Nate interrupted, then bit the inside of his cheek and started again. “Just for five minutes, forget what you think Anna, or your uncle, or anyone else would say about it, and concentrate on what you want for the Avalon, long term.”
Carrie blinked at him, slowly. “Have you been talking to Cyb?”
“What?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Carrie shook her head. “Okay, forget about what other people want. I can do that.”
“Although, actually,” Jacob said, looking amused at the irony, “I reckon Anna would love this next bit.”
* * * *
Carrie followed Nate and Jacob up the path, already anxious. Yes, Nate’s plans looked good and would help out in a small way with the way the inn was run. But if they couldn’t afford to put them in place early and to full capacity, it wasn’t going to make a lot of difference in the short term.
And it was all very well telling her to forget about what other people wanted—as if that weren’t what she’d been trying to do since she arrived. But Carrie knew that what he really meant was ‘forget what other people apart from me want’. Part of doing it her own way meant she couldn’t go along with what other people wanted, just because they wanted them. She had to do what was best for the Avalon.
Carrie sighed. She’d be the first to admit she didn’t know a lot about gardening, but Carrie did know plants took time to grow. Probably longer to flower, and even longer to provide anything edible. And however little it cost, it still wasn’t going to be worth more than she could sell the land for.
She didn’t want to, of course. And the inn needed a certain amount of green space around it, or it lost a lot of its appeal. But the areas Nate had cordoned off for his plans were far enough away from the main house that they’d never be missed, and the tree line between them and the Avalon meant whatever they were used for wouldn’t be seen from the inn.
Which was probably why he’d chosen them, she realised. And why they were now leading her to the only other place that fitted that description: the green lawn beyond the tree line behind the inn.
It would be a shame to lose that spot, Carrie knew. The flowerbeds around its edge burst forth with colour and fragrance in the summer, and the grass was luscious and perfect for sunbathing. But it was also probably the most lucrative bit of land she owned.
Her only concern was its proximity to the inn. Once a guest came out of the terrace doors at the back, there was only the smaller grassy patch before a thin row of trees. There was even a decent gap in the centre of the tree line to allow access to the field. They’d have to beef up the number of trees if they wanted to hide whatever ended up there.
It was a worry. And it might be a terrible move. But Uncle Patrick said he could get a really good offer on that patch of land, and surely it was better to sacrifice it for the good of the inn?
“Close your eyes,” Nate said as they rounded the side of the Avalon.
Carrie pulled a face. “I’m really not going to do that.”
Smirking, Nate reached out and put a hand over her eyes. “Trust me,” he said, wrapping his other arm around her waist to help guide her.
Carrie could hear Jacob behind them, but her senses were much more concerned with the warmth of Nate’s skin where it touched her, the softness of his shirt against her arm and the hush of his breath next to her ear.
“It’s not like I don’t know where we’re going,” she pointed out, trying to distract herself from Nate’s nearness. “It’s the south lawn, right? I should tell you, that’s probably worth more than the Avalon itself.”
“All the more reason not to sell it,” Nate said.
“It’s too close to the inn, anyway,” Jacob added, and Carrie felt him brush past her right side to go on ahead. When he spoke again, he sounded farther away. “You’d see whatever they built there from the dining room.”
“I meant to ask you about that,” Carrie said, swallowing when Nate’s grip around her waist tightened as she stubbed her toe against a stone. “Could we plant more trees there? Hide it?”
“If you want to spend a fortune on mature trees,” he answered. “Or wait a few decades for them to grow up.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
Nate stopped moving, and kept his hold on her to stop her as well. “It doesn’t need to be,” he said, his voice very close and his words warm in her ear. “Because you’re not going to want to sell, once you see this.”
He moved his hand from her eyes, and Carrie blinked in the daylight. Ahead of her stood the empty lawn. “I’m not really sure...”
“Look closer,” Nate said, and released her waist.
Carrie stepped forward.
There, just in from the four corners of the lawn, were four pegs, each tied together by the now familiar red twine. And, smack in the centre of the grass next to a beaming Jacob, was an easel, which looked remarkably similar to the one usually at home in the inn lobby.
She glanced back at Nate, who was smiling smugly. “Go on,” he said.
Apparently this was part of the master plan after all, and not just a weird oversight.
Carrie did as she was told, and moved over to the easel. Jacob stepped aside to let her get closer, and she peered at the single A4 printout pinned to the board.
“What do you think?” Nate asked from behind her, too close again.
“I think Jacob’s right. This is more expensive.” Of course, it could also be exactly what she needed to win Selena over.
“We could always hire one, to start. Pass the cost on to the client, of course.” Nate reached out and tapped the printed box detailing the measurements. “It’s a perfect fit, even with heaters.”
“And it’s close enough to the kitchens to work,” Jacob put in. “Or there’s space for a catering tent with heated trays just behind it.”
Carrie stepped back again, and looked at the field with new eyes. This time, she didn’t see the fading flowerbeds, or the soft grass. And for the first time, she didn’t even see a building site, someone else’s land and someone else’s dreams.
Instead, she saw a bright white marquee, filled with music and food and high spirits.
She saw the answer to Aunt Selena’s extra thirty guests.
Two weeks later, the Avalon was almost unrecognisable from the ramshackle inn she’d found on her arrival. Standing on the front steps, Carrie waited for Ruth’s family, and, please God, this time, the prospective groom. Either side of her, Nate’s flowerbeds were still blooming bright pink, but tempered by some pale white lobelia spreading out to fill the gaps, and dimming the luminous quality of the pink. Above the flowerbeds, the
