A Wedding at the Orange Blossom Inn(19)
As it rang, Beverly tried to tell herself that it would be a good thing if he didn’t answer. She could leave a message and do something productive instead. There were always chores to do around the inn. Why, she could clean out the pantry!
“Hello?”
“Hi, Eric,” she said quickly, so very happy that she wouldn’t have to tackle that pantry anytime soon. “It’s Beverly.”
“Hey. What’s going on? Is there a problem?”
“Not a single one.” He didn’t sound all that happy to hear from her and now she felt foolish. “I, uh, was simply wondering how your house sale was going today.” She frowned, realizing how she sounded: awkward!
“It’s the same. Which means my house is still on the market and hasn’t received an offer.”
“Oh, dear. I am sorry.”
“I am, too, but I haven’t given up yet. My real estate agent promised that things usually pick up this time of year. I guess a lot of families move around the end of summer.”
Thinking of the Hiltys, she said, “We recently had a family stay here for that very reason. Well, actually a widower and his three sons. He is going to take over an organic farm on the outskirts of Sarasota.”
“Poor guy. I can’t imagine raising three children by myself.” His voice sounded warmer now, his words easier, as if he’d settled into their conversation.
“I did feel sorry for him, though I never heard him complain about his situation. Oh! Guess what?” she added.
“What?”
“Tricia has a beau. His name is Ben and he’s one of that man’s sons.”
Eric’s chuckle on the other end of the line eased her, and for the first time all day, she felt like herself again. “Bev, don’t keep me in suspense! Tell me all about him. Do you like him? Do you think it’s serious?”
“Well, I think I like him. He’s mannerly.”
“Mannerly? That’s it?”
“Nee. Let’s see, he’s rather handsome. And strapping.”
“Strapping?” Eric laughed. “Bev, I do love your descriptors.”
She supposed she was sounding rather old-fashioned. “Let’s see, he seems mighty strong. Full of muscles. And he’s tall, too. Plus, he has blond hair and blue eyes. It seems he grew up on a farm in Charm, Ohio. He also seems quite taken with Tricia.”
“He sounds like quite the catch.”
“To be sure.” Smiling, she said, “Tricia noticed him immediately.” Sitting alone in the kitchen, Beverly rolled her eyes. Who wouldn’t have noticed Ben immediately?
“Are you worried about him breaking her heart?”
“A little, though I’m sure it’s just a little crush. You know how kids are.” Though, of course, neither Ben nor Tricia were actually kids . . .
When Eric chuckled and asked about Beverly’s best friend, Sadie, Beverly twirled the telephone cord around her finger and chatted some more.
She also decided that she was going to write him a letter that week. There was nothing wrong with having a friend to write to and talk with occasionally. Nothing wrong with that at all. After all, they needed to get to know each other better, since he was technically her boss now. Yes, getting to know each other better was a mighty good idea. And an important step in their friendship.
She simply needed to keep reminding herself that she and Eric were destined to be friends and friends only. Only a foolish woman would ever dream of becoming more than that with her boss.
Only a very foolish woman indeed.
AFTER WALKING HER GIRLS to Pinecraft Elementary, Emma decided to work on their new dresses when she got back home.
Thankful to have some quiet time to herself, she carefully cleared off the kitchen table and wiped down the surface with a rag. Most of the time, she merely handed down Lena’s dresses to Mandy and Mandy’s dresses to Annie—it made the most sense—but every couple of months she took the time to sew each of them a new one.
She’d ordered some beautiful fabric in shades of yellow for their new dresses. Emma loved outfitting them in coordinating colors, loved seeing how the three of them looked as they walked together, their similar frames and brown hair making them look almost like triplets. She imagined one day soon Lena would have enough of that and protest that it was time she decided what to wear. And Emma knew that when that day came, she wouldn’t blame her. But until then, she mused as she bent over the table and traced her pattern with a thick pencil, her three girls were going to match as much as possible.
A brief knock sounded at her back door, followed by the creak of it opening. “Emma, where are you?” her mother called out.