Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The community dinner had been on the calendar for six weeks, but hearing about the dinner and seeing the buildup in action didn’t arrive until Claire walked into the fellowship hall to help set up and found five stacks of folding chairs waiting to be arranged.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking stock.
Ruth and a few others Claire didn’t know by name moved around the room. They stopped at a table and chatted, hands waving, before nodding and moving on to a stack of folding tables near the kitchen.
The hall gave off a faint aroma of coffee and cinnamon, mingled with whatever they’d used to clean the tables and a dry flower smell that she recognized from the time she’d helped vacuum.
Rachael Bennett walked in from the door at the other end of the hall, a giant bouquet of flowers almost obscuring her vision.
She set it in the middle of a table already covered in a white cloth and dusted off her hands.
Someone had strung warm lights along the ceiling beams, and in their glow the fellowship hall looked less like a church annex and more like the kind of place she’d find in someone’s backyard.
“Claire.” Ruth spotted her and rushed over, handing her a stack of tablecloths without breaking stride. “Left side first, then we’ll center the round tables once Jennifer arrives with the centerpieces.”
She unfolded the first tablecloth and snapped it out over the nearest table. Margot appeared at the other end, catching it before it overshot.
“Good reflexes.” Claire smoothed her side flat.
“Thirty years of community dinners.” Margot’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “You develop instincts.”
They worked through the setup with the rhythm that Claire had been learning all spring. Jennifer arrived with centerpieces, along with her sister-in-law Brynn, who turned out to be funny in a dry-wit kind of way.
Jennifer waved off one of her comments, which caused Brynn to retort that life was too short for performance.
The food started arriving exactly on time. Dishes from different families filled the tables, all of them designated by Claire and the spreadsheet she’d built after posting a signup sheet in the church lobby.
Ruth rubbed her hands together and elbowed Claire lightly in passing. “Most organized potluck I’ve ever seen. Nice work.”
Her cheeks shouldn’t heat with the praise, but they did. Working out details for clients was one thing. They paid her for good work.
Being told she’d done a good job for something she’d done in her own time and way hit harder.
By six o’clock, the hall held food and people and a noise level that suggested everyone had arrived in the mood to stay late.
Claire moved between the kitchen and the serving tables, tracking what needed refilling, which dishes needed serving spoons, and what they’d do if the coffee pot decided it was done with this whole thing and gave up the ghost.
She was also, without particularly deciding to, watching the door.
She knew the ranch’s Friday schedule thanks to all the hours she’d spent poring over every detail of Luke’s life. Evening feeding ran late this time of year. Luke typically finished evening rounds somewhere between six-thirty and seven.
The details slotted themselves into place without her permission, making perfect little files in her mind the same way the serving spoons nestled together in the drawer.
She enjoyed learning new things. Like which families needed gluten-free options, making sure they were available and well-labeled, and directing the families to the food without making a big deal out of the whole thing.
But nothing prepared her for the sudden, inexplicable knowledge that she longed to be with Luke.
The thought settled in her chest, firm and unfamiliar.
She’d spent the week trying to find solid ground on the question of Billings.
Knowledge was power, so she’d pulled up the listing for the office space on South Rouse Avenue three times to study the square footage, the lease terms, and the view of a parking structure that the photos somehow made look aspirational. She even had an interview on Tuesday.
She’d told Granny Mama about it at breakfast. Granny Mama had refilled her tea and said nothing.
Brynn set the tray on the counter and turned to face her. “Something in the food I should know about?”
“What? No.” Claire slid the spoon into a meatloaf. “Why?”
“Cause you’re making a weird face.” Brynn shrugged. “Just thought I’d check.”
“The food is fine.” Claire picked up the coffee urn, adjusting the spout when it dripped, then gave up when it dripped more and placed a napkin on the tablecloth.
Brynn took the urn from her. “I’ll take care of this. Ruth wanted me to tell you to take a break. The coffee can manage itself for five minutes.”
Claire turned and caught sight of Agnes sitting at a table by herself.
The old woman raised one hand and crooked her finger.
Claire pointed her thumb into her own chest. “Me?”
Agnes nodded, her expression as grim as ever.
