Page 24 of Debt of My Soul

My mind returns to my earlier shower and the man who occupied my thoughts. It wasn’t Adam.

Chapter 11

Fleur

The fruit salad sloshes with a wet slap up and over the festive bowl I purchased specifically for this barbeque. The road leading to Adam’s family home weaves through meadows and cotton fields, the red dirt bordered by wildflowers and patches of unruly grass.

Fine layers of dust settle on my jeep the farther I drive and I’m starting to wonder if we’re even in the same town anymore. Rustic wooden fences mark the boundaries of farmland, the occasional tractor in the field harvesting a hay crop or tending to livestock. The scent of fresh country air carries into my car through the cracked windows—and I thoughtIlived far out.

Adam lives in town, and I can’t imagine moving from out here in the peace and quiet to be near Main Street. But he says he’s close to people for business, which makes sense.

A few more miles on the dirt road, and I drive up on a massive field with rows and rows of cars. All of them are meticulously parked. People emerge from their cars, all carrying dishes or coolers. Smiles pull across their faces as if they have been waiting all year for this event.

I park in a neatly lined row of other cars and gather my items. Since all the other people are wearing shorts and T-shirts, I’m starting to wonder if this summer dress was a good idea. When a breeze kicks up and blows the back to wave like a flag, I’m sure I made the wrong decision.

Following the sea of people, I grin at a few familiar faces I’ve seen around town. As I approach the driveway across the street from where I’ve parked, the potent fragrance from three large magnolia trees lingers in the air. And when I move with the crowd up the gravel drive, I’m blown away.

Adam mentioned his family owned an old plantation home, but this is?—

Weathered white columns, bearing years of patina, line the expansive porch. The exterior of the home is painted a bright yellow that reflects the warmth of the Southern sun. Large windows, adorned with delicate shutters, flank either side of the front door. Red brick lines the walkway up to the stained oak double doors that are wide open and inviting guests in.

Well-maintained gardens surround the home with several different pathways canopied with ancient oaks and towering pines. When ushered through the front doors, the polished hardwood floors creak delicately, and I snort, thinking about how mine sound like a squirrel stubbed his toe.

But … wow. This home is breathtaking.

Both sets of French doors are open, leading from the rear porch to the lush gardens. In the center of the yard, a large white tent stands, with several bounce houses for the kids set up on one side. Cornhole games are arranged along a narrow strip of grass between the towering hedges and the tent while lively guests challenge each other to games.

I’m slightly overwhelmed by all the people. Adam wasn’t lying when he said it was practically a community event.

I follow the tantalizing aroma of smoldering hickory and mesquite BBQ down to the rows of tables covered in fine linens supporting all the dishes the guests brought. Tables and chairs, also lined with crisp linens, have mason jar centerpieces holding mini-American flags propped up in them. Red, white, and blue table confetti is sprinkled over each of the twenty-five-plus tables. The amount of work that must go into this …

Warm hands wrap around me, and a quick kiss is placed on my cheek. Adam turns me around, taking in my outfit, and his smile widens.

“Blue. I like it. You look beautiful.”

I roll my lips in, trying to hide my reaction to his compliment. “Thank you. Where should I put this?”

My bowl is sticky from the bumpy ride and sloshing of fruit, but I lift it in offering anyway.

“Here, let’s find a spot for it.”

We walk past sizzling stacks of ribs, succulent brisket, and perfectly charred vegetables. Pasta salads, tossed salads, potato salads, and coleslaws take up two entire tables, and I place my fruit salad in between the ten others.

“Let’s get you a drink.”

Adam leads me to the bar, which is in a whole other part of the gardens I didn’t even see. Three bartenders are filling drinks for the guests and a large chalkboard sign has a photo of a special Independence Sparkler drink made specifically for this event.

How can I pass that up?

“What can I get y’all?” the bartender asks.

“I’ll try the Independence Sparkler,” I say.

“And I’ll have another beer. Same as before. Thanks, Erin.”

Erin, a petite woman with short hair, smiles and moves to start working on our drinks.

“What do you think? Fireworks start after dusk, and I have a prime location for them.” Adam elbows me.

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