Blue Ridge Reunion. Mia Ross
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you got going back there?”
She beamed proudly. “Bruce’s doin’ up some fresh barbecue pork and chicken with a new recipe he invented last night. Y’all pick a table, and I’ll get you some sweet tea while you check over the menu.”
“You don’t have to—” Before Chelsea could finish, their hostess was gone in a puff of flour.
“I get it,” Paul muttered as they headed into the dining room. “I comment on your weight, you smack me down. Molly does it, you agree with her.”
“It’s all in the delivery.”
The place was packed, but there was a table for two at the far end. While Paul ushered her through the crowd, several people stopped them to say hello. Most of them were familiar old faces locked in her memory all these years. Some had changed slightly, but others were exactly as she remembered them. One of those was Pastor Griggs, who was having lunch at a corner table. When he stood to greet her, she felt a little awkward. Growing up she’d attended Sunday school and services at the Crossroads Church faithfully every week. Now, not so much. She wondered if he could tell.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” he told her, grasping both of her hands with a fatherly smile. “How does it feel to be home?”
It had been ages since she thought of Barrett’s Mill the way Paul did, but now that the pastor mentioned it, she didn’t consider anywhere else home, either. She hadn’t realized it until this moment, and it rattled her enough that she had to kick her brain back into conversation mode. “Good. I’m not staying long, just helping Paul out with something at the mill.”
“Yes, the loan,” the preacher said, nodding somberly. “Every other bank in the area turned them down, and we’re all praying your father can help. Will’s done so much for the town, and we want to see him happy. Not to mention getting some tourists to stop here would really help us out moneywise.”
The revelation was news to Chelsea, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d had no idea the entire village was in on this. The fact that so many people stood behind the mill put a whole different spin on it for her, giving her a glimpse into the pressure Paul must feel to make the project successful. Beyond that, his application had become more to her than debits and credits on a ledger sheet. “Ultimately, the board makes the decision, so I can’t promise anything. But I’ll do my best.”
“God bless you both.” After placing a hand on her shoulder and the other on Paul’s, he returned to his meal.
“Well, that was awkward,” Chelsea murmured as she and Paul seated themselves on opposite sides of the tiny booth.
Already nose-deep in the menu, he asked, “Why?”
Sensing that he hadn’t strayed as far from their Christian upbringing as she had, she wisely kept her mouth shut. But he was still the same old Paul, and he eyed her suspiciously. Setting down his menu, he folded his well-muscled forearms on top and leaned in with a slight grin. “You’re not tight with the big guy anymore?”
“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way,” she chided, relenting when his grin widened into a you-can’t-fool-me look. “All right, you nailed me on that one. Happy?”
“Immensely. Most women baffle me, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s kinda nice.”
“I’ve changed plenty,” she insisted as Molly showed up with a pitcher of tea and two glasses. “You’re exactly the same, though.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Trust me, it is.”
“Arguing again?” Molly teased, pulling an order pad from the pocket of her apron. “It feels like old times, seeing you kids in my place. What’ll you have?”
“How ’bout some barbecue?” Paul suggested with a questioning look at Chelsea. “If you want, we can get one chicken and one pork and split ’em.”
What did she care? With all the trouble he was causing her, she’d have boatloads of pent-up aggravation for working off the calories at the gym later. “Sure, with coleslaw. And double fries with gravy,” she added impulsively.
Beaming proudly, Molly patted her back. “Good for you, hon. You only go around once, so you might as well eat what you want. These’ll be out shortly.”
“Before you go, I was wondering who did your new sign. It’s really unique.”
“Jenna Reed blew into town a few months back,” Molly explained. “She’s one of those traveling-artist types, y’know, the kind who sell their stuff at a roadside stand. Anyway, she came in here one day and asked if I knew anyone who was looking for some new signage.”
“And you hired her,” Paul guessed. “Out of the goodness of your heart.”
“The girl needed to pay her rent, and our old plaque was falling off the hooks. She didn’t charge much, and we get all kinds of compliments about it. I’d say we got the better end of the bargain.”
“That sign at the mill is way past its prime,” Chelsea told Paul. “You might want to contact Jenna and see if she can help you out. You really need a logo to brand your products and marketing materials.”
“Great idea.” Grabbing a napkin, he borrowed Molly’s pen and wrote down the woman’s info. Once she’d gone, he refolded his arms and leaned closer. “You’ve always been a by-the-numbers type. Where’d you pick up your eye for artistic stuff?”
That he’d noticed the change, and obviously approved of it, gave her shaky ego a pleasant little boost. The fact that those deep brown eyes were twinkling at her had nothing to do with it, of course, but it was nice to be recognized for something she’d done rather than how pretty she looked. She got her fill of that at the bank, and it was refreshing to be praised for stepping out of her usual realm of expertise.
“Marketing’s always interested me,” she confided for the very first time. Even her father didn’t know, because to him, banking was the only industry worth pursuing. “I like analyzing the unique aspects of a company and figuring out how to play them up to their best advantage.”
“Like earlier, when you asked about my plans for promoting the mill,” he said as he filled their glasses with tea. “Do you do that often?”
“Never.” Hearing the edge to her tone, she did her best to dial it back. “Our clients aren’t interested in my opinion on that kind of thing. They hire experts for that.”
“Your mom was a real creative lady. You must’ve gotten your talent from her.”
The mention of her long-absent mother hit Chelsea like a bucket of ice water, and she felt herself stiffen in self-defense. She recognized that it was absurd to tense up that way, but it was reflexive and she simply couldn’t help it. Hoping to disguise her reaction, she shrugged as if it didn’t matter much to her. “Probably.”
“Where is she these days?”
“Australia, with husband number four.” Or was it Austria? It had been months since her last email, and she honestly couldn’t recall where Mom had said they were living now.
“Cool place. You should go visit her when you get a chance.”
“I haven’t been invited,” Chelsea spat with more venom than she’d intended. Swallowing some tea, she went on. “Beyond that, I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen. After the divorce, she and Dad could hardly look at each other without snarling.”
In truth, they’d been like that her entire life, and the breakup of their marriage had been a relief for all of them. Paul seemed to sense that, because the look on his face shifted from polite interest to genuine sympathy. Considering the fact that they’d been wrangling all morning, his compassion touched her deeply. In her fast-paced world, people flew past each other with a quick greeting, seldom pausing for a meaningful conversation. Something told