Chapter 36
Blaze watched from the doorway as the last Rooted student hurried through the cold November night to hop into her mom’s car. Nearby, Nolan waved before getting in his truck. As both vehicles pulled away, she shut the door and surveyed the living room.
Since the church wasn’t usable, she’d decluttered her living room.
Even with the paper plates and games scattered around, the place felt cleaner and calmer than normal.
While Mercy sorted board game pieces into the appropriate boxes, Blaze collected napkins, plates, and plastic cups and tossed them in the kitchen trash.
She hummed to herself as she closed chip bags until she heard the front door open.
Her chest constricted. As of yet, the doorbell cameras had recorded nothing suspicious, but what if Mercy was upset about her testimony again?
“Mercy?” She abandoned her work.
Her sister stood at the front door letting in a late November draft. Before Blaze could ask what she was doing, Anson stepped in.
Months ago, when they’d crossed paths at the park in the square, she’d assumed he’d never fall for a girl like her. Never look at her with this blend of gratitude and hope, like simply standing in her presence was an answer to prayer.
A soft smile lifted his mouth. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She wrapped her arms around herself and checked over the space again. She hadn’t vacuumed yet, but this was the best her house had looked in ages. The best her life had been. But her continued fears about Mercy reminded her of the one thing she didn’t have—a clear conscience.
“Is the rabbit around?” Anson lifted a bag of cilantro.
She opened her mouth but found herself speechless. He’d brought greens again?
“He’s hiding. People aren’t his thing.” Mercy bounced back to the coffee table and the games. “He can’t eat all of that at once because he already had his greens at lunch, but I can give him some of the cilantro.”
Blaze had never heard that teacher-like tone from Mercy before.
Lips twitching, Anson laid the bag on the table near her. “All right. As long as you tell him it’s from me.”
“Sure.” Mercy snickered and fit the lid on one of the games. “I’m almost done. Then I’ll go to my room, even though it’s not a school night. And that’s why I’m thankful for Thanksgiving.” She hammed it up like she was auditioning for a cheesy commercial.
Anson passed Mercy a playing card from the coffee table. “You missed one.”
“Oh. Weird.” She added it to the correct box.
When she leaned over to check for other strays, Anson plucked it back out of the pile and slid it toward her. “You missed one.”
“Where was it?” She snatched it up and put it on the stack.
Anson shrugged.
Blaze didn’t bother hiding her smile—her sister was too busy keeping up with Anson’s game to notice.
Mercy peered under the coffee table.
He got the card back out. As soon as Mercy straightened, he dropped it to the carpet. Pointing, he said, “You missed one.”
This time, Mercy eyed him leerily.
“I’ll get it for you.” He squatted, plucked the card from the floor, and extended it toward her. “Since I’m a nice guy.”
Giggling, she accepted it and placed it on the pile.
While she was turned, Anson tossed another card even Blaze hadn’t seen him palm. “You missed one.”
“You!” Mercy snatched the card from the carpet and returned to find yet another card on the seat she’d just vacated. She shook her recent finds at Anson in mock outrage. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I had nothing to do with that last one. I swear.” He lifted his hands.
Mercy turned to Blaze. “Did you see?”
Blaze shook her head. She’d made the mistake of taking her eyes off him. She’d glimpsed this side of Anson at youth group but had never watched him tease her sister.
“You have to believe me,” Anson said. “I didn’t do it. Here, I’ll put them away for you.” He held out his hand.
Mercy narrowed her eyes. “No way.” She plopped the cards in the box, jammed on the lid, and covered the whole thing with her forearms. “Try getting more of them from me now.”
Without taking his eyes off her, Anson pulled a stack of cards from his back pocket and flicked the whole thing into the air behind him.
As they fluttered to the ground, Mercy’s laughter filled the room. It expanded into spaces inside Blaze she hadn’t realized were empty.
She and Mercy hadn’t spent a lot of time enjoying themselves. Mostly, they bounced from damage control to disaster response and back again. They really needed to make more time for fun. Who’d have thought serious Anson Marsh would remind her of that?
He asked Mercy questions about her day as they finished packing up the games. The plastic bag crinkled when he moved the cilantro to check beneath it for pieces. Tonight was just one more example of how he cared for Blaze and every member of her little family. And she … Did she love him for it?
