“Interesting. They handle the marketing for Paradise Found.”
“I saw that,” Presley says. “Lucy and I ate lunch there last week. The food was horrible, but there wasn’t an empty table in the place. Women love the pink and green theme. Mark and Marcia have done an excellent job promoting them.”
Stella hands Presley the iPad and drops the business card into her purse. “I’ll schedule a meeting with them as soon as possible.”
Something across the restaurant catches Stella’s attention. Presley risks a glance and sees Naomi standing in the doorway. When Naomi locks eyes with Stella, raw hatred passes between them. Naomi hurries away, and Stella drains the rest of her sparkling wine and refills both their glasses.
“There’s something else you should know, Stella. Mark and Marcia have been trying to reach you. They’ve called and come by in person. And they’ve left messages with our guest services manager. Did Naomi ever give them to you?”
“She did not.” Stella doesn’t elaborate, but her face is set in stone.
“Do you believe what Naomi said last night, about Everett stealing from the inn?” Presley realizes she’s overstepping her boundaries, but the wine has suppressed her inhibitions and loosened her lips. And, if she’s honest with herself, she’s desperate for information about Everett.
“I’m not sure I believe her allegation,” Stella says. “But I can’t ignore it either. Not after everything else we heard last night about Everett . . . Rhett.” She chuckles. “What are we supposed to call him?”
Presley shrugs. “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Since we know him as Everett, I guess we should call him that.”
Stella stares into her wine. “Sadly, we may never see him again to call him anything.”
Presley’s gray eyes are wide. “Did you fire him?”
“I didn’t have to fire him,” she says. “He had a family emergency. He took off for Atlanta this morning.”
Presley’s stomach clinches, and she fears she might throw up. “Is he coming back?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. He was in such a hurry to leave, I didn’t ask too many questions.”
Presley doesn’t say it, but she’s thinking, He lied about everything else. Maybe he lied about the family emergency as well.
Ron delivers their lunch, and they dig into their salads. The salmon is grilled to perfection and the mixed lettuces are crisp and tossed in a delicious lemon basil vinaigrette. Cecily is rapidly becoming famous for her savory cheese biscuits, her grandmother’s recipe that she refuses to share. Presley scarfs down two and refrains from asking Ron for more.
While they eat, their conversation shifts to the holidays. “People are booking online and calling for room reservations for Thanksgiving,” Stella says. “At this rate, we’ll sell out by the end of the day. I get the impression a lot of them are locals with family coming in from out of town.”
“That’s great news!” Presley says. “I think we’ve turned the corner.”
For the rest of lunch, Presley shares some of her many ideas for holiday events with Stella. Afterward, to work off their wine buzzes, they take a long stroll around the grounds. When they encounter Opal painting down by the lake, Presley makes a date with her to have coffee on the veranda the following morning at nine. At the construction site, while Stella has a word with the architect, Jack gives Presley a tour of the spa building. In addition to a high-end gift shop, a rental office for water sports and a lunch cafe occupy the main level. Spa facilities take up the third floor, and the second floor is all about fitness with an indoor lap pool, dance studios for classes, and a workout room with state-of-the-art equipment.
They rejoin Stella in front of the building where excavators dig for the outdoor pool. “The Summer House Wellness Center will be our crowning jewel,” Presley says to Stella excitedly. “My brain is spinning with ideas.”
Stella laughs. “Then take your brain back to your office, or your apartment, wherever you work best, and make lots of notes while these ideas are still fresh.”
“I’ll do that! See you in the morning.” Phone in hand, typing ideas into her Notes app as she walks, Presley heads back up the hill toward the inn. She’s approaching her apartment building when the first sprinkles of rain from an incoming storm system ping her face.
24
Presley
Presley’s head is splitting from the wine she consumed at lunch. She pops two Advil and changes into yoga pants, an Alabama sweatshirt that once belonged to an old boyfriend, and her fuzzy socks. Curled up with a blanket on Big Blue, she works on her laptop for hours, creating Pinterest boards and brainstorming ideas for events. The distraction keeps her from obsessing about Everett and Lucy, but when she finally closes her laptop at almost eight o’clock, reality hits hard. When the walls of her lonely apartment close in on her, she slips on her rain boots and coat, grabs her purse, and darts across the street to Town Tavern.
Inside the restaurant, she’s greeted with flashbacks of her dinners here with Everett. The point in coming here was to get her mind off him. But the tavern’s decor, neon lit signs on the walls and wooden booths, makes for a cozy spot to hang out on a rainy night. She spots a familiar face at the bar.
She taps Katherine on the shoulder. “Hey there.”
Katherine looks back at Presley with red-rimmed hazel eyes. “Oh. Hey. What’re you doing out on such a nasty night?”
“I live in the building across the street,” Presley says with thumb over shoulder. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“My husband and I had a fight.” She dabs at her eyes with a paper cocktail napkin.
“I’m sorry. Do you want some company, or would you rather be alone?”
Katherine smiles at Presley. “I could definitely use the company right now. Are you eating or drinking or both?”
“Eating.” Presley climbs onto the barstool beside Katherine. “I still have a hangover from the two
