“If you do that, stop by the inn and say hello. Or maybe I’ll see you at church? Here in Pinecraft, because of all the tourists, we all go to the Amish church instead of worshipping in other people’s homes. Maybe we could meet there one Sunday? I mean, if you’d like to meet there.”
“I’d like that,” he said as they stopped in front of the inn. “I’ll be seeing you, Tricia. Count on it.”
She smiled at him before walking up the steps. “I already am,” she murmured to herself.
FOR THE REST OF the night, Tricia replayed their conversation over and over, reflecting on how fast things between her and Ben were happening . . . and how she didn’t want it to be any other way.
Chapter 7
The inn was half empty.
As Beverly Overholt scooped up the last of the Hilty boys’ sheets, she knew that she should be breathing a huge sigh of relief. The boys had been well-behaved and mannerly, but they’d still been boys stuck on the top floor of a bed-and-breakfast. The youngest, especially, had been growing rather restless. He needed room to run and play.
But now they were at their new farm and the inn was far quieter. Yet instead of feeling a renewed sense of peace, Beverly felt the same as she had when Leona, Mattie, and Sarah had left the attic room four months ago . . . a little blue.
She had no reason to be, either.
Business at the Orange Blossom Inn couldn’t have been better. It was a rare day when they had one room vacant, let alone several. Rarer still when she wasn’t booking reservations, baking scones and cakes for afternoon tea, or feeling the need to weed her front flower garden.
But today was one of those days. With half of her guests checked out and the remaining having informed her that they wouldn’t be back until dark, Beverly had been able to forego her usual afternoon tea service. And since she’d given Tricia most of the day off so she could spend it with Penny Knoxx, Beverly had unexpected time on her hands.
After depositing the sheets in her washing machine and turning it on, Beverly poured herself a Mason jar full of iced tea and went outside to her front porch. She ignored the inviting trio of white rocking chairs and simply sat on the stoop, content to smell the lingering scent of orange blossoms on the trees and watch the occasional bicyclist pedal by.
As the minutes passed, Beverly knew that she needed to face the facts. She wasn’t fretting about the Hilty boys leaving or simply relaxing after a busy couple of days.
She was missing Eric Wagler.
A good portion of her brain was shouting that such a thing simply didn’t make sense. Eric had first appeared in her life earlier this year to inform her that he rightfully owned the inn she’d thought belonged to her after her aunt, the previous owner, had passed away. In the beginning, she’d resented him something awful. Beverly had arrived at the inn during a time of need and for years it had been her haven. When he’d told her about his plans for the inn, she’d been angry. Why, she’d even called her lawyer to straighten things out!
But eventually, she’d discovered that her aunt Patty had merely been leasing the inn. Beverly still had no idea why Patty had never told her. Maybe it had slipped her mind. Maybe, after running it for so many years, Patty had actually thought of the Orange Blossom Inn as hers, and when she’d known she was about to pass on into heaven she hadn’t thought to explain to Beverly how things really were.
Whatever the reason, Eric’s news had stung.
Eric, too, had been surprised by things. At first he wasn’t sure he even wanted to run an inn in Florida. But after spending some time at the inn a few months ago, he had decided to move from Pennsylvania to Florida.
They’d also come to an agreement about running it: She was going to manage the day-to-day operations while he would handle the finances. She’d been so relieved to know that she was going to keep her job.
But she’d been even happier to realize that, as time passed, Eric had become a good friend.
Now, however, he was a distant one. He’d returned to Pennsylvania in order to put his house on the market. His plan had been to sell it quickly and then move to Sarasota, but the Lord hadn’t seen fit for that to happen yet. His house hadn’t sold and he was still in Pennsylvania.
And she’d come to truly miss him.
They’d taken to calling each other on occasion, presumably for work reasons. But usually, after dwelling on inn business for a few minutes, they would simply chat. It was funny, but their distance seemed only to bring them closer than ever.
Noticing that her Mason jar was empty, Beverly took it to the kitchen and filled it again. Then she finally did what she’d been wanting to do for the last hour. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.