Bridget Anderson - Something About You

“Miles, dial it back. You’re talking to me. We deal in drought-resistant soybean seeds, not organic fruits and vegetables. Unless you’re thinking about investing in another business?”

“No, of course not. But I like to remain open to everything. During her presentation, she mentioned something about a new method in farming. I was hoping to learn more, but she didn’t get into that.”

“So what did you learn?”

“That she places a large emphasis on food education. It was interesting.”

Glenda leaned forward. “In other words, nothing, when you should have been checking out that fourteen-acre farm in Nicholasville. I’m telling you, it’s going up for foreclosure, and we need to grab it.”

Miles wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m thinking about going back down there for a week, so I’ll check it out then.”

Glenda’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I am. The farm is also a B and B. The owner, Rollin Coleman, is a former football player from UK. He was there at the same time I was. It’s a nice place. Besides, in half a day’s time I didn’t get to see much of what she does.”

Glenda exhaled a long breath and looked down at the table. Then she inhaled and raised her head. “Miles, I hope it’s the farming you want to get up close and personal with, and not something else.”

Finished eating, Miles pushed his plate aside. “Glenda, I’m all about business. If anybody knows that by now, it’s you.”

Glenda also pushed her plate aside just as the waiter came to clear the table. After he walked away she said, “I know, you’ve been more focused than ever lately. It’s ultimately up to you, but I don’t think I’d stay a whole week. A day or two, maybe. What do you hope to learn in a week’s time?”

A little voice in the back of Miles’s head told him to listen to Glenda, but his instincts shut that voice up. “Something that will take our business to the next level. You know how we stumbled across that microfinancing connection?”

Glenda nodded.

“Well, if my instincts are any good, our next business venture might be right there waiting for me to come digging in the dirt.”

* * *

After Miles had his assistant book him a room at the B and B under an assumed name, she’d informed him that the photo he’d authorized via email of himself and the cook was posted proudly on their website. He smiled when he thought about that day as he headed back to the B and B to spend some more time. The only thing that mildly worried him now was not being able to monitor Brandon for a week, but Glenda had assured him she had everything under control.

Miles arrived at the B and B on a Sunday evening just past sunset. He grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat of his SUV and walked up to the front porch. Two guests had taken up residence in the large white rocking chairs that flanked the front door.

“Good evening, folks,” Miles said in greeting.

“Evening, sir.” An elderly man in wire-rimmed spectacles holding a glass of what looked like whiskey, but was probably iced tea, returned the greeting.

“Good evening.” The woman across the porch with knitting yarn and needles in her lap spoke without looking up.

Miles smiled at the Norman Rockwell-ish scene and opened the front door. He walked into the foyer and immediately smelled something baking. He didn’t know if it was apple pie, banana bread or a combination of both, but it smelled wonderful. The first time he’d visited, he had two young men with him who took most of his attention. This time, the grandness of the foyer caught his eye the minute he walked in. He was reminded of several classic films he’d watched that were set in the South.

He strolled over to the front counter while marveling at the staircase that was unlike anything he’d seen in a typical Southern home. No one was around, so he tapped the little silver bell on the desk. He turned around and leaned against the counter.

So, this is my home for the next five days. Nice. The Coleman House B and B wasn’t as posh as some hotels he’d stayed in, but this was pure Southern charm.

The hall door opened, and a beautiful black sister came out to greet him.

“Hello, thank you for visiting The Coleman House. Are you checking in?” she asked.

“Yes, I have a room reserved for the week.” He blinked, almost forgetting his false name. “Uh, Frank Meeks,” he finally said with a smile.

She tapped his name into the computer. “Yes, Mr. Meeks, we’ve been expecting you. Are you alone?”

“Yes, just me for the week.”

“Well, it says here you’re paying by credit card, so if I can see the card we’ll get you all checked in.”

While Miles fished the card out of his pocket, the young lady kept talking.

“Are you in town for a special occasion or visiting the college, maybe?”

He shook his head and handed her his credit card. “No.”

She looked at the card and then back up at the computer before her brow creased. “I’m sorry, but the name on the card and the name I have here,” she touched her computer screen, “don’t match.”

He leaned on the counter. “Yeah, about that. I had my assistant make the reservation in another name, if you don’t mind, to protect my privacy while I’m here. I’m here to do a little research.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Research? What kind of research?”

Before he could answer, the door opened again and a woman he recognized, but whose name he couldn’t remember, walked out.

“Mr. Parker!” she exclaimed.

Miles straightened and smiled. “Hello. I’m back.”

“Corra, this is Miles Parker, the baseball player in the picture with Rita.” The woman who’d come to Miles’s rescue now held out her hand. “Remember me? I’m Tayler, Rollin’s wife. We took a picture together, too. I’m the one who used to live in Chicago.”

Miles raised his chin and accepted her hand. “Yes, I remember. Tayler, it’s nice to see you again.” The introductions during his first visit had been brief, but he remembered her face.

“You’re checking in?” Tayler asked with wide eyes.

“Frank Meeks is checking in,” Corra corrected, then winked at Tayler.

“Although it’s not always necessary, I sometimes use an assumed name in order to get a little privacy. I want to spend some time learning about Rooted Beginnings and the rest of the farm.”

“Oh, sure, not a problem.” Corra continued signing him in. “My husband used to play football for the University of Kentucky. Maybe you’ve heard of him, Christopher Williams?”

Miles took a step back and chuckled. “Of course I know Chris. He was an upperclassman when I was at UK. That’s right, he’s from around here, isn’t he?”

“Yep, he grew up in Danville,” Corra replied. She handed Miles his credit card back.

“Man, it would be great to see him before I leave.” He put the card back into his pocket.

“He’s out of town right now, but I’m sure I can make that happen as soon as he returns,” Corra said with a smile.

“That would be great.”

Tayler came from behind the counter. “Let me show you to your room. I hope you’ll find it acceptable.”

“Thank you.” He quickly turned back to Corra. “It was a pleasure meeting you, and I look forward to catching up with Chris this week.”

She smiled. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Miles picked up his bag and followed Tayler up the grand staircase.

“You don’t have to worry about your privacy. We’re very good at keeping our guest list from prying eyes.”

“Thank you. I usually don’t do things like this by myself, so I kind of want to enjoy the experience. I can’t believe Rollin and Chris are both affiliated with this B and B.”