They’d come a long way since their first meeting.
And maybe someone who’d come that far with her could be trusted with the truth about Mercy.
Except he was still Anson, and she was still Blaze.
He’d be compelled to report Mercy’s suspicious behavior and rumors—if not real, court-appointed consequences—would devastate the Astleys again.
They finished putting away the cards, and with more laughter, Anson stacked Mercy’s arms full of everything that would go back in the game tote downstairs. She tottered away, as though the load prevented her from bending at the knees.
Anson turned to Blaze, humor still lighting his face. “Rooted went well?”
She nodded and motioned him to follow her to the kitchen. “Mercy and I always go to the meal Philip and Michaela host at The Depot. I have to make a sweet potato and onion tart to share.”
“You’re like my very own cooking show.” His fingers skimmed her back.
“I’ll put you to work this time.” At the counter, she ran her finger along the ingredient list. “We can make two so you can take one to your parents’ house.”
Anson’s hand settled on her waist. “Or we could make one, and you could skip The Depot to join me at my parents’ house.”
She turned her back on the recipe to face him. “That’s ….” She meant to write off the offer as impulsive, but the interest in his eyes held hers. Her voice faltered. “You want to introduce me to your parents? Now?” She shifted backward and bumped the counter. “I mean, we’re not even exclusive.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She cleared her throat. “Isn’t meeting the parents a big deal?”
He boxed her in with one hand braced on the counter on either side of her. “You are a big deal to me.”
“But meet-the-parents big?” She rested her hands on his chest, mostly because he hadn’t given her many other options. “You once said you chose me with your heart, but you don’t have to throw logic out the window.”
His eyes narrowed.
She smoothed her hands over said heart. “Have you even told your parents about me? You don’t want to give them heart attacks by suddenly being like, ‘Hey, remember Many Oaks’s town drunk? I’m dating her daughter.’”
“I would never introduce you that way, and if they knew of your mom, I guarantee that’s not how they thought of her. Weren’t you telling me to assume the best about people?”
She dropped her gaze to his chest as embarrassment poisoned her air supply. She’d also told him to share the whole truth with people.
“As for the head versus heart thing, you’ve captured my heart, and logically, you help me follow Jesus better, so we make sense both ways. But ultimately? I don’t want to follow my head or my heart. I follow Jesus. He loves you. The way I see it, I’m just following His lead.”
Love? Sparks lit across her skin.
With a fingertip, he drew a line from her forehead, across her temple, and down her cheek, until his hand rested on her shoulder. He toyed with the hair at the nape of her neck. “Let’s be exclusive.”
Heat shot through her. She’d have stumbled backward in surprise if not for the cabinets. “Sure.” Her voice wobbled.
“Sure?” He tilted his head, scanning from her eyes to her lips and back again. “That’s all the enthusiasm you can muster?”
Yes, because her amazement floated on a pool of regret, and at the bottom of that lay her secret. For that to stay hidden, she had to do better. “I’d love that.” She rested her fingers against his cheek, relishing the textures of skin and stubble.
His lips met hers in a kiss that should’ve turned her inside out. He was warm and solid and steady and deliberate, and she was hiding something from him. The kiss broke, and he studied her.
She smiled, but did it fool him? “Exclusive,” she said.
He held her gaze another moment before he shifted away and rolled up his sleeves. “What can I help with, Blaze?”
Heaviness tainted his voice. After how close she’d come to asking him to call her Jen, the use of her name stung like a paper cut.
She put him to work peeling sweet potatoes. She got out the baking pan they’d roast the vegetables on, then started slicing onions—her least favorite part of cooking, but she couldn’t very well give him the worst job after all that.
“Tell me about Rooted?” Anson asked.
“I gave my talk like we planned.” Her knife sliced through the end of the onion and clicked on the cutting board.
“Since I kept it mostly limited to the garage fire and the church fire like we planned, the kids asked about Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. I offered the option of starting games right away or reading about the fiery furnace. They chose reading, so we spent an extra fifteen minutes on that. I figure since the kids chose to extend what was supposed to be a five-minute talk, Eric can’t complain if he hears about it.
” She finished slicing the first onion and tipped her head away, trying to clear the sting from her eyes.
“Sounds like you did a great job.”