Ben twisted away from a flash of guilt. He’d had no idea Granny hadn’t stopped hosting weddings by choice. He’d figured she’d just lost interest.
But Ray was right. The inn was not in the kind of pristine condition that attracted a bride and her mother.
However, weddings and receptions were the least of his worries. He needed paint brushes.
“So, you and the Jackson girl…” Ray leaned against one of the shelves, arms folded, the fan humming in the background.
“Don’t get any ideas, Ray. She only wants to buy the inn.”
“Does she now?”
“I turned her down.”
Ray made a face and nodded. “You got a plan besides painting old shutters and doors?”
“Not really. No.” Which doubled his irritation. Since he’d joined VJR, he’d planned his life. This indecisiveness sat hard with him.
Sell. Just do it. He didn’t have time for sentiment.
“You know if you sell to Cami, her Daddy will come knock the place down.”
Ben turned to Ray. “That’s what I said, but she promised he wouldn’t. She wants to preserve her mother’s memory. But if I sell, am I desecrating my grandparents’ memory? My own memories?”
“Funny thing about memories,” Ray said. “You can’t trust them. Can’t use them to plug up your fears. Or make you do something you don’t want to do.”
Wise words from the old groundskeeper. “Is that what I’m doing? Letting my memories hold me back?”
“Seems to me Cami’s trying to reclaim something she lost too. You must live your life, Ben. Not someone else’s. Besides, memories aren’t stuck inside buildings, they’re kept in here.” Ray tapped his chest and started for the door. “I’ll get the brushes for you. Then I’m going to the hardware store. The motor on the pond windmill broke.”
He was right. One hundred percent. Ben’s life before Granny died had been fancy hotels in world-class cities. His father, who should’ve inherited the inn, was running a major missions program that ministered to thousands of people. He certainly wasn’t coming back to run the family business.
Walking out of the barn into the bright sunlight, Ben pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at Cami’s name. Did he call? Did he let go of the inn? What did she really want from it?
Could he trust her?
His phone rang. Jim. Well, at least he didn’t have to figure it out right now, because Sydney was calling.
Again.
Saturdays were meant for relaxing, not tapping your fingers on the table of the local coffee shop. Already, Cami had looked through all the listings Max, the Realtor in Indy, had sent—nothing made her want to pack up her life and hang a Home Sweet Home sign. She drank a latte and ate a cinnamon roll, and it was only nine. Marta had showings lined up in Cami’s condo all day and had requested she be out an hour ago.
Right now, someone was walking through her place, the one she’d worked so hard to buy and build out the way she wanted.
Did she really want to sell? Maybe she could lease it. She texted Marta with the idea, then sat back and looked toward the street and the start of a beautiful day.
Across the room, a couple sat at one of the tables. They looked happy. In love. Would she ever find love? Real love? She’d not been on a date in?—
She had to stop and think. Do a bit of math. Three years? Good grief.
She picked up her empty coffee cup. She shouldn’t order another. But she couldn’t sit here much longer while strangers walked through her condo either. Yesterday she’d had lunch with Annalise, who’d talked of nothing but the Vicki Carmichael wedding. Cami hadn’t gotten a word in edgewise. Annalise had still looked a little green around the gills, but her sister was a big girl and said she was fine. Cami would respect that. For now.
Which meant she had to steer clear of Annalise today. She’d be eyeball-deep in wedding planning details. So that was a definite no-go.
As she cleaned off her table and packed up her laptop, Marta texted.
The first couple went wild over the place. They’ll probably put in an offer above asking. #exciting
Oh great. Did you see my text about leasing?
