And to remember that she could trust God, who created all the beauty in the world around her.
Ben’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb drawing soft circles, and she let him search her eyes, her soul. She had nothing to hide. If he saw love there, so be it. She wasn’t afraid anymore.
She’d given up on love in this room, and now, in the arms of the man she loved, she’d finally found what she’d lost. Peace. Trust. Hope.
Cami roped her arms about his neck and rose up on her toes, inviting him to kiss her. She hoped he’d accept.
Without any hesitation, he covered her lips with his and kissed until she floated away.
Only one more shutter. Climbing the ladder, Ben loosened its screws and carried it down, sweat running into his eyes, down his face and neck. Five days until closing. He was determined to finish repairing, painting, and rehanging the shutters before then. On the ground, he set the shutter against the side of the inn, removed his ball cap, and wiped his forehead. Done. With this part. This wedding was getting the inn in shape.
“Yoohoo! Benji!” Myrtle May stood on the front steps of the inn, waving and holding a large glass of sweet iced tea. Bart trailed behind her, his tail wagging happily.
Bless her. Ben closed the ladder and laid it on its side before heading in her direction. One of the guests had little kids, and Ben had seen the youngest tyke climbing a tree. The ladder might be too tempting.
“On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.” Myrtle May’s voice was even more off-key today, and she seemed distracted as she handed him the glass.
“It’s hotter than hades out here today, boy. You haven’t come in to drink near enough.” She’d started looking out for him as soon as he’d arrived in Hearts Bend after Granny had passed, and as the weeks went on, she became more and more motherly. Who would look out for him in Sydney? He’d miss being around family. He’d miss Myrtle May.
Sitting on the side of the porch, he looked out over the grounds. Cami had sent down a crew to help with the landscaping. Ray had bristled at first, but then realized the team of four had accomplished more trimming and pulling than he had in the last so many years.
“Just leave my lilies alone,” he’d said. His garden was the one thing he kept weeded and beautiful. “That patch of ground is my heart.”
The field had been mowed and was ready for chairs and a tent. Another field was being prepped for the reception. Annalise and Cami combed over the property almost every evening.
The floors in the cottages and rooms had been sanded and polished. All the bed and bathroom linens were new, and the inn was starting to smile, to feel loved.
Ben’s thoughts drifted to the sweet kisses he’d shared with Cami in Cottage Three a few days ago. He never wanted to let her go. In fact, that sentiment was becoming more and more dominant. Doubts about leaving floated through him throughout the day as he saw the inn start to shine.
But that was ridiculous. He had a contract with Viridian. He had one to sell the place to Akron. Signed, sealed, delivered. Done. He was just being sentimental.
He drank the last of his tea and carried the glass inside, grabbing one of Walt’s tuna sandwiches on his way out. They weren’t half bad. He didn’t know what Myrtle May went on and on about.
Stepping onto the porch, he was about to go fetch the shutters when a sleek black Mercedes pulled into the inn parking lot. A well-dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped out. He was tall and athletic with an air of confidence.
Brant Jackson. No one needed to tell Ben. He knew.
“Well, I’ll be.” The screen door clapped behind Myrtle May. “After all this time.”
“Brant Jackson.”
“One and the same.” Myrtle May smoothed her hand down her purple-and-red skirt, fidgeted with her dazzling bright-teal top, then fluffed her hair. “Wow, he’s a hunk of man, but I’m going inside to take Bart out the back door.”
“You running scared, Myrtle May?”
“Darn right. Like Adam and Eve should’ve been afraid of that snake in the garden. He’s a charmer, that one. I’ll either melt in a puddle at his feet or give him a piece of my mind, and he ain’t worth it. However, I was reminded this morning that I should watch my tongue, and I aim to prove some cranky old man wrong.”
Cranky old man? Walt. Only he could get so far under Myrtle May’s skin.
Ben stepped off the porch and met the great Brant Jackson in the yard. Brant was precise in his movements, pausing to study the inn and the surroundings. Ben could see Cami in his profile and lean frame.
“Mr. Jackson,” Ben said, offering his hand. “I’m Ben Carter.”
“I’ve come to see what my daughters are raving about.” He didn’t shake Ben’s hand. “Cami insists this property is special.” He sounded dubious.
Ben raised his guard. This didn’t feel like a friendly visit. “I appreciate that Cami saw the value in my inn.”
“It’s Akron’s now.”
