few pictures in that spot.
Darling, you’re getting so good. I love the colors and the way your brushstrokes create movement.
Movement. That’s how she felt every time she painted. Moved. Like she was telling the stories of her heart even she didn’t know existed.
“Am I right?” Ben stepped closer, lifting his sweaty T-shirt from his lean abdomen. “She wanted to hide the painting in plain sight. When your dad walked in, she wondered if he’d notice it.”
The memory came rushing back. The large canvas pastoral scene of a field with waving grass, wild sunflowers, trees, blue skies, and the edge of the red barn. The bench. Mama had loved that bench.
“He was coming down for his birthday.”
“She died that weekend.” The words sounded sad, but time had distanced her from the emotion. Dad had been three hours late that night. Caught up in a golf game and dinner with a potential client. He’d forgotten his own birthday dinner.
“Granny said one of you would come for it one day.” He peered at her with such a sincere blue. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No, it’s not.” Cami wanted to sit, process, give her shaking legs a break. Some of her buried memories knocked, their mocking voices crying within. There was no place to land except the ground, so she remained standing, planted. “I had no idea that painting was for my father. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it.” Like everything else associated with Hearts Bend Inn.
“Then why are you here?”
“I, um…” Gather yourself. “I came to talk business.”
Ben glanced toward the inn, then back at Cami. “Business? What sort of business?”
“Buying the inn. I’ve come with a proposal.”
“You want to buy the inn?” His grin made her wobble all the more. “Is that why you’re dressed for a board meeting?”
“I work for Akron Development. I’ve managed to become one of the company’s top closers.”
Was that admiration in his eyes?
“I’m not surprised. Do you still paint?”
“No time.” She was finding herself, the Akron woman, not the artist girl. She was Dad’s girl now, not Mama’s.
“Who told you I was selling?”
“Word gets out.”
