“Wait. You mean, the farmhand at Mr. Jamison’s roadside stand?” I question.
“Yes, have you met him?” Jenny shifts her stance beside the table, her inquisitive chocolate-brown eyes staring down at me.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I stopped at the stand earlier to check it out. He gave me a sprig of lavender and called me ma’am.”
Jenny’s features soften. “Sounds like George.”
I unroll silverware tucked in a fabric napkin covered in a daisy print. Boy, the Wild Daisy Inn certainly takes its branding seriously.
“What’s the deal with him anyway?”
“What do you mean?”
“He sure smiles a lot.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a grown man smiling.”
Jenny has a point.
“No. I guess not.”
She palms my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, George Jamison is one of this town’s kindest, most loveable men. Why, he’d give you the shirt right off his back if you needed it. And he can fix just about anything you put in front of him. Never charges enough, if you ask me. He prefers his payment in the form of baked goods or a hearty supper.”
I nod and grin from ear to ear. I don’t know squat about George. But listening to how Jenny talks about him makes me like him from the get-go.
“You’ll never meet another man as happy and loyal as George. And I know it’s none of my business why you’re having dinner with Ralph, but you should know the entire town is praying for him, myself included.”
I ponder Jenny’s words, disappointed when our conversation is cut short because her staff needed her in the kitchen. I’m well aware of how small-town folks seem to know everybody’s business and wonder why the entire town of Heartsboro, Georgia, might be praying for Ralph Jamison. Maybe he really does need help because of farming troubles?
And if George is Ralph’s grandson, then where are the parents? I check my notes on my phone, and a black-and-white screenshot of the Jamison land deed stares back at me. Ralph is the only landowner listed.
“Hmmm,” I hum, perplexed by this turn of events.
Chapter Four
Madison
I kick off my pointy shoes and stretch out on the green velvet Parisian couch situated under the large window of my room. The afternoon sunlight filters in through the gauzy white curtains, giving my surroundings a hazy, romantic vibe as I scroll through emails on my phone.
I message Kevin, letting him know I’m having dinner with Mr. Jamison tonight. His reply is immediate.
Great news. If you have any questions, I’ll have my phone on me. Please don’t hesitate to call.
Thanks,I text back. I’m grateful for my boss’s positive attitude. So far, so good.
I lay the phone on my chest and sigh. Usually, I would’ve been thrilled to have gotten the ball rolling, as Kevin called it. I would’ve been scrolling the internet, intent on finding more information about the town and its economic strengths and weaknesses. I’d be taking notes and rehearsing my “spiel” right down to the moment when I’d slide a piece of paperacross the table with the exorbitant offer Global Dynamics approved.
But deep down, I’m not so sure about this deal. Something seems… off.
I settle my head against my bent arm, stare at the dramatic tin ceiling of the refurbished room, and try to relax after my delicious lunch. I don’t have to be downstairs in the café until seven, so there’s plenty of time to change and explore. Or maybe I need a nap? Either way, I’m not motivated to work at the moment. Instead, I lie there like a slug and listen to the delightful peal of afternoon church bells outside.
I’m checked into the Hummingbird Suite, complete with a sitting area and antique vanity. A classic barn door on a rolling track separates the sleeping area from the bathroom, which holds a vintage claw-foot tub with shower attachments. The decadent space is stocked with big chunks of homemade lavender soap with little daisy imprints, the hotel’s branding impressive. The bathroom and the main room each have large chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, the ambiance old-fashioned yet dreamy. I feel like I’ve traveled through time.
My phone pings with another text message, bringing me out of my food coma.
Hey! How’s country life treating you?The text ends with a pig and chicken emoji, making me laugh. Leave it to my sister, Beverly, to check in.
The two of us are thick as thieves but total opposites, except for the fact that we’re both single. I’m a corporate girl wholives in the city, and Beverly is a kindergarten teacher who lives in the Atlanta suburbs. We make an effort to have dinner together every weekend, filling each other in on our long work weeks and often venting about our struggles. I adore my sister, who always has my back.
