“Hey, Madison,” a female voice singsongs from behind.
I startle and turn to see none other than innkeeper, Jenny Griffin.
“Hey, Jenny. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
Jenny is a regular Southern belle. Her wide-brimmed hat tilts back to reveal her pretty face and red lips. She wears an apron in a bright and cheery daisy print, and her hands are covered in plastic gloves.
“I’m scooping up some chicken salad plates for the late lunch crowd. You hungry?”
The Wild Daisy feels like a grandma’s house full of coziness and serving up comfort food. The heavenly smells coming from the kitchen cause me to waver.
“I am hungry. But I’m having a guest join me for dinner in the café at seven.” I look at my watch. “Any suggestions on something light so I can save room for the main course tonight?”
Jenny smiles. “Absolutely. Follow me, and I’ll set you up in the dining room with something delicious. Do you want some sweet tea while you wait?”
I follow her through the hall and into the common area. The 1908 building was once a general store, renovated with a dramatic staircase leading to the large upstairs, which has four guest rooms, including mine. With its exposed brick walls, worn wood floors, and an eclectic mix of antique furniture, the lobby and café downstairs exude a bygone era.
“Do you have anyun-sweet tea?” I ask tentatively.
Jenny motions for me to sit at a small two-person table by the window overlooking Main Street and laughs. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”
I lean my elbows on the quaint table and take in my surroundings. I didn’t have much time to explore my home away from home before I headed to the Jamison farm. But if I were to really lean into my country getaway, I’d need to change my clothes and shoes and hit the sidewalks for a better look.
“Here you go,” Jenny says, setting the cutest Mason jar before me. It’s filled with crushed ice, tea, and a substantial bright yellow lemon wedge.
“Thank you.”
“What time did you want to eat dinner tonight? I’ll need to make a reservation for you because we can get pretty crowded on a Friday. There’s live music next door at The Tipsy Daisy, and people like to grab dinner here before it starts.”
“The Tipsy Daisy?”
“It’s the bar my twin sister owns.”
I grin. “That’s so cool.”
“Yeah, we love being business neighbors. So what time for dinner tonight?”
“Oh… um, seven if that’s available.”
“Great! And how many for dinner?”
I think for a moment. “Two for certain. But I’m not sure if Mr. Jamison is bringing his family.”
Jenny’s red-lined smile fades, and she seems perplexed. “You’re having dinner with Mr. Jamison?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Of course, I know him. Everyone in town knows Ralph and George.”
I frown. “George?”
An image of the roadside produce stand and George’s beaming face and bulging biceps flash through my mind. She’s not talking aboutthatGeorge is she?
Jenny’s attention is diverted when a server hands her a plate. She immediately places it in front of me, the scoop of chicken salad and a side of cucumbers and tomatoes marinated in white balsamic vinaigrette making my mouth water.
“Yes, George Jamison is Ralph’s grandson.”
