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“Watch it, you know I designed your entire mansion of a house, and you better let me in that nursery when it’s closer to time. It’s only fair!” Ali is an artist that runs a non-profit for women that have faced abuse or are currently in abusive relationships, Hope for Magnolia. She was one of the first people that knew about my destructive relationship with Chet, and she, along with Olivia, who is employed as her personal assistant and business manager, helped to get me on the right track to recovery. They saved me, and I will forever be indebted to them for that.
Ali married multi-millionaire Ryan Walsh, and they live in one of the most beautiful historical properties in Carlton, Magnolia Mansion. My design firm helped Ryan restore the mansion when he originally purchased it, and then again assisted Ali when they added the gallery for her artwork and non-profit organization. I’m heavily invested in that property, and she knows I would be hurt if I didn’t get to at least put a tiny touch on the nursery designs for their baby.
“You know I’m teasing, if you live through Anderson House, I’ve got a room picked out and an empty slate for you to work from. My artwork is limited to canvas; it does not extend to room layouts and design.” She brushed a piece of her dark brown hair out of her face that had somehow escaped the confines of the loose braid that wrapped over her shoulder.
“If I live?! You guys! Go ahead and publish my obituary, won’t you.” I threw a grape across the table, and it landed directly in Ali’s glass of water. Bullseye.
“The documentary I watched said that house has been abandoned for over a century. The gates locked up tight and rusted shut with age. But at night, screams of the women and children that were tortured and died there can be heard through the woods that surround the plantation.” Olivia whispered like we were sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories, her violet eyes narrowing as she weaved her elaborate tale.
“Get outta here, I thought that place burnt to the ground a few months back. I could have sworn I read something in the papers about that.” Beth asked as the waiter re-filled her champagne flute.
“I’m going to be honest, when I got the call, I was a little confused as well. I had the same understanding, but apparently, while there is some fire damage, the majority of the house is still very well intact. According to the woman I spoke with, insurance is going to cover the damages, and that’s part of where I come in. I’m going to be working with the adjuster on the damage claims as well as completing the restoration of the plantation house.”
“Speaking of insurance adjuster. Can we talk about Mr. Reid Chapman? Holl’s over here has the hots for the agent on our claim at the café. Admit it, woman!” Beth called me out in front of our friends, never wanting to talk about her own personal love life but quick to call attention to anyone else’s. I get it, it’s her diversion tactic, but dammit man, pick on someone else.
“Wait, what? Holly are you holding out on us? I never saw you with an insurance agent, to be honest. Real estate mogul, sure. Brain surgeon, ok. But, insurance claims?” Megan raised an eyebrow.
“Says the woman that is married to an accountant?” I shot back, Megan is also an accountant, but not like the boring kind that sits around and does tax returns all day. Megan is a boss babe with a calculator that’s well on her way to partner of one of the largest accounting and auditing firms in the country.
“First of all, you know as well as I do that, he left his career in accounting to run the Harbor venue and perform the business side of Retherford Farms full-time, which I might add has been phenomenally successful. Second, have you met my husband? I mean really, the man’s so hot his suit practically melts off of him.” You could see the moment her green eyes shifted from defending her man to imagining him with his clothes off; the transition not even a little bit subtle as she pulled her plump bottom lip between her teeth.
“Oh God, don’t get her started on the man pants. We’ll be on that topic of conversation for a solid thirty minutes.” Ali jumped in, cutting her sister off.
“And yet, most of the women here have benefitted from the man pants enlightenment theory. You’re welcome.” Megan crossed her arms over her baby belly with a satisfied smirk.
“She’s not lying. A good pair of man pants is almost as sexy as a good pair of sweatpants…almost.” Olivia twirled one of her bright red curls between her fingers as she spoke. Most days, her red curls fall in smooth, shiny loose waves down her back, but today – well today, they look like she’s been at the beach for weeks without a hairbrush. Her red curls are all over the place, and yet according to the conversations I’ve overheard about her new hubby Jason, that’s the way he prefers them. Wild and free. Honestly, she’s stunning, and can pull off either look.
Olivia has this unique vibe about her that can’t be duplicated. She’s covered in freckles, and her eyes are the strangest mixture of colors I’ve ever seen. She’s one of those women that are effortlessly beautiful, and I can’t say that I don’t envy that about her.
“So, spill, when do you start the project? Ya know, in case we need to start planning a funeral.” Ali spoke as Beth’s snorted laughter rang out behind me, and I chose to ignore her.
“Four weeks. As soon as we close on the café project for Beth. I’m moving in as soon as possible so that I can get the ball rolling. Fire damage, like flood damage, is sometimes tricky with insurance claims. It’s time sensitive, and I’m not going to lie - I’m a smidge excited, and ok, a little nervous.” We won’t mention the rosary I purchased on Amazon last night while I was scrolling aimlessly on my phone before bed.
“All I heard was…blah blah blah…you’re moving into the damn haunted house?!” Olivia’s eyes widened, and I’ll give it to her, she looks genuinely scared for me. Huh.
“Uh, yeah, so not exactly in the house, per se. But there was a requirement that in order to get the project, I had to agree to stay on the property. There is another fully functional guest’s quarters of some sort that wasn’t damaged by the fire. For the duration of the project, I will stay on-site in the guest house.” I shrugged and beat down the nerves that began to mix with the champagne and orange juice concoction swirling in my gut as my friends all stared at me in utter disbelief.
“So, when you die, can I have your shoe collection? I mean, I know you have sisters and all, but we’re the same shoe size, and honestly, I promise to love them like they were my own children.” Beth was the first to break the silence.
“We could display some artwork at your funeral, how do you feel about that? Oh, I know! What if I paint your casket? We could start a new trend, open an entirely new market for custom painted caskets.” Ali tried to remain serious as a smile threatened to escape from the corner of her lips.
“Sounds like a profitable business venture to me, I’m in.” Megan chimed in.
“So dramatic, I swear. I’m going to be fine. I don’t believe in ghosts; you are all ridiculous. I’m in it for the history, and you know as well as I do that place has it in spades.”
Repeat. I’m in it for the history. I’m in it for the history.
“Yeah, right, we’ll be sure to add that to your obituary. She always put the history first, and ultimately it led to her untimely demise. I love you, Holly, but you are insane. Legit certifiable. Wouldn’t you rather stay here and play with the nice boring insurance adjuster?” Olivia suggested.
“The only men that won’t break my heart are the dead ones. I want to hear this plantation speak, and I want to give it new life. A life free of its dark past. What does it say about me if I let that kind of history die?”
I spoke the words, only half paying attention because my mind got stuck somewhere back on envisioning playing with the boring insurance adjuster that I still can’t shake the feeling isn’t as boring as he seems.
What’s your deal Reid Chapman, and why do you look so damn good in the man pants?
