Page 18 of The Inn Dilemma (Give a Bookish Girl a Biker)

Chapter Eleven

Holt

M y senses are on high alert as I navigate the forest before the break of dawn.

Other than an occasional rustle of leaves or chirp of birds, these woods are quiet.

I do my best to avoid snapping any fallen branches as I head toward the project that has consumed a huge chunk of my free time over the last several months.

Since discovering an abandoned house at the edge of the Storybook Inn’s property, I’ve come out here to pray and spend time with God.

Something about the ruins called out to me from the moment I first laid eyes on it.

As strange as it sounds, it almost felt as though I shared a camaraderie with the four crumbling walls.

It reminded me of when I was crumbling into myself when Dad dropped me off with Uncle Walt and Aunt Birdie.

But they didn’t let my rough edges deter them from helping to build me back into something better than I was before.

Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to do with this structure.

I sit on the log bench and open up my Bible to read a chapter in the Old Testament and a couple from the New Testament.

It’s the same as I’ve done for the last year as I work through this reading plan.

From each of the passages, a single word stands out: restore.

The same word that struck me the first time I saw this site.

The sun has fully risen and spills its light onto the forest floor and the bones of a house I once thought was impossible to rebuild.

When I first saw it, the walls were crumbling.

Flowers and weeds poked through the holes of the stone foundation.

To turn this rubble into a home again has taken a huge amount of time, energy, and money.

But despite those very obvious obstacles, that word has remained steadfast: restore.

It’s a word that’s come to me in three different ways.

The wind rustles, lifting leaves off the forest floor and blowing them toward me. Restore, restore, restore . The word echoes without pause.

Nova. This house. And lastly, boys like me who were abandoned by the people who were supposed to be their safe place.

I can create that safe space here. “Is this what you want from me, Lord?” I ask out loud.

Ever since being medically retired from the Navy SEALs, I have struggled to find my purpose.

But the more time I spend out here, the more I see this building become more than rubble, the stronger I feel the pull to move forward on this path.

“Am I doing the right thing, restoring this building to its glory so I can help those kids find their own restoration here?”

Instead of a booming voice, a peace fills me. I allow it to grow and expand in my chest until it spreads through my limbs.

The chime of my phone alerts me and I’m brought back to reality. I pull it out of my pocket and am surprised to see a text message from Axel, Roxy’s nephew.

Axel: Hey, this is sort of random but…I want to build something for Roxy for her birthday. Chris said you sometimes do woodworking stuff…do you think you could help me out?

A feeling of rightness fills me.

Me: For sure. What were you thinking?

Axel: Originally, I thought maybe something to go with the bookshelves Christian got her, but now I’m second-guessing myself. Any ideas?

Me: Let me think on it. If you want to, come over later and we can brainstorm.

Axel: Cool. I can be over in an hour.

Me: See you then.

“Maybe that’s part of it,” I think out loud.

Over the next half hour, I pour back over those same verses, feeling the same sensation as before and hearing that same word on repeat: restore.

“All right, Lord. I’m going to follow Your lead on this. Guide me on the path you have set before me. Light my way so I don’t fail.”

I close my Bible and head back to my cabin.

As I wait for Axel, I let the pups out, freshen their water, and pour some kibble into their bowls. They both devour their midday meal, then find a spot in the sunshine to curl up and nap.

They don’t snore for long before the rev of a motorcycle wakes them. They both hop up and jump around, excited to greet their new visitor.

Axel parks his bike in my gravel driveway next to my truck. My own motorcycle is tucked safely in my makeshift garage shed.

He pulls off his helmet and sets it on the handlebars, then shakes out his hair.

“What’s up?” he says before both pups storm over to him and hop around. He leans down and pets them both.

“Nice bike. Is that the one you’ve been fixing up with Chris?”

His mouth pulls up in a proud, lopsided smile. “Yeah.”

“She looks and sounds great. You did good, kid.”

Axel stands a little taller. “Thanks.”

I whistle for the dogs, and they follow me and Axel into the cabin.

After closing the door behind us, I head over to the desk tucked into the corner of my living room.

It holds countless drawings of woodworking ideas I’ve come up with over the years.

One sticks out from the bottom of a pile, and I tug it free.

Uncle Walt’s handwriting sends an unexpected wave of grief to crash over me. My shoulders tense, and Axel must notice because he walks over and asks, “What’s wrong?”

I clear my throat and mutter, “Nothing. Just found one of the sketches I made with my uncle.”

Axel gives me a look that tells me he knows how I feel. And he really does. He lost his dad not long ago and is still taking it hard. Roxy and Chris have done what they can to help lessen the blow, but there’s only so much that comfort can do. An ache remains, even years after the loss.

It feels like I’ve lost two dads. My biological dad and Uncle Walt—the man who stepped in to be a father figure and exceeded everything Dad didn’t even try to be.

Axel sidles up beside me and studies the page. “What is it?” he asks.

“It’s a bit of a camel in this state.”

Axel pulls back and gives me a confused stare. “A camel?”

