Without an end, Jillian thought, there could be no beginning. The Sea Sprite Inn was about to become a reality.
Brad’s beat-up truck pulled in, honking its way up the length of the driveway. Jillian rushed out to meet him. He was a phenomenal contractor, but he never seemed to remember that her Rehoboth neighbors liked to sleep late. When Jillian saw the reason for his excitement, she couldn’t chastise him. The workers lifted the sign from the truck and lugged it onto the porch. The crisp yellow cushions on her grandmother’s black wicker chair welcomed her to sit and watch. Her next-door neighbor Barb—awakened by all the honking and too nosy to simply gaze out the window—joined Jillian on the porch. The men carefully removed the packaging.
“Well, what do you think?” asked Brad.
“It’s perfect,” was all Jillian could muster as she took in The Sea Sprite Inn sign. The playful sprite seemed to be sprinkling magical dust from her little wand, as if raining luck on the guests who would soon be coming through the front door. Barb nodded her head in agreement and reached over to give Jillian a hug.
Jillian was thankful she and Barb could share this special moment. Her neighbor was such a big supporter, always showing up at the right moment with a pot of hot tea or lemonade and cookies. In fact, they had come up with the name “The Sea Sprite Inn” during a tea-time chat. Jillian squeezed Barb tightly.
This was it. The finish line. The moment this beautiful sign was hung, her new journey would start. Unable to stop herself, the tears spilled over.
“OK, boys, let’s get her up there. Careful now. Watch the end,” Brad directed. Thirty minutes later, the sign was hung—cheerful and proud—over the porch.
The Sea Sprite Inn was open.
Excerpt from The Sea Sprite Inn, by Lynnette Adair
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