Page 79 of The Inn Dilemma

Dad looks slightly uncomfortable but turns his attention to Roxy. “Roxy, I’d really like to talk to you.” Dad directs the next question to Christian. “Would you mind?”

Chris looks at Roxy with an expression that asks if she’d be okay with it. She dips her chin.

“Sure.”

Roxy and Dad head toward the drinks table, too far away to make out whatever they’re saying. I can tell even from this distance that Dad’s usual cool demeanor has been replaced with something like remorse and…humility.

I look over at Chris, whose gaze never leaves his wife, then over at Holt and Mom, who also have their attention on the pair.

It’s less than a minute before Roxy and Dad make their way back over to us.

Christian takes Roxy’s hand and whispers something to her. She nods with a soft smile.

As the next few minutes unfold, more members of our little town filter into our shindig. Aunt Birdie takes the little stage Van set up with a microphone and taps it. The sound reverberates through the speakers sprinkled around us.

“Excuse me,” she says into the mic.

The crowd goes silent and focuses their attention on her.

She smiles bigger than I’ve ever seen before. “I have invited you all here as a thank you for all you’ve done for me and this inn. The home of the Storybook Inn has been in the Graves family since the founding of this town. Ella Mae and Frederick Graves were two extraordinary people, and I’m proud to have married into their family. Thanks to Holt and Nova, Ella Mae’s dreams of a literature-themed home have been brought to life. As you all know, the incident that happened here several weeks ago was devastating. But thanks to all of you, the inn wasn’t down for long. Thank you so much”—Aunt Birdie pauses to wipe a tear from her eye— “for taking time out of your days, out of your lives, to help me recover this inn. Thank you for taking this inn dilemma and turning it into something even more beautiful than the original. This little clambake”—we all chuckle at her term—“doesn’t come close to telling you all how much I appreciate the hard work you each poured in to help bring the Storybook Inn back to life.” Aunt Birdie takes a deep breath. “With all that said, I’d like to ask my nephew Holt to come up here and bless this food.”

Holt squeezes my hand he had taken at the start of Aunt Birdie’s speech and walks up to the stage. He pulls his hat from his head then Aunt Birdie hands him the mic.

“If you’ll all bow your heads as we go to the Lord in prayer.” Holt looks across the crowd, and once everyone is silent, he blows out a slow breath. His tone turns reverent. “Dear Heavenly Father, I come to You humbled beyond belief. You have blessed me with a community of selfless individuals who have come together to restore this building, and in the process, restore relationships once thought broken beyond repair. I praise you, Father, for all You’ve given us. We thank you for this food and ask that You bless it to our bodies. Thank you for Rocosa and the family we’ve found in each other. In Jesus’s name we pray, amen.”

My throat constricts with emotion at Holt’s heartfelt prayer. When I look up and catch his gaze, my heart hammers in my chest at the expression I find there.

Once everyone has eaten their fill of pizza and drank their share of sweet tea, Dad comes over to the table where Holt and I are sitting.

“Nova, can I speak to you privately?” Dad asks.

Even though I believe my relationship with Dad is truly on the mend, years of his manipulation and control will take more than a few weeks to unwind. I’ve forgiven him, but forgetting all he put me through will take time. And it will be a while before I don’t have the assumption he has some sort of ulterior motive.

“Sure,” I answer cautiously.

Before I can stand, Holt squeezes my hand. I look at him and try to convey that I will be all right.

I follow Dad to the porch of the Storybook Inn, andwe take a seat on one of the benches. Despite the changing colors of the trees around us, the shrubs lining the porch remain their vibrant green.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask when Dad has remained silent for too long.

There are tears in his eyes when he faces me. “I just wanted to say that I’m so grateful for you.” It looks like he wants to say more, so I remain silent. He gently shakes his head. “I didn’t give you enough credit as a kid or teenager. Or take your art seriously. But I saw the mural you finished in the master bedroom, and Nova, I couldn’t be more proud.”

The words strike me, and I find myself inhaling a surprised breath.

“Thank you, Dad. That means more to me than you know.”

He rests his arm across the back of the bench and leans back. “Come here.” He motions with his head for me to scoot closer. So I do.

Dad grips my shoulder, and I tuck myself into his side. I could count on one hand the number of times we sat like this when I was a little girl. A father showing physical affection was not on Kent Price’s list of fatherly duties. Even though this is the first time he’s done this in over a decade, a small piece of my broken inner child heals.

He blows out a breath before saying, “God has been working on me ever since you came home.” I shiver, and he rubs my shoulder and then continues. “I’m sorry that I turned you away when you showed up on our door.”

I look up at him, trying to convey the sincerity of my next words with my expression. “You’ve already apologized. I forgive you, Dad. And I’m sorry for runningoff when I was nineteen with stupid Beau. You were right about him.”

“I wish I was wrong. I wish he truly had your best interests at heart and not his own.” My breath halts in my lungs. His voice is thick when he adds, “But I’m grateful you and Holt found your way to each other. He will always put you first. Even when you were kids, he was there for you when no one else was. And I’m sorry you needed him so much.”

Nothing could stop the small sob that leaves my lips. “God blessed us with Holt. He’s amazing, and I’m so grateful for him.”

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