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“Hey, Melinda. How’s everything?”
“Going well. So, have you decided where you’re headed yet?”
“Not sure just yet. I still have a few more things to get in order before I decide. I also have paperwork to sign with the Marine Corp, which I am doing this afternoon,” I said, flipping the ticket over in my hand, debating telling her now what I’d already decided.
“Oh. Well, let me know once you decide.” I could hear the disappointment in her voice.
“Will do. I’m going to be late for a meeting. Can I call you later tonight?” I questioned.
“Yeah, Dad. I’ll be home from work about eight.”
“Talk to you after that, then.”
“Sure thing. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, kid.”
We hung up, and I glanced at the pile of letters from Peggy that lay on the table. I removed the last letter and sat down, sending a response via email. She didn’t know that I’d returned to American soil. I’d planned on heading to Cabo in the coming weeks to enjoy some sunshine and spend a few months unwinding. However, something inside me told me Willow Valley was where I needed to be. Like my daughter, she also didn’t know that I’d confirmed my decision to head to Willow Valley.
After all of our letters, all of our discussions, it was only a few letters ago we’d begun talking about perhaps meeting one day. I chuckled as we both agreed that we’d be nervous. It was when she finally told me she was looking forward to that day, should it ever come, that I knew I had to do it. That was the day I’d bought my ticket.
* * *
I stared at the wooden sign that read Willow Valley Bed and Breakfast from the back of the cab. I couldn’t believe that I was here, sitting in the driveway of this small-town bed-and-breakfast.
“Sir, that will be thirty-five seventeen,” the driver said from the front seat.
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled my wallet out, shoving some cash at the driver, and then climbed out of the backseat to meet him as he pulled my bags from the trunk. I looked down at my small pile of personal objects and picked up the two bags, heading to the front door of the inn.
I pushed open the front door, the smell of lilac hitting my nose. An older woman stood behind a small counter, folding some towels. She looked up at me and smiled. “Welcome to Willow Valley Bed and Breakfast. What can I do for you?”
“Thank you. You should be expecting me. Ethan Alexander,” I said, placing my bags on the floor at my feet.
“Oh, yes.” She nodded, pulling a book in front of her. She ran her finger down a list of names, finally stopping on mine. “Your room is located right at the top of the stairs, dear. Room number seven. You should find it quite comfortable. If there is anything you need, just ask,” the elderly lady said as she searched a drawer for the key.
“What time is dinner?”
“Oh, we serve dinner at five every night in the dining room. I used to do separate meals, but since I hurt my hip and my dear Harry took ill, I just don’t have the energy any longer.”
I glanced down at my watch. It was shortly after six. “Any chance there are any leftovers?”
“Oh, my dear, sadly, you are our only reservation tonight. We had more, but they got pushed to arrive later. I have some cookies, though,” she said, making her way down the hall to what I was sure was the kitchen and returned with two cookies wrapped in cellophane. “If this isn’t enough, The Crispy Biscuit is only a short walk away.”
“Perfect,” I muttered, not wanting to be rude as I looked at the two small cookies that would never fill me.
I made my way up the stairs to the room I’d been assigned. I slid my key into the lock and opened the door. The room was basic, with a king-size bed, small TV, a small writing desk, and a small bathroom. There was a large wingback chair beside the window, and I placed my bag beside it and looked out the window. The inn sat up on a hill, and from the window I could look out over the small town. I stood there for a moment, and then my stomach let out a large growl.
I unwrapped the cookies and shoved one in my mouth, followed by the other. There was no way the two small cookies were going to cure this hunger, so instead of unpacking, I grabbed my jacket, locked the door, and made my way to The Crispy Biscuit.
I’d just finished the last mouthful of beef stew when Cici, the young server, approached my table to refill my coffee.
“How was that stew?” she questioned. “Was I right?”
“Perfect. Just what I needed after a long day,” I said, glancing over her shoulder to see if Melinda had come in.
“Can I interest you in some desert? I’ve noticed you can’t stop checking out the pastry counter.”
It was true, I had been looking over that way, but not because of the pastries. I smiled. “Oh, I was hoping Melinda would be here.”
