Page 13 of Unpacking Secrets
I straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin, and continued on to the cottage.
To my new home. A refuge, a reprieve from the constant barrage of memories in my mother’s house, a sanctuary against the overwhelming reality of owning an inn.
Now that my crisis of faith was over and my blood pressure had settled from the rollicking boil Henry inspired, my mind raced with the things I still needed to do. Most importantly, I had to go into town for groceries, make a list of questions for the lawyer, and sort through the boxes that were stored upstairs.
“And while doing all of these things,” I grumbled, scowling, “I will avoid Henry Walker at all cost.”
With a sigh, I forced him from my thoughts and wondered instead how many people around here remembered my mother from back before she left town and severed all ties with this place.
Would anyone be willing to talk about it? Would anyone know why she went away?
I grabbed my purse and used my phone to map directions to the nearest grocery store. Despite the secluded atmosphere around the inn and the cottage, it was only twelve minutes to the center of town.
As I traveled down the road to Spruce Hill, houses and storefronts popped up with increasing frequency. I made a mental note of some of the adorable little shops I wanted to check out, but within another few minutes, I reached the grocery store.
While I strolled the aisles, getting the lay of the land, I tried to think objectively about my encounter with Henry. His grandfather and Mrs. Gregson had been welcoming, but maybe theydidall resent my presence here. I didn’t know what would've happened to the inn upon my grandmother’s death if I hadn’t been there to take ownership of it—would it have gone to one of them? Or all of them, even?
If so, I couldn’t blame them for being unhappy with the situation. Nan seemed like an unorthodox lady, so it was impossible to guess what her contingency plan might have been if the lawyer hadn’t found me.
“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” said an older gentleman with a full beard, wrenching me from my thoughts in the cereal aisle.
“Yes,” I replied, adding a box to my cart, “it is a beautiful day.”
“Forgive me for asking, but do I know you?”
The man was studying me with pale blue eyes and an odd little smile on his face. My eyebrows shot up as a thread of unease twisted in my chest. I was used to the “Minnesota nice” stereotype, but there was an intensity in the man’s demeanor that made me uncomfortable.
“No, I don’t think so. I’m new in town.”
“You remind me of someone. It’ll come to me, I’m sure. Enjoy your day, miss.”
His face folded into a smile, though it was nearly lost under the beard, and he gave a small salute as he wandered off. I took a deep breath, forcing my muscles to relax. My reaction was probably just the aftereffect of my confrontation with Henry Walker—or my mother’s warning about trusting my instincts. Trying to reconcile this sweet little town with her ominous note was fraying my usually steady nerves.
Mrs. Gregson’s words about having Nan’s red hair echoed in my head. The spitting image of Nan, she’d said. Was that really enough to give random men pause in the supermarket over the similarities?
The cashier was a young woman who offered a polite smile and some small talk without any references to Nan, my appearance, or the inn. I accepted the reprieve gratefully, hoping it was a sign that my presence in town wouldn’t throw the entire population into a tizzy.
When I got back to the cottage, I grabbed a bag of pretzels and plopped down on the couch. In an anachronistic twist of fate, this sweet little fairy tale cottage was equipped with high speed wifi as well as a hundred cable channels, though the television was small and hidden inside an antique-looking armoire to the left of the fireplace.
I rifled through my art bag until I found a small notebook. Between pretzels, I jotted down questions to ask the lawyer.
First and foremost, I needed to know the logistics of this whole arrangement. Did Iwantto stay here forever? If I could get out of owning the inn eventually, without jeopardizing staying in the cottage, would I?
This location seemed like it would be wonderful for my art, but beyond that, I wasn’t sure if this was the kind of place where I could happily spend forever.
On the other hand, I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life in a Minnesota suburb, either, so maybe Spruce Hill had greater potential than I’d originally thought. Selling my mother’s house and leaving my job at the bookstore had cut the last true ties to my hometown, apart from Sarah.
Tired of so many questions and so few answers, I grabbed a sketchbook out of the bag and closed my eyes to conjure up some of the paintings from the inn. I made a basic sketch of as many as I could recall, figuring I could ask Gerard or Mrs. Gregson where to find each location—at a time when Henry wasn’t around, preferably.
The thought of him was enough to set my temper rising. Stupid, smirking, handsome son of a . . .
I sucked in a deep, calming breath. If he wanted to resent me for something beyond my control, fine. Whether I stayed here or not, the two of us didn’t have to be friends. I was fully capable of being civil—icy, maybe, but civil nonetheless. I wouldn’t let him influence my decisions about staying here.
With that resolution made, I closed my eyes, let inspiration saturate my mind, and trusted the pencil to lead the way.
ThoughIavoidedsteppingfoot into the inn itself over the next few days, I visited the gardens for hours at a time to lose myself in a sketchbook. I managed to catch Gerard out there one day as he fixed a loose piece of trellis and jumped on the opportunity to ask him about the inn’s artwork.
“Good morning, Juliet,” he greeted me.
