Chapter 19
Anson counted the rakes leaning against the exterior of the church. They didn’t have one for each volunteer, but some of the students and adults milling around would bag and haul leaves once the event started.
Nolan added one more rake to the collection, then turned. His gaze hit Anson’s chest, and he snorted. “I’m pretty sure my sister has that shirt.”
Anson straightened the hem of his T-shirt. “But does she look this good in it?”
Nolan shook his head. “That’s wrong, man.” He walked off snickering.
Anson had known the shirt would draw reactions, but he’d take whatever ribbing came his way as long as the person he bought it for approved. Would she?
Immediately after his talk with Blaze, he’d ordered a Coffee and Jesus shirt.
Though not tight or short, it might reveal too much.
It showed forethought and obviously hadn’t been free.
It showed he was willing to sacrifice a little pride to make her smile.
Combined, those things created a picture of the heart beneath the fabric. A heart eager to make her happy.
Her black sedan pulled into the lot, and nervous energy wound through his gut.
Mercy and Hadley sprang from the car and jogged over to the other Rooted kids. Blaze emerged more slowly. When she rounded the car, she carried a travel mug. Good for her.
Her scan of the area stopped on him. She adjusted her path to head his way with barely a nod of greeting. Just when he thought she’d forgotten all about their talk, her step hitched and her head tilted. A smile bloomed across her face, and confetti-like satisfaction swirled in his chest.
“We’re all set for pizza later?” Sydney’s appearance beside him sucked the confetti up faster than a vacuum.
She propped her hands on her hips, where she’d tied the arms of a flannel.
He appreciated that she hadn’t let their breakup change her commitment to Branching Out, but he could do without her having glimpses into whatever this was with Blaze.
Blaze might feel the same way, because she stopped to talk to Nolan.
“Pizza’s all set to be delivered at twelve fifteen,” he said.
“Okay.” She checked her watch. “The last Branching Out students are here.”
So were all the Rooted kids. Some adults still hadn’t straggled in, but it was the scheduled start time.
For the youth group competition, each leader would go with a different team of students.
He probably wouldn’t get to talk to Blaze until after raking.
Possibly not until after pizza and pies. Her smile would have to tide him over.
Had he ever been this anxious to talk to Sydney?
He stole a glance at her. She was still pretty. But what he’d once considered dependability now struck him as playing it safe. Sydney was too much like him. Together, all they would’ve done was build a predictable life.
Blaze was all question marks and big emotions. He didn’t know where they’d end up together—if they’d end up together—but she was already expanding his world, and he had no desire to go back.
The next few hours passed quickly as Anson helped his team, tried to make it fun, and connected with the residents who ventured outside. Back at the church afterward, the students dug into pizza, and Anson met with the leaders in the hall to collect final numbers.
Ray pulled a slip of paper and a stubby pencil from his pocket. “Dylan and company did nine properties.”
“Nine?” Sydney threw her hands up. “That’s three more than my team got.”
Anson’s team had only cleared five. “Can anyone beat nine?”
Nolan and Blaze shook their heads.
“Since Dylan’s team is from Branching Out, Sydney, Ray, and I will face the firing squad. I’ll let the kids know.” He moved toward the classroom.
“You can’t just tell them.” Blaze caught his arm, fingers lighting sparks down his biceps.
Nolan grinned. “Definitely gotta make them work for it.”
“Or at least announce it with a bit of flair.” Blaze scanned the group, but no one offered ideas.
“Okay, what if someone runs to the store for different pie fixings, instead of just using whipped cream? We’ll set out empty plates.
Whoever we announce first can add one ingredient.
Then, every time we announce a new high score, that team can add another ingredient.
At the end, the winning team gets to throw the pies. ”
Sydney and Ray exchanged hesitant glances.
Blaze’s flair would excite the students, but she didn’t have to endure the outcome. “Those will be quite the pies.”
“I can make you ponchos out of garbage bags.” She directed the offer at Sydney and Ray. Turning back to Anson, her gaze dipped to his T-shirt. “To protect your clothes.”
“I’ll run for supplies.” Nolan backed toward the door.
“Of course you two are eager,” Ray said. “You’re not getting pied.”
Blaze grinned and shrugged. Apparently that settled it for everyone else. Sydney and Ray carried a table outside for pie building. Blaze disappeared into the janitor’s closet.
Anson tracked her path. Following her would allow for a private conversation, but it could also ignite a firestorm of rumors. He’d wait.
Blaze had to hand it to Anson. For a man who didn’t want a pie in the face, he hammed up putting on his garbage bag until the kids roared with laughter. Though it was covered now, Blaze couldn’t help thinking of the T-shirt underneath.
Except when an event printed custom shirts, Blaze had never seen him in a graphic T. Until today. For her.
Her amazement over his choice bubbled up in the form of smiles and laughter and even a little extra energy—a relief because nothing else had reversed the energy black hole created by the prescription.
Once the pies were made, one of Dylan’s friends slung a cherry-apple-whipped-cream-chocolate-pudding concoction at Ray. The wet plop elicited a round of cheers.
Dylan claimed Anson as his target, but before he threw his pie, the kids conferred. By their urgent tones, they disagreed about something. One of the boys pointed at Sydney.
Sydney also wore her garbage bag like a champ, but then Blaze had never spotted an ounce of negativity from the woman. Would that change if she knew the story behind Anson’s shirt?
With his part of the ceremony over, Ray crossed to Blaze, who had the water bucket. She dunked a rag, wrung it out, and passed it to him.
Finally, Dylan announced the problem. “No one wants to pie a girl.”
“It’s okay, guys.” Sydney smiled. “I signed up for this.”
She hadn’t, exactly. This had been Blaze’s idea.
Anson stepped forward. “Throw the last two at me.”
Now that was a sacrifice. Did he still harbor feelings for Sydney?
Dylan dove on the offer. He grabbed both pies and lobbed them at Anson.
The first hit his chest. The second splattered on his face.
The kids jumped and squealed with delight as the fillings flew in every direction, including onto Sydney.
The plates slid, smearing cream and fruit from Anson’s face to the bottom of the garbage bag before tumbling to his shoes and rolling away.
As students high-fived Dylan, Anson wiped his eyes.
Blaze moved forward with damp rags, giving Anson one first.
Sydney thumbed the smear of whipped cream from her cheek, tasted it, then shrugged away Blaze’s offer. “He needs it more than I do.” She tipped her head toward Anson, then walked off.
Anson pulled the garbage bag over his head, arching his body away from it.
His T-shirt stuck to the bag, revealing a couple inches of skin around the waist of a man who spent his free time working out.
Blaze’s arm tensed, and her fingers dug into the rag.
She really ought to look away. He tugged the hem into place as he dunked the soiled plastic in the nearby trash can.
Like a perfectly aimed and well-deserved pie, embarrassment splattered across her face. What was she doing, checking him out? And while they were working with the youth, no less.
Around her, kids and adults mingled. Hadley and Mercy scored the can of cherry pie filling and scurried off toward the shade of a tree, plastic spoons in hand.
Sydney and Ray started picking up pie-making supplies.
Nolan unspooled the hose and aimed it at the pavement, dissolving the sugary remnants of the projectiles.
Anson flipped the rag he’d been using and swiped the clean side over his hair.
Blaze passed the remaining cloth from one hand to the other. He’d probably want it for his shoes or a second pass over his face and arms, but she wouldn’t be the one to give it to him. Until her wayward hormones got the memo they were just friends, she’d keep her distance.
She draped the cloth over the edge of the water bucket and retreated inside.