Etta bit her lip while she stewed and mulled and pondered. He almost heard the gears grinding in her head before she turned to him and let loose. “Before I even think about agreeing to anything, I want time to study every last detail of Grammy’s plans. I want to see all the contracts that she signed or planned to sign, I want receipts of the work that’s been completed, and I want to talk to a lawyer about changes in zoning and property taxes. And I want it in writing that Beulah has a home here as long as she lives.”
He nodded agreeably and said, “That won’t be a problem. In fact it sounds like a sensible place to start.”
Belle’s phone rang and she looked at the screen. Frowning, she stood and walked to the doorway. “Damn, I need to take this. It sounds like you two have everything handled anyway, so good-bye, Donny Joe.”
“Bye.” Donny looked at Etta, not trying to hide his surprise at Belle’s sudden departure. “She’s not coming back?”
Etta sat back down on the couch. “Get used to it, Donny Joe. That’s probably the last bit of help we get from Belle.”
He put his hands on his hips. “And you’re okay with that?”
“It’s what I’ve come to expect, but I have another question.”
He braced himself for another onslaught. “Fire away.”
“All this long distance stuff is great while the renovations are going on, but who’s going to run the place when it’s open? And don’t say Beulah. She’s not strong enough to take on that much work.”
“No, in fact your grandmother handpicked someone for the job.” He opened one of the folders and turned to the last page and pointed to a paragraph half way down. “It’s right here.” He turned the folder around so she could see it. The name Etta Green was printed big as life in the middle of the page. “As you can see, she picked you.”
Chapter Three
That is not even remotely funny. And I can tell you right now, that’s never going to happen. Not in a million years.” Etta slapped at the offending folder, causing pages to flutter to the floor. According to these papers her grandmother had picked her to help her run this place. The heavy boulder that had taken up permanent residence in her chest since her grandmother’s death threatened to crush her. But she didn’t believe this was a call from the grave. Grammy Hazel knew about her break-up with Diego. She knew they’d been struggling to keep their business partnership afloat, and knowing her grandmother she was providing a safety net in case it all fell apart. It had been an offer for them to work together. But Grammy was gone.
Donny Joe grinned. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t like that part, but hey, I’m just telling you what your grandmother wanted. It was her dream all along that you would come back and help her run this place someday. Why do you think she’s putting so much money into redoing the kitchen? Because you’re a fancy chef she thought it might lure you back home eventually.”
She wanted to shout that he had no idea what he was talking about. “Just because I spent summers here when I was younger doesn’t make Everson my home, especially now that Grammy is gone. And preparing fine cuisine at a top restaurant is not the same as churning out grub for a Bed and Breakfast.” Even she winced at how condescending she sounded, but she wasn’t about to apologize now. She grabbed the paper from his hand and pointed to the next paragraph. “And what’s this? ‘Etta’s Place’?”
“Yep. That’s the name she picked. Pretty clever, huh?”
“It’s not clever. It’s a really lousy joke.” The headache she’d been battling all day bloomed into a full-blown migraine. He was still smiling that cheesy smile, the smile that he’d probably used from the day he was born to smooth his path in life. He used it like a weapon designed to melt opposition, wear down defenses, and defuse disagreements before they could even get started. Especially if the opposition happened to be female.
She’d finally had enough. She stepped right up close, so close he had to look down to meet her gaze, and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Let’s get one thing straight, you-you glorified pool boy. I don’t like you, and I certainly don’t trust you. And ‘Etta’s Place’? If it’s an attempt to butter me up, it won’t work.”
“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.” He held up both hands like he was innocent of all charges.
“I think you somehow bamboozled my grandmother into agreeing to this crazy scheme of yours, and now you think you can bamboozle me, too. You come in here flashing that ridiculous smile of yours and pouring on the boyish charm. Well, let’s get one thing straight, mister. I’m not my grandmother, and I can’t be bamboozled.”