A refuge. Cami painted the heart of the inn with her words. His grandparents had themselves been a refuge. For Ben. For those in need on a dark, stormy night.
The inn was just the tool they’d used. How was it that Cami, the daughter of the biggest developer in the South, who’d not been to the inn in fifteen years, understood its purpose better than he?
“What?” she said. “You sighed.”
“I just realized how brilliant you are,” he said, bringing her close and tracing his finger along her jawline. “That’s the inn to a T. I’m going to miss you when I go.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll be in Indianapolis, and you’ll find some gorgeous sheila to capture your heart.”
“Won’t you find a nice, handsome Hoosier to capture yours?” He searched her eyes for some sort of answer, but she’d closed the windows to her soul. His, on the other hand, felt wide open.
However, when Cami shifted her stance and rested her cheek on his shoulder, he started to wonder if his heart hadn’t always belonged to her. Would always belong to her.
“Hey,” he said, his voice husky. “The Fourth of July is next week. HB still does it big at the Scott farm.”
“Next to Christmas it was my favorite holiday. Dad and Mama brought us every year when we were little.”
“Will you come? Go with me? You can have any room or cottage you want.”
“A room. Not a cottage.” Ben heard between the lines. Not Cottage Three. “I’ll pay for my room.” She moved with him as he stepped back and twirled her under his arm, then pulled her close again. “But I’ll let you buy me a hot dog at the celebration. Oh, do they still have the tables and tables of homemade desserts?”
“All the pie you can eat. The Fourth of July, then. It’s a date.”
She rested her head on his shoulder again and whispered, “It’s a date.”
For a date, the weather was perfect. And Ben was an even better escort.
The Fourth of July arrived on a beautiful hot and humid Saturday. Cami had met Ben at the inn. They’d driven his Granddaddy’s old truck across town and parked on the western end of the field.
Ben slung a couple camping chairs over his shoulder. When she stumbled, stubbing her toe on a clump of dirt and grass, he reached for her.
“You all right?” Ben held on to her longer than necessary, but it was nice to have a man catch her when she fell. Woman power and all that aside.
Note to self: Never wear new red-canvas Sperrys to the Scotts’ Fourth of July bash. Even if they match your new patriotic shirt.
They followed the music and scent of barbecue to the party, found Myrtle May and Ray reclining and eating under a large maple and camping fly. The large golden retriever curled at their feet happily chewing on a tennis ball.
“Put your chairs there.” Myrtle May pointed to a spot on the other side of the folding table. “Walt’s gone to set up his cookies at the inn’s booth. He has some of those ten percent off two or more nights coupons you wanted printed up. Good thinking, Ben.”
“Want to walk around, get some food?” Ben said, taking her hand again.
“You owe me a hot dog.”
“Fine, but I’m going for barbecue.”
There was food everywhere. Good food. Amazing food. Cami sampled Haven’s cookie specialty, the White Chocolate Cookies and Cream Cookie, as well as one of Walt’s cinnamon sugar masterpieces.
“Where has this been all my life?” She held it up to Ben as if she’d discovered fine gold.
“In Walt’s head.”
“You should get him to write down the recipe. You could market this. Make money for the inn and Walt. Seriously.”
“Or you could make money for the inn. I’ll be in Sydney.”
Cami tugged on his arm, drawing him up short. “Are you saying you’ll sell me the inn?”
Ben shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”
