Page 11 of Good Directions

“It’s…peachy?”

I don’t mean for it to come out as a question, but my voice lifts enough at the end that there’s no way it sounds like anything else. The last thing I want to do is offend this woman, and for all I know, this paint color is her one true love.

“Told you…” Dolly throws over her shoulder as she fiddles with something behind the counter.

Miss Belle sighs, taking the chip from me. “That’s what I was afraid of. I do want something with a little more color to it, but…maybe this is a bit much.”

“If that’s the hue you’re set on, then I think the Deco Shell or Sherbet Fruit are a little better. But I still think Blowing Kisses is my favorite. Although I really love the name Hot Gossip, because I really want to be able to tell the boys that there’s Hot Gossip on the walls.”

Dolly laughs at her own joke, while Miss Belle just shakes her head. I’m more than a little lost—there is clearly some kind of inside joke going on here—but I keep quiet and continue to enjoy my lunch. This is hands down the best BLT I’ve ever had.

Miss Belle holds up a deep, hot-pink paint chip, pursing her lips. “Might be a bit of a hard sell. Maybe as an accent wall in the powder room?”

“What are you painting, exactly?” I ask around a mouthful of BLT.

“My downstairs.” Miss Belle sighs. “My daughter is getting married in August and it’s a bit of a to-do, which means we’re going to have people staying at the house. Which has not had the interior painted since it was built forty years ago. And, after six boys, plus Willa, the paint job has seen better days.”

Six boys? Plus a daughter? That’s seven…holy cow. I swallow hard, the number taking a minute to register. This woman has seven kids? She doesn’t look like she’s had one, much less seven.

“My husband is away on a fishing trip with our youngest son for two weeks, so now is the time to get this done. They finished the upstairs this past week, in this lovely, generic off-white called Swiss Coffee. But I want the downstairs to have a little more life.”

“Hot Gossip there might be too much life,” I comment, the words pouring out of me before I realize what I’m saying. Shit. “Not that you asked me. Or want my opinion. Because you look like someone who probably knows a lot more about interior design than I do. I don’t know anything, really. Unless it has to do with soil and crop regeneration.”

Shit, now I’m rambling. Great job, Sawyer.

“I like you, Sawyer.” A new, even bigger, warmer smile spreads across Miss Belle’s face. The kind of smile a mom gives when she’s proud. “And I think you are just what those boys over in the ag lab need.”

I freeze. Not sure what I did for that stamp of approval, but I’ll take it. I think.

Because I’m hoping that the woman I have halfway befriended here is someone who has pull in this town, maybe even with Hayes, rather than the town gossip. For all I know I’ve been served up on a platter to the town crier, ready and willing to tell my tale to all who will listen.

A sharp trill cuts through the air, the preprogrammed melody sounding tinny as Miss Belle jumps and starts to dig through her purse for her phone.

“Ken,” she greets, her voice smooth and even. “She’s right here.”

Passing me the phone, she nods, indicating it’s for me. Uh-oh.

“Hello?”

“Hiya, Miss Sawyer, Ken Noble here. I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

I swallow hard. That is not what I wanted to hear.

“Bad news, you need a new compressor, and I unfortunately don’t have any on hand. Good news is my son-in-law is on his way back to town and can stop and grab one on his way through either Atlanta or Macon. I should have her as good as new first thing Monday morning for you.”

First thing Monday morning? Gulp…

That is not the news I wanted to hear. Being without a car, even for a day, is going to suck. Now I really need to figure out where this motel is and if I’m able to hoof it over there. And ask what he means by “first thing Monday.”

Ken must be able to sense my panic, because he continues.

“I can take you to wherever you’re staying, and then pick you up on Monday morning to get your car. Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Thanks.” I sigh. It’s not ideal, but I’ll find a way to make it work. “I’m staying at a place called the Ramblers’ Rest. Have you⁠—”

“Excuse me?” Miss Belle interrupts. My head whips over to look at her, the put-together Southern belle suddenly looking a lot more stern. “Hayes is putting you up at the Ramblers’ Rest?”

There’s a sharpness to her question that I know indicates she means business. Shit.