“Maybe. I heard you have—” He stops mid-sentence and his face lights up. “Yes, you do.”
“What?” I ask, following his line of sight. The fountain has caught his attention. He walks over to it and I follow, my heels clacking on the old wooden floor.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, reaching out to touch it as if mesmerized.
“Yes,” I say, a little confused. “It’s my favorite thing in the store. Did you see it on our Insta, or?—”
“No, in a photo of the old hotel.”
“Oh, yeah! The Florablanca.”
“That’s the one! I’ve been hired to oversee the restoration.” He finally takes his focus off the fountain and looks at me. He pauses and stares.
“What?” I ask awkwardly.
“You, uh, your hair. It’s quite vibrant.”
“Oh, um, thanks. I grew it myself.” I nervously grab a strand that fell in front of my shoulder and play with it, unsure of what to do with my hands. People have always commented on my hair. It’s bright honking orange. When I was little, I hated it. Now, I thank the Lord it’s bold enough for me to not have to spend a fortune on hair dye to keep it up.
“Hello,” Nana says from behind me. I jump. I hadn’t realized she was there.
“Hi, I’m Rhodes,” he says, properly introducing himself. “I’m the architect overseeing the restoration of Florablanca Inn.”
“Oh, how wonderful! I’m Barbara Bonaventure, and this is my granddaughter, Micah.”
“It’s nice to meet you both.” His bright eyes wander the room as if he’s mesmerized. “This space is incredible!”
“Thank you.” Nana is all politeness, though there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Micah, why don’t you show him around? I’ll be in the office if you need anything.” She winks at me, pushes me towards him, and leaves us alone in the sanctuary.
Rhodes returns his attention to the fountain. “Does it still work?” he asks.
“I have no idea. Nana wasn’t sure if the floor could support the weight, so we never put water in it.” I wring my hands and notice that my palms are sweaty, and I don’t think it’s just the heat.
“How long have y’all been here?”
“We got here around nine this morning.”
“No, I mean, the store…”
Of course. I’m such an idiot. I don’t know why I’m suddenly nervous.
“Right. Sorry.” I feel my face flush. “Nana bought the place before I was born. It was Magnolia Row Baptist Church for a long time and, from what I’m told, it had a large congregation until the preacher, um…” I hesitate. It’s a morbid story, but Rhodes raises his eyebrows like he wants me to continue. “The preacher shot his wife in the rectory.” I blurt out. No point in sugarcoating. It’s a wild story.
Rhodes looks at me, bewildered.
“Yeah, the church closed after that. Nothing turns folks off religion like murder. Nana got the building for cheap, and we use the rectory for storage.”
“Wow! Um, okay.” He runs his fingers through his hair and has a baffled look on his face. “Well, it’s the perfect place for an antique store. You have some beautiful pieces.”
He starts to meander, walking alongside the old church pews against the wall. In the back, he spots an upright antique piano with painted roses on the sides. “I love this,” he says, emphasizing the word ‘love.’
“We got it at an estate sale in town.”
“Is that where most of your items come from?”
“For the most part, yes. Locally, people usually give us first stab at their collections. We used to go all over the South. Not so much anymore since Nana’s gotten older, but every now and then we’ll go to Montgomery or Mobile to pick up something.”
“What’s your favorite piece?” he asks.
