And for about sixty seconds, he knew he’d done the exact right thing.
6
By Wednesday, Ben was buried under work. Last Friday night with Cami seemed ages ago.
He woke up every morning to a mountain of overnight emails from Jordan and a field of messages from Jim about Sydney, Hong Kong, and begging him to return to Sydney.
In the afternoon, he worked inn issues. Repairing porch boards, weeding the gardens, setting up to paint the cottages. Ray worked along with him some days, other days he took on separate projects. All the while, Ben’s doubts mounted.
How was he going to keep this place?
By Friday afternoon, he regretted turning Cami down. He picked up his phone several times to call her but never dialed. Something held him back.
He loved this place, warts and all. But quitting his job to run Hearts Bend Inn simply was not an option. He’d signed a contract with VJR. The success of the Emerald rested squarely on his shoulders. Jim was right. Ben needed to be in Sydney.
If he walked out on Viridian in the middle of launching a marquee property, he’d never work in the industry again. Not at that level anyway.
Mr. Graham popped by one afternoon to say he’d talked to Stan at the bank about a refinance. Stan seemed reluctant but he might be willing to talk.
A refi would buy Ben a bit more time, but he’d still have to keep the inn running from Sydney to make the payments. With the Fourth of July coming up, he’d hoped to see more reservations, but so far, only half the rooms were booked.
Had word got around the place was falling apart? Frank Hardy, maybe? Or Akron. Brant, not Cami. Ben didn’t think that sort of thing was her style.
As he headed out to the barn to search for paint brushes, he replayed last Friday night in his mind. Dancing with Cami. Sharing pie and fries with Cami. Laughing with Cami. Talking with Cami. She was the same girl he’d known all those years ago. Until they’d ended up talking business, anyway.
Another time, another place, he’d pursue her till she couldn’t resist. He could love her. He had when he was a teen. But this was not the right time or place. He’d be in Sydney by September first. She’d be in Indy. Worlds and time zones apart.
Still, images of her crept past his mind’s eye while he worked, while he slept. If he paused even for a minute to remember, he could feel her chin on his shoulder, the warmth of her palm in his as they danced. The sweet scent of her floral perfume.
Ben stepped into the stale, hot atmosphere of the inn’s barn. He shoved the door all the way open for fresh air and light. The barn was a world all its own, stuffed with bins, cans and boxes, treasures, and—he hoped—paint brushes. He’d looked in the shed first but hadn’t seen any.
This week, he’d repaired the doors on the inn and the shutters and doors on the cottages. They really needed to be replaced, but for now, a bit of paint would pretty them up.
Ben scanned the boxes on the metal shelves, many of them labeled with Granddaddy’s handwriting. Some with Ray’s. Some had no label at all. He suspected those had arrived here during Granny’s reign.
Paint brushes, paint brushes. Where would they be? He reached up for a box marked brushes, tipping the metal casing forward just enough to send a can of old doorknobs to the concrete floor.
“Have mercy, are you trying to wake the dead?” Ben looked up to see Ray at the barn door, his ever-present fisherman’s hat on his head. He pulled a white hanky out of his shirt pocket and mopped his forehead. “There’s a fan in here somewhere.”
“I’m looking for the paint brushes.” Ben stooped to collect the knobs. Good to know these were out here in case he couldn’t replace a broken one from the inn. “Did you test the pond water?”
“Yeah, the alkaline levels were fine, but I’ll keep an eye on it.” Ray pulled a large industrial fan from the corner and plugged it in to one of the sockets attached to the workbench.
The motor kicked in and the blades whirred. Darn thing nearly blew Ben into the back wall.
“I’ll turn it down some,” Ray said. “Now, what do you need?”
“Paint brushes.”
“The brushes are in the shed. Those boxes where you’re looking hold a mix of things.” Ray walked over, reached up, and touched an unmarked box. “Extension cords. This one has the doodads your Granny let the wedding photographer keep on premise.”
“Wedding photographer?” Ben set the can of doorknobs back on the shelf.
“There’s even more in that large container in the back corner.”
“How long has it been since we had a wedding here?” More than a couple of minutes, for sure.
“Jean hoped to have weddings and receptions again. But when the Wedding Chapel opened, brides took their business there. When the Wedding Shop opened their doors again, Jean thought the wedding business would return to Hearts Bend, but nothing much came of it. Brides loved the chapel but took their receptions to fancier places than the inn.” Ray tipped his hat back. “Guess we just got too old and run-down looking. But your Granny held onto hope. She always was a dreamer.”
