Presley nods. “That’s correct. Stella Boor is the new general manager.”
“She did a brilliant job with the renovations,” Marcia says. “The place is gorgeous.”
“With the right marketing campaign, we can have this inn booked to capacity and your restaurant teeming with customers like that,” Mark says, snapping his fingers.
Marcia thrusts a business card at Presley. “Please have Stella call us.”
Presley pockets the card. “I absolutely will. Enjoy the party. I hope to speak with you soon.”
Mark and Marcia may be pushy, but they’re right. First thing in the morning, Presley will have a serious discussion with Stella about marketing.
As she’s turning away from the Porters, Presley runs smack into Rita and Emma Reed. “Well . . . hello there,” she says. “Welcome to Homecoming.”
Surprise registers on Rita’s face. “You’re that girl, the one who . . .”
“Fell on her face in front of your house? That’s me. I’m Presley Ingram.”
“Presley Ingram?” Rita gives her a closer look. “What a pretty name. Where are you from, Presley?”
“Nashville, originally. But I moved to Hope Springs three weeks ago. I’m the new event planner.”
Emma says, “Cool! I’ve been considering a career as a wedding planner. I’d love to talk to you more about it. Can you come to dinner one night this week?” She elbows Rita. “Is that okay, Mom? If Presley comes to dinner?” Emma doesn’t wait for Rita to respond. “Wednesday or Thursday would be best for me. Does either work for you? Do you have any food allergies or dietary restrictions?”
Presley laughs out loud. This girl who was so rude to her when she tripped on their sidewalk is suddenly her best friend. “Your outgoing personality will serve you well in planning events and dealing with diva brides.”
Rita smiles. “Emma’s wanted to be a wedding planner since Santa brought her Barbie Bride. I attended at least a thousand Barbie and Ken weddings.”
Emma covers her face with her hands. “Mom! Stop!”
“I had a Barbie Bride,” Presley admits. “And I’d love to come to dinner. Wednesday night would be best.”
“Perfect.” Someone in the distance distracts Emma, giving Presley the opportunity to study her. Despite her casual attire—Barbour coat over jeans and cowboy boots—she’s strikingly pretty with dimples, a tiny turned-up nose, and prominent cheekbones.
Emma tugs on her mother’s coat jacket. “I see Chad. I’m going to talk to him.”
“Okay, sweetheart.” Rita waits until Emma is out of earshot. “Chad is her boyfriend. They’ve been dating forever. We’ll see if their relationship can stand the test of college.”
Presley looks around for Abigail. “Did your other daughter come with you?”
“Abigail? No, she’s at home studying for a calculus test tomorrow. Crowds aren’t her thing.”
A server approaches with a tray of spiked oyster shooters. Rita accepts one and swallows it in one gulp, handing the empty shot glass back to the server. “Delicious. Oysters are one of my favorites. You all did a wonderful job with the party. Lucy Jordan, the sommelier here, is my sister.”
“Lucy and I are friends,” Presley says, and then it dawns on her. Rita’s sister’s name is Anna, not Lucy. Is it possible there are three Townsend sisters? It’s not only possible, it’s entirely probable since Presley’s knowledge of the family is based on information gathered from random websites. Lucy has mentioned sisters, but never by name. Her story of putting her baby up for adoption comes rushing back to Presley. Is Presley that baby? She feels a crushing weight against her chest, and she struggles to catch her breath.
Rita braces Presley’s arm. “Do you feel okay? You’re very pale.”
She shakes her head to clear it. “I’m fine. I felt lightheaded for a minute. We’ve been working so hard these past few days, I haven’t taken the time to eat a decent meal.”
Presley has been waiting for the right moment to talk to this woman, who she is certain . . . was certain is her mother. But now, all she can think about is getting away from her. “Have you been down to the cellar yet? Lucy has organized an impressive wine tasting.”
“No, I came outside first to help Emma find Chad.” Rita glances over at her daughter. “Now that she’s occupied, I’ll sneak down to the wine tasting. Thanks for agreeing to talk to Emma about your career. Does seven o’clock work on Wednesday?”
“That’d be lovely.”
As Presley watches Rita stroll back toward the main building, a second wave crashes down on her. If Lucy Jordan is her mother, based on the story she told Presley at lunch, her father is a rapist.
22
Everett
Presley nailed the theme. The party feels like a homecoming with the citizens of Hope Springs talking loudly and laughing, hugging and backslapping, as though they haven’t seen one another in years. And some of them probably haven’t. Even though the town is small, everyone has such busy lives these days.
As Everett moves through the crowd from bar to bar, he overhears bits of conversation. Overall, the guests are impressed with the renovations. Men speak of bringing clients for drinks at Billy’s Bar, and women make plans for girls’ nights out and celebratory dinners at Jameson’s. One young woman suggests to her fiancé they have their wedding reception here next fall while another wants to rent out the game room for a football party in honor of her boyfriend’s birthday.
Everett deems the party a success. He anticipates a drastic increase in business soon. At least for the restaurant and bars. The room bookings may take a little longer.
A thickening in his throat surprises him. While he’s worked at the inn only a short time, he’s grown to love the vast rooms and mountain views. Except for Naomi, the other members of the team have become his friends. He enjoys the mixology aspect of
