Page 75 of The Inn Dilemma

Carefully, I guide my brush with the final stroke, and my heart leaps at the end product.

The mural is a stunning depiction of Walden’s Pond from Henry David Thoreau’s bookWalden. I originally found it ironic due to the charm of the Storybook Inn’s original construction since there is nothing simple about its design. But from her journals, Ella Mae appeared to appreciate all the nature surrounding the house and often spent time walking with her husband through the woods and exploring the landscape. She found solace in God’s creation, and even though she enjoyed the conveniences of being wealthy, she always gave glory to God for all she and Frederick had.

As I stare at the completed piece and reflect on Ella Mae’s way of thinking, I’m reminded of all that God has blessed me with—Aunt Birdie, Holt, Christian, and now a sister-in-law and adopted nephew to spend time with and enjoy. Despite the many mistakes I’ve made—and will continue to make—God has found it in His goodness for me to have a second chance at a healthy relationship with my parents.

Being a part of this restoration process at the Storybook Inn has been a tangible parallel to the changes in my own life.

There’s a pile of new bedding, pillows, and curtains waiting for me to change out with the old. I’m so close tocompleting this final room I can taste it, so instead of taking a break like I originally planned, I move forward with my interior design experiments.

I change the dark green comforter and pillows for a light blue that matches the color of the pond in the mural. Then I switch out the dark green curtains with white ones and set up a cushion on the window seat. I’m pleased to see how the lighter curtains allow the perfect amount of light to spill in as I close them.

“Nova,” Aunt Birdie calls as she comes up the steps.

“In the master bedroom!” I shout, peeking my head out the door for good measure.

She practically skips her way over and hands me a stack of journals with various colored tabs marking the pages. “I found another journal. Look at this.”

I carefully open it to the first tabbed page. Scanning through the slanted cursive, I can’t help but smile as Aunt Birdie’s vision—and our new design—is noted in Ella Mae’s script. They had some similar ideas before, but these show how in line they really are with each other. Almost like they are two halves of a whole separated by a hundred or so years.

“See? It’s like you were born to run this place,” I say. Aunt Birdie has been so down on herself since the accident, and this is the perfect way to show her how good for the Storybook Inn she actually is.

She beams at me. “Thank you, Nova. You’ve been an encouragement in every sense of the word since arriving.”

I swallow the lump of emotion in my throat.My entire life has been spent trying to make other people happy, only to fall short. But my attempts were always superficial. Looking and acting a certain way for my dad’s employees, then running away at nineteen, only to becaught up in the same shallow world with Beau. Never feeling like enough.

Now my days are spent in work clothes, my hair in a messy bun, with paint and dirt under my nails, but I’ve never felt more appreciated—more alive—than I do now.

A tear rolls down my cheeks at the turn my thoughts take. “Well, that’s good to hear. Thank you for giving me a chance. This whole experience has been heart cleansing.”

She gives me a soft smile. “I’m glad. This is just another example of how God works in ways beyond what we ever imagine. Not necessarily mysterious, as the saying goes, but…He fulfills His promises in unexpected ways.”

I nod. “He does.”

Heavy footsteps thud up the stairs, and my heart does a somersault. I’d know those footsteps anywhere. Holt pokes his head around the corner, and hope blossoms inside my chest.

“Can we talk?” he asks, looking directly at me.

“Sure.” My voice cracks.

Aunt Birdie gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ll give you two some privacy.” She holds the journal tightly to her chest before leaving Holt and me alone.

Holt tucks his hands in his pockets and leans against the doorframe, his large form commanding the space. He’s wearing one of those flannels again with a T-shirt underneath. He’s wearing his plain black ball cap that shadows his face, giving an air of mystery. How’s a girl supposed to focus with all that raw masculine energy sucking up all the air in the room?And now I’m remembering how amazing it felt having those masculine lips pressed against mine.

“What’s up?” I ask, shaking out of my thoughts and bracing myself for whatever he has to say.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much to help today. But it looks like you’ve made a lot of progress.” He looks around the room, his gaze landing on the mural. “Everything looks amazing.”

I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. “There’s already so much beauty in the room. I’m just trying to enhance what’s already here.”

“Either way, you’ve done a great job.”

“Thanks.” My cheeks warm at his praise.

We stand in awkward silence for a few moments before he speaks again. “About the other night at Brokedown?—”

“Don’t worry about it. We were just caught up in?—”

Holt untucks his hands and takes a step forward. “That’s the thing. I wasn’t just caught up then. I’ve been caught up for a while now. Since you came back, actually. Maybe even before then.”

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