Free Love Inn by Kim Smith

Chapter One
     
    The March wind whipped around Benton Jessup’s light jacket and sliced cold fingers into his chest as it sought to take warmth from his body.  The weather reminded him of Ireland when the winds buffeted them as they stood on the craggy coastline admiring the view of the sea.  They’d had such a wonderful honeymoon, drinking frothy mugs with townsfolk and listening to the tales that abounded amongst the scattered cottages and ancient fortresses.
    But they had to come back to Mississippi and the life that she wanted. At least the memories would remain forever. Maybe that was why he had agreed to the Celtic cross now adorning the headstone. Its gray granite cast a faint shadow on the small bundle of pansies he laid on the grave. He didn’t speak. He wouldn’t know what to say anyway. His whole life, past, present, and future now rested beneath the fresh grasses growing over the mounded earth in the little cemetery on their land.
    She would understand his stalwart silence. She had known him through and through. There would never be another woman who would be that close to him.  He’d make certain of it.
    Too many burnt bridges during his youth assured he would be lonely for a man nearing forty. His family hadn’t heard from him in almost twenty years. He didn’t care now. She’d been his family. All he’d ever wanted. But his façade, that damned arrogant desire to be a good husband for her had created the vacuum they’d lived in for four years. It hadn’t been easy melding his hobo life with a woman, but he’d done it for her. She’d changed him. She’d promised him a fairytale life with her.
    She’d almost succeeded.
    Now he was left with the mess her happy life had left behind. A fledgling bed and breakfast that she’d begged him to buy for them and a passel of memories of what might have been if cancer hadn’t interrupted. He felt like a fraud.
    Pain flowed over him.  He resolutely wiped the tears from his eyes and silently said goodbye as he had been doing every week for the last year.
    Carla’s sister’s battered Toyota was parked around the back of the house when he returned. Nikki had been his shadow since Carla’s death, some sense of obligation between the two of them, some whispered deathbed promise. Typical Carla.
    He didn’t mind though. Nikki was a great hostess, helping him entertain the guests who’d stayed at The Inn over the past months. The now regular bookings had made him understand the enormity of running the place alone. Guests needed to be fed and given amenities if he expected the business to survive. Nikki provided all the little touches that made people want to return, just as Carla had done.
    He still commandeered the grill and overlooked the menu though. His regional specialties had graced the pages of several local magazines and he couldn’t disappoint anyone who longed for his culinary talents.
    Ben pushed open the swinging doors leading into the kitchen. Nikki stood in front of the sink, peeling something. Her blond ponytail swung gently as she swayed to the music playing on the radio. Nickelback.
    He rolled his eyes. She had strange tastes.
    He cruised over and peered into the bowl where running water splashed over vegetables. She usually purchased their fresh foods from the farmer’s market in Memphis, but the last time had given in to temptation and bought some at a health food store, which touted organic fare. They hadn’t been the best he’d ever had. “Did you get any decent tomatoes this time?”
    “Yes. Homegrown, first of the season.” She smiled at him and swatted his hand as he attempted to pinch a bit of broccoli. “Stop that. This is for dinner.”
    “Beats a tuna sandwich. What else?” He looked on the stove. Nothing bubbled from a pot or pan. He’d gotten there just in time apparently.
    “I figured you would be happy to add to the pot. I’m thinking chicken. And pasta,” she added, looking over her shoulder at him. “If that