Page 16 of To Have and to Scold

Whatever. Beck Billingsley served his purpose. He helped me not look or feel so alone when Holden and McKenna were there on the beach. Now, it’s time to work.

I lift my hand in a small wave. He throws his arms wide.

“What do you think of the mansion?” he calls down.

It’s…well. What do I say?It’s clear the photos I found online were at least twenty years old?

“It’s…great!” I say before opening the door to my back seat to get my laptop bag and camera. It was obviously great once, and hopefully will be again.

I stand and look back up to him just in time to see his hands fall, hitting against his thighs. “It’s a work in progress, but—”

Even from here, I can tell his cheeks have reddened. I don’t want to ruin his excitement, but images of failing at this job, which would mean failing at getting my old job in Atlanta back and having to take a position as an activities’ director at a retirement home flash through my head. There’s no way this house is going to be ready to start hosting weddings in a few short weeks.

“Give me a tour?” I shout up to him before moving around to open the trunk of my opal-white Volkswagen Tiguan. I riffle through a litany of items I don’t need, hoping to get my thoughts in order as I wait for him to come downstairs. I have to be professional. So what if the house isn’t ready to host anything except maybe a funeral for a rat? We can do this.

More importantly,Ihave todo this.

I take the brick walkway to the house, stepping over weeds that have grown up through the cracks. When I reach the propped open, black, heavy double front doors, I can even see the beach through the large windows in the back of the greatroom. You can’t go wrong with the ocean right there. See? It’s going to be okay, right?

The smell of dust, cobwebs, and sheetrock hit me square in the face as we enter the room.

“Subflooring?” I ask, pointing to the scraped, pocked surface under my feet.

He nods, his mouth tightening. “We ran into some issues with the flooring that we ordered. And my paint crew is busy with another big project at the moment, but eventually, they’ll make it over here to finish the job.” He points to a barely perceptible line partway up the wall where the new shade of cream paint meets the old.

He was expecting me to start hosting weddings here with half a paint job in the grand entry?

“Alrighty.” What does “eventually” even mean? My gaze goes along the ceiling. “Is this twenty-four-feet high?”

“The ceiling? Well, yeah. How did you know?”

The look I give him is,Please. How could I not?

His chuckle is dry and low. “Right. You’re an expert on wedding venues.” Then he gestures towards the arched doorways on either side. “Pick your poison. Where to next?”

“This way.” I point to the one on the right, trying to picture how we can make this space appealing. Because it’s clear it once was beautiful.

But with the state that it’s in right now—there are cracks in some of the glass windowpanes and a piece of plywood is covering half of another window—I may actually be delusional to think this is going to work.

The corner of his eye twitches, but he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

We enter a narrow hallway with three doors on either side. “This part of the house will be used for wedding parties who’ve chosen to add the house rental to the wedding package,” Beck says, opening the first door. The state of the room is much likethe grand entry. Bare. Stripped naked except for the beautiful crown molding. Its subfloor is threatening to haunt my dreams.

At my wide-mouthed stare, he waves a dismissive hand. “This is further down the list of priorities. We know it won’t be until mid-summer, probably, until we can start including the house as an option. For now, we’ll just be offering outdoor wedding packages, which will include the use of the kitchen and pantry for catering staff to use, and a bathroom for guests.”

“I see.”

One of the things I did yesterday to try to acclimate to my new job was read through a business plan Mayor Dobbs had drawn up—her vision for why she and her husband have purchased Willow Wood Mansion as a wedding venue. So I knew about the add-on options. I just had no idea they were so far from being done.

His mouth twists to one side, but I step through the room to the door in the corner near the window.

“Is this the ensuite?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I open it to reveal a gutted-out, small room with vulgar pipes exposed. I shield my face. “My poor eyes!”

Beck grunts and joins me at the bathroom door. “You can’t see the potential.” He traipses past me, avoiding cans of paint that litter the floor. “We’re going to put in a gorgeous vanity here—walnut. And then a floor to ceiling mirror here and another one above the basin, of course.” He gives me an apologetic glance. “We wanted a separate water closet but there wasn’t room. But there will be a clawfoot tub on this side. A clawfoot tub!” His voice echoes as he fastens on a smile.

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