The sign for Hope Springs Farms comes into view ahead of us. “Did you consider going back to work?”
“There was no job to go back to. Things had begun to deteriorate at the inn by then, and none of the other restaurants in town were the caliber that employs a sommelier.” With head lowered and shoulders stooped, Lucy stares at the pavement in front of her. “Everyone tried to help me. Grant and my family and friends. But the efforts were futile, because I wasn’t willing to help myself. The six months after Grant left me were the darkest. I finally reached rock bottom when Chris, who was fourteen at the time, asked to go live with his father. I dragged myself to a therapist, and it’s been uphill ever since.”
Lucy removes her sunglasses and cleans them with the bottom of her beige cable-knit sweater. “Grant’s generous alimony has allowed me to renew my certification and study to become a master sommelier. I’d planned to wait for Chris to graduate from high school before applying for jobs in other places. But then Stella came along and reopened the inn. Which has been a godsend, because I really don’t want to move. My life is in Hope Springs.”
They walk up the long driveway in silence. When they reach the portico, Lucy turns to Presley. “So, now you know the story of my pitiful life.”
“Thank you for confiding in me.” Presley gives her a quick hug. “I’m sorry for all you’ve been through. I wish you much happiness in the years ahead, because you deserve it.”
Lucy’s smile lights up her face. “I’m well on my way. I feel stronger every day. Working here and making new friends like you has given my life purpose.”
Presley draws in a deep breath. “This homecoming party will either make or break both our careers.”
21
Presley
The team works long hours over the next few days preparing for the homecoming party. At three thirty on Sunday, Presley makes the final walk-through with Stella before the guests arrive at four.
Katherine has outdone herself with the flowers. Elaborate arrangements of elegant stems—hydrangeas, roses, lilies, peonies, ranunculus—in oranges and yellows and purples bedeck tabletops throughout the entryway and lounge.
Servers wearing black pants and white starched shirts position themselves near the front door to greet guests with drinks that Everett dubbed the Janis Jameson after Billy’s mother, a woman known for her talents in the garden. The mixture of gin, elderflower cordial, and chilled Prosecco is served in coupe glasses and garnished with a tiny purple-and-white viola.
When a server offers Stella a drink, she takes two glasses, handing one to Presley. Clinking their glasses together, Stella says, “To a job well done, Presley.”
Presley beams. She’s proud of her accomplishment. “Let’s hope the party has the desired outcome.” She sips the tasty concoction. Regardless of what Everett is hiding about his past, he’s a genius mixologist.
Glasses in hand, the two women walk down the hall to the solarium where a hyped-up Jazz is pirouetting around a colorful stage. Presley has hired a magician to perform hourly shows, and his assistant to tie balloons into animal figures for the children. The assistant, dressed as a clown, wears a pink wig and has hearts painted on her cheeks.
When Jazz sees them in the doorway, she toe-dances across the room and hugs Stella’s waist.
Stella pats her half sister’s head. “Are you excited for the party, Jazzy?”
Pushing away from Stella, Jazz bobs her head. “A lot of my friends are coming.”
Presley bends over eye level with the child. “Do they know to meet you here for the magic show?”
Another head bob. “And later, after dinner, they’re having s’mores and hot chocolate in the library.”
“That’s right, kiddo,” Stella says.
Presley holds her hand out to Jazz for a high five. “And don’t forget about the hayrides.”
Her golden eyes grow wide. “Cool! I didn’t know we’re having hayrides.”
Stella wags her finger at Jazz. “But you need to be careful. There will be a lot of people here tonight. Don’t you dare go outside alone and be sure to check in with your mom and me periodically. Understand, Jasmine?”
“Understand, Stella,” Jazz says, sassy-like, and leaps off.
Presley and Stella proceed to the library where a roaring fire in the stone fireplace warms the room. A server waits behind a wood-paneled bar to present guests with hot gin toddies—a mixture of gin, cinnamon-infused simple syrup, and lemon juice. The Panthers are playing the Falcons on the big screen television in the adjacent game room. With Mexican as the theme, harvest spiced margaritas are the specialty drink while the cocktail food includes mini tacos, shrimp tostado bites, and guacamole prepared on-site by one of Cecily’s waiters.
Presley and Stella continue to the lounge where enlarged black-and-white photos depicting the inn’s history throughout the decades are displayed on easels. In the center of the lounge, an enormous round table is set for a proper English tea featuring the inn’s homemade blends accompanied by bite-size sweet and savory morsels.
They stop in at Billy’s Bar to speak to Kristi, who is busy pouring a blue concoction of Sapphire gin, vermouth, and blue Curaçao into martini glasses and garnishing them with twists of lemon. A self-serve slider bar—offering burgers, barbecue, and pulled smoked chicken with all the fixings—stretches the wall beneath Billy Jameson’s impressive display of memorabilia.
As they exit Billy’s Bar, Presley smiles when she sees Cecily dressed in official chef’s attire and standing in the doorway of her domain.
“Welcome to Jameson’s,” Cecily says, motioning them into the dining room.
Samples of Jameson’s most popular menu items are presented on platters and in chafing dishes arranged on buffet tables. Open seating is available at long rows of tables
