Before rounding the corner at the end of their block, she takes one look back at the house. Patricia, her listing agent, is at the front door greeting their first potential buyers. Patricia is confident they’ll have multiple offers, perhaps even a contract, by this evening.
She squeezes her eyes tight, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her mother’s voice rings in her head. “You’ve got this, Presley. You can accomplish anything you set your mind to.” Renee wasn’t such a bad mom, for a high-strung control freak whose only form of recreation was partying. She gave sound advice, was an excellent provider, and supported Presley in her many ventures. So what if Renee never exhibited her love. Maybe Presley’s expectations were too high.
Rummaging in her bag for a tissue, she wipes her eyes and leaves the neighborhood one last time. Through the rearview mirror, she can barely see over the clothes and kitchenware, lamps and bedding packed in the back of her SUV as she makes her way through town. Once she’s on the interstate, she adjusts her seat and settles in for the seven-hour drive to Virginia.
She places a hands-free call to her mother’s primary antiques dealer. When she explains the situation to Hubert Brock, he expresses interest in buying back many of Renee’s pieces. Presley promises to get in touch when she’s ready to clear out the house. After hanging up with Hubert, she makes a mental list of her friends who work for small to midsize companies that might be interested in hosting conferences at Hope Springs Farm. Her mind drifts to the party. She has several ideas for themes, but one keeps coming back to her. She calls Stella to run the idea past her.
“What do you think of Homecoming as a theme for the town party? After all, the inn is like home for many of the townsfolk, those who have lived in Hope Springs all their lives and have fond memories of time spent on the farm growing up.”
When silence fills the line, Presley worries that Stella hates the idea. “We can brainstorm something else.”
“Not at all. I absolutely love it, Presley! I’ve spoken with Cecily and Naomi. We agree the weekend following Halloween is best.”
“Perfect! That’ll give me an additional week for planning.” Presley pauses while she passes another car. “By the way, is it okay if I start work tomorrow afternoon? I need to be here in the morning when the truck arrives with my furniture.”
“Presley, please! Take a couple of days to unpack and rest up after your drive. I’m afraid you won’t have much free time going forward.”
“But I’m eager to get started. I’ll come in on Wednesday morning. What time should I be there?”
“On Wednesday? Let me see.” Presley hears Stella clicking on her calendar. “I have an early meeting with my architect at the spa building at seven. Why don’t you come in around nine? We have limited office space in the main building. For now, you’ll have to share with Karen, the concierge. Did you meet Karen during your stay?”
“Yes! She booked my bike tour.”
“Since this job will demand a lot of your weekend time, I’m fine with you setting your own hours. Because the office space is tight, feel free to work remotely from your apartment if you need to spread out.”
Presley eyes Renee’s large screen iMac strapped into the passenger seat beside her. “I may do that. Thanks for allowing me the flexibility.”
Presley and Stella talk for a few more minutes about ways to raise awareness of the resort. She admires Stella’s keen business sense and the way she stays on top of every department without being overbearing.
After stopping for lunch and gas in Knoxville, she gets on Highway 81 and cranks the volume on her road-trip playlist, a mixture of her favorite classic rock artists. Heavy tractor-trailer traffic adds ninety minutes to her trip, but excitement overpowers her exhaustion when she finally arrives at almost six o’clock. She’s making her first trip up the stairs to her apartment, her arms loaded with hanging clothes, when Everett appears from work.
“Presley! You’re back. Let me run this stuff up to my apartment“—he holds up his backpack in one hand and a take-out food container in the other—“and I’ll help you unload your car.”
“I’ve got it, Everett. Don’t let your dinner get cold.”
“I’m not really that hungry. Besides, it’ll take you until midnight if you do it alone.”
She flashes him a grateful smile. “In that case, I accept your offer.”
An hour later, they carry the last load up the stairs, adding it to the pile of cardboard boxes and plastic bins in the center of the living room. Everett collapses onto a mountain of bedding and throw pillows. “You were gone for thirty-six hours, and a portion of that was spent traveling. How did you pack all this stuff up in such a short amount of time?”
She drops to the floor beside him. “I stayed up most of the night.”
Staring up at the ceiling, he says, “Where’re you planning to sleep tonight?”
“I’ll make a bed out of the pillows and comforter you’re lying on. Truthfully, I’m so tired, I could sleep standing up.”
He rolls over on his side to face her. “I’ll bet you are. I’m sure you’re hungry too. I’ve got a hankering for a pie from Ruby’s pizzeria. They’re located just up the street. Should I run get us one while you locate your toothbrush?”
“Pizza sounds awesome. But only if you let me treat you for helping me unload.” Crawling around on her knees, she locates her purse and removes thirty dollars from her wallet. When she tries to give it to him, he stares at it.
“Are you sure? I’m
