Presley is angry with him for so many reasons. He told so many lies, she questions whether anything he said to her is true. She expected him to come over last night after the party. Not that she would have let him in. But he didn’t even try to see her. He was home. She heard him playing his guitar. Does he not realize he owes her an explanation? Or does he not care? With his cover blown, he has little choice but to move back to Atlanta to be with his girlfriend while they await the arrival of their baby.
Presley thinks back to their conversation a few weeks ago when she spilled her guts to him about being adopted. He spoke of unwanted pregnancies and abortion. His unwanted pregnancy is the thing he’s been hiding, the problem he’s been trying to sort out. The situation seems relatively simple to Presley. The girl is pregnant. He’s the father. Based on the size of her baby bump, abortion is no longer an option. Their choices are adoption, raising the kid on the fly as single parents, or marriage. But hiding out in the mountains isn’t one of them. Only a coward would do that.
“You are way better off without him, Pres,” she says to her reflection in the mirror as she applies makeup for work. Her brain understands this. But her heart is struggling to accept it. She thought they had something special, a rare and pure love. “Boy, did you get this one wrong. Don’t ever trust your people reader again.”
After blow-drying her hair, she puts on a winter-white long-sleeved sheath with black suede tall boots and a gray cashmere cape. She’s not dressing to impress anyone. She’s dressing to make herself feel better. And it works. She feels good about herself as she walks to work. She’s grateful to have her career and her birth mother to focus on. She was up half the night thinking about Lucy and the boy from Chapel Hill who raped her. The thought of having a rapist’s blood running through her veins makes her skin crawl. She wipes the thought from her mind. Why go down that rabbit hole until she knows for certain she’s Lucy’s daughter?
Her mood improves tenfold when she sees the inn bustling with activity. In addition to the many people moseying about the lounge, small groups of men and women are having drinks in Billy’s Bar, and all the tables in Jameson’s are occupied.
Stella, who is waiting for her at a table by the window, stands and greets her with a hug. “Look at this crowd,” Presley says.
“I know! Isn’t it wonderful?” Stella gives Presley a squeeze before turning her loose. “Don’t you look lovely. Is there a new man in your life?”
“Nope, there’s a new me in my life.” Draping her cape over the back of her chair, Presley sits down opposite Stella. “I didn’t expect to see results so soon.”
“Me either,” Stella says, her face aglow. “I almost feel guilty taking up a table.”
Presley cranes her neck to look back at the hostess stand. “We’re good. There’s no one waiting in line.”
“After last night, we deserve to celebrate.” Stella gestures at the ice bucket bearing an uncorked bottle of sparkling rosé beside her. “Compliments of Lucy. She specifically requested that you have a taste.” Stella uses air quotes to emphasize taste. “The vineyard is local. Lucy feels with rosé being so popular, this one will be an excellent and affordable choice for brides on a budget.”
“In that case, I’ll have a sip.” Today of all days, Presley may make an exception and drink a whole glass. Maybe she’ll even have seconds.
Their waiter, Ron, arrives. “Ladies.” He gives a slight bow. “May I pour you some wine?”
“Please!” Stella and Presley say in unison.
With his hand cupped over his mouth as though sharing a secret, Ron says, “Everyone’s raving about Cecily’s salmon salad special.”
Presley doesn’t bother looking at the menu. She already knows it by heart. “Then that’s what I’ll have.”
“Make that two.” Stella hands Ron their menus, and when he leaves, she holds her glass out to Presley. “To the future of Hope Springs Inn.”
Presley clinks her glass. “To the future.” The wine is delicious, crisp and dry despite the bubbles that tickle her nose. She takes several more sips before removing her iPad from her work tote. “I made some notes about the party. The most urgent thing we should discuss is our marketing plan. I met a young couple last night, Mark and Marcia Porter, who own their own marketing firm here in Hope Springs.” She slides the Porters’ business card across the table to Stella. “According to Mark and Marcia, and I have to agree with them, our advertising materials are blah.” She taps a fingernail on the business card. “This couple is convinced they can quickly turn things around for us.”
“I’m one step ahead of you on finding a new marketing agency.” Stella picks up the business card and studies it. “I’ve been talking to several large nationwide firms, but their fees are so high, and none of them seems to understand my vision.”
Presley opens her iPad, accesses the internet, and flips it around so Stella can see. “I spent some time studying the Porters’ website this morning. I have to admit, I’m impressed. They represent some large national companies, although most of their business is local.”
While Stella explores the website, Presley guzzles the rest of her wine. What has gotten into her today? Is she celebrating the success of the
