Miller's Time (Southern Charmers 2)

Prologue

Ashlyn

Welcome to your new life, Ashlyn.

A chill runs down my spine as I stare at the dingy, worn-down, drab space in front of me. Even with the weather still considerably warm in Charleston this time of year, the cold settles in my bones. It isn’t the first time dread and uncertainty battle in my subconscious.

Buyer’s Remorse? Is that what this is?

Get it together, Ashlyn. You wanted this, so now it’s time to own your decision. I reprimand my subconscious and shake the thoughts out of my head.

Maybe it wasn’t such an excellent idea to drive in a day early and stay here by myself. A night at the Brasher Hotel sounds better and better, I think, comparing the luxurious accommodations to the rickety old Victorian that needs much more work than I will admit.

Then, like the few times I’ve allowed myself to wallow, the dread disappears, and a renewed sense of pride takes its place.

This is my house. One-hundred-percent owned by me. No more renting, no more throwing my money into a black hole of no return. I’m now a proud homeowner, in a quaint little neighborhood, in a perfect new city. When this place gets the love and attention it needs, it will be spectacular.

That’s the last time I will second-guess my decision or dwell on the negative. Because this is my new beginning. The fast-paced, rat-race, dog-eat-dog world of Chicago is in my rearview mirror, and Charleston will become my paradise.

Right as my sense of confidence is reaffirmed, my phone rings and I debate answering for fear of losing my cloud of happiness. This call could go either way. But if I don’t answer, the consequences could mean three overbearing and domineering men pounding on my door before daybreak.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Your mother worries. I don’t like her worrying. She’s losing sleep, barely eating, and her anxiety is off the charts. We can’t live like this, so I’ll buy your house and you can come back here and plan your next steps.”

I smile to myself, swallowing my humor. Each day, he comes up with a fresh approach to get me back to Atlanta. “That sounds awful. Losing sleep, barely eating, high anxiety? How is she functioning?”

“It’s tough, and it’s serious. You need to rethink your plans and get back here before she has an all-out panic attack. She’s not capable of handling this kind of stress, and frankly, we’re all worried about her. Your brothers and I can hardly get her to smile. This decision of yours has her in a panic.”

“Is she there? May I speak to her?”

“She’s resting comfortably. It’s not a good idea to disturb her.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Okay? As in we’ll see you first thing in the morning?”

“No, okay as in it’s not wise to bother her, considering tonight’s girl’s night out. We hung up thirty minutes ago after I spoke to all the women on speakerphone. It would be a shame to call her back and distract her with this ludicrous attempt to get your way.”

The line goes silent, and I know he’s scrubbing a hand through his hair and trying to think of a way to backtrack so he doesn’t get his ass handed to him. Mom’s my biggest cheerleader in this endeavor and if she had her way, she’d be here.

“Really? Thought you’d have better sense than to throw Mom in the mix. She will be pissed.”

“Ashlyn, maybe we need not mention this to her.”

“Stop trying to dictate my life and I’ll let it slide.”

“I’m not dictating; I’m protecting. You have no business buying a run-down pit and pouring your financial foundation into it. You need to be in a safe home in a place where you have family and friends.”

I walk the room, running my hands over the walls and wainscoting, my mind drifting to the hope we can keep some of this original charm. He rambles on with the same argument I’ve heard many times since announcing my relocation. I may be a thirty-four-year-old professional woman who’s been out of my parents’ house since I entered college at eighteen, but my dad and brothers forget this when it comes to my decisions and freedom.

I’m gazing out my kitchen window when he finishes his rant.

“I love you, Dad, but you’re fighting a losing battle. I don’t remember you having this much resistance when I stayed in Chicago.”

“That’s because you moved into a safe area, had a job with people to look out for you, and had friends nearby. You are all alone down there and living in a dilapidated old house that probably has squatters.”

“The squatters took the second floor when I got here.”

“That is not funny!” His southern drawl booms through the line, and this time I laugh.

“I am fine. I have a few connections here, which hopefully will lead to friends. Stephanie is in town and she’s bringing Darby by tomorrow. Darby’s husband, Pierce, is part owner of a construction company and has agreed to give me some advice and guidance. If he can’t take on the project, he’s got some recommendations. Once this gets underway, I’ll figure out my next steps in my career.”