“Something that combines a bunch of ideas without any of them actually going together well.”

“Oh. What’s it supposed to be?”

My lips quirk up at the memory of making this drawing.

“ Now, it doesn ’ t look like much in this state.

But I know your aunt is going to love it.

This combines everything she loves. A recliner for relaxing, a table for her coffee, and a resting spot for her book that can hold her place.

” Uncle Walt looked so proud as his mess of a vision came to light on the page.

Axel asks, “So it’s a reading chair?” Pulling me out of my memories.

“Yeah, I guess that’s what you could call it.”

“What’s this thing?” He points to a triangle-shaped block on the edge of the attached table.

“A place to rest your book and hold your place.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Do you think it’d be possible to make the table swivel instead of just being attached to the side of the chair?”

Reality hits me. This is Axel’s first project; I’m all about being ambitious, but this may be too much.

“I’m up for tackling this project with you, but maybe let’s start a little smaller?” I ask.

Axel sheepishly scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, maybe it’s a little much to start out with.” He squints as if deep in thought, then comes up with his own idea. “What if we made a little table with legs that fits under the couch? Like something she can set her drinks and books on?”

I can’t help but smile at his excitement. “That’s something I think we can definitely do and pretty quickly too.”

Axel bounces on the balls of his feet. “When can we start?”

I check the time on my phone. “Umm…”

“Today?”

“Today?” I repeat, finding myself caught up in his excitement.

“Can we maybe at least get the materials today?”

“I can definitely do that.”

“Awesome!”

We hop in my truck and head to the nearest home improvement store. It seems that my list of builds just got a little longer.

“So what did you do today?” Nova asks over her shoulder as she brews her signature sweet tea. Hers is the best I’ve ever had, with more caffeine than a pot of coffee and just the right amount of sugar.

I knocked on her door after getting back from shopping with Axel.

The more I’m in her presence, the more I want to be with her.

Even though hanging out with my friend’s little sister when I was a teenager wasn’t always my hangout of choice, she rarely got on my nerves.

If anything, she provided a slight reprieve from Christian’s serious persona.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy, but it took getting married to a practical stranger a few months ago for him to break free of his dad’s expectations and choose to live freely.

“I actually helped Axel plan his birthday gift for Roxy,” I answer.

“Really? I didn’t know her birthday was so soon.” Nova comes over carrying a tray of sweet tea and her homemade chocolate chip cookies. Baking was one of the few things Amanda did with Nova as a little girl. And if Amanda Price does anything right, it's cook and bake. Nova has the same gifts.

“It’s not super soon. But we’re building something for her, and he wanted to get a head start on it.”

She takes a spot beside me. Before she can try and serve me, I hand her a glass of tea and the biggest cookie on the platter. Then I grab my own.

My eyes roll into the back of my head as I bite down on the warm treat. The outside has the perfect crunch while the inside is soft, and the chocolate chips melt on my tongue.

“Your future husband is a lucky man,” I say with a groan.

It takes me a second to realize what I just said. My gaze swings to her, and the light blush on her cheeks gives away her own surprise. But the smile on her lips tells me the compliment is well-received.

Nova tilts her head to the side. “If I ever get married.” She emphasizes the if.

Then she takes her own bite of cookie and clearly savors the taste.

“And that’s a big if.” Slowly, she chews the rest of it and swallows it down with some sweet tea.

“I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but these are pretty amazing. It’s a new recipe.”

“Did you come up with it?” I ask, taking another cookie from the plate .

“I did,” she says proudly with a little shimmy of her shoulders.

“Well, let me just say, if you do end up getting married, I am going to be very jealous of your future husband.”

She bites down on her bottom lip with a little smirk, and it’s at that moment I realize my statement couldn’t be more true. I am jealous of her future husband. And not just for her amazing baking skills. I feel my ears heat and quickly change the subject.

“So have you tried to reach out to your dad again?”

Even though I know it’s a tender topic, I feel the need to push her a little bit. It’s a good way for me to redirect my thoughts from where they were headed.

Nova chews slowly, appearing to mull over my words. “No. But I think I may go to his office tomorrow. He does still work there even though Christian took over as CEO, right?”

I nod. “You know Kent; he needs to have control somewhere.”

She doesn’t even flinch at my statement. Her father’s need for control is a fact that’s been ingrained in her since birth.

“I’ll call his secretary tomorrow morning and ask casually if he’s in. If so, I think I’m going to bite the bullet and drop in unannounced. Maybe throwing him off his routine will make him soften or do something out of his comfort zone—like talk to me.”

I rest my hand on her shoulder. “He will talk to you eventually. Just pray about it, and he’ll come around. You’re his daughter.”

She clenches her jaw. “Not according to him. ”

“Those were words spoken as a knee-jerk reaction. God is working on him."

“I hope you’re right. At this point, I truly believe only Jesus can change his heart of stone.”

“And He will.” I say it with all the certainty I don’t feel, while praying my words aren’t just an empty promise.