This could not be good. Claire knew better than to ignore the summons when the woman knew good and well that Claire had seen her. She could try to make a break for it, but she had no doubt Agnes would find a way to track her down.
Agnes made space at the table when Claire approached. “Sit.”
“I shouldn’t leave the serving line too long.”
“Brynn has the serving line.” Agnes waited.
Claire sat. “Did you need something?”
“Yep. Needed to know why you’re looking so sour. Thought you enjoyed this sort of thing. You’ve talked about it enough during our visits, which is the only reason I showed up.”
Oh. Right. She had been talking to Agnes a lot about the dinner tonight. She’d wanted it to sound fun enough to get the older woman out of her comfortable home and around people.
Claire folded her hands on the table. “There’s nothing wrong with the dinner. It’s me. I’m the problem.”
Agnes poked her fork into a piece of pie and ate it, watching Claire the entire time. “And?”
“And nothing. It’s a personal problem. I’ll deal with it.” Claire looked at the tabletop.
“You’ll deal with it the same way this town lets anyone deal with a personal problem. You find someone older, wiser, and you ask for their opinion.” Agnes ate another bite of pie. “Welcome to your someone older and wiser. Now start talking.”
Oh, why not? Claire talked her through the job and moving back to Billings, ending with, “It makes sense.”
“It makes sense.” Agnes licked her fork clean and set it aside. “That phrase is doing a considerable amount of work in that sentence.”
“Agnes.”
“I’ve been alive long enough to notice that people say, ‘it makes sense’ about choices they’re trying to justify.
” Agnes folded her hands. “Choices they actually want get described differently. With words like ‘exciting’ or ‘right’ or ‘it’s what I want.’” She tilted her head, the sharp gaze never wavering.
“Has anyone in the history of human language said, ‘I fell in love and it made sense’?”
The hall door opened.
Luke walked in with his hair still slightly damp at the temples. He wore a clean shirt with no stains, fresh jeans with no holes, and boots that didn’t leave tracks of mud and manure in his wake. He scanned the room, almost like he searched for someone.
Her heart did a little happy dance that ended with a hard thud right in her throat when his gaze found her and held.
Sweet mercy. His calm confidence twisted her all up on the inside. He was the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted and went after it.
He’d done so in the cabin, then backed off so fast after she wouldn’t immediately promise to stay here that it gave her whiplash.
But the way he looked at her.
Goodness. Her chest tightened with a sensation that had nothing to do with sentiment and everything to do with the simple, inconvenient fact of him.
She’d helped make him something better.
He’d helped make her braver, and she hadn’t finished being brave yet, which was part of the problem.
Luke’s shoulders adjusted. He tipped his chin in what passed for a polite nod. She returned the gesture. The low hum of buzzing filled her ears.
Agnes poked her in the arm. “Seems you know the answer to your own problem. Just being stubborn.”
“It’s complicated.” She’d told herself that so many times it came out on its own.
“Always is, honey. Love always is.”
Love? No.
No one ever said anything about love. She might have thought it once or twice. Or a few hundred times.
Luke was the kind of man who loved with his whole heart. The kind of love she’d always dreamed of but also tried to say she didn’t want. Luke moved toward the food tables, and she pushed away from Agnes’s table. Her face flushed when Luke immediately glanced her way, and she bolted for the kitchen.
Noises in the fellowship hall carried on around them with cheerful indifference.
An hour and a half later, the only people left were the ones who’d been here to pull it all together in the first place. Claire was folding tablecloths with Margot when Ruth appeared at her elbow.
“Can I ask you something?” Ruth picked up the other end of a tablecloth, and Margot made some excuse about checking the soups before scurrying away.
“You’re going to anyway.” Claire brought her end forward.
Ruth laughed under her breath. “Have you thought about staying?”
Claire creased the fold. “I’m not sure why it matters.” Luke’s mother might have sensed what was going on between them, but Claire couldn’t let it distract her.
The tablecloth landed on the stack. Claire smoothed the top one flat and kept her hand there.
“Covenant Creek isn’t just a place to me anymore. It’s people. It’s Mae, and Agnes, and you, and the community dinners, and the hospitality work, and—” She stopped. Her hand spasmed on the folded linen.
“And?” Ruth prompted so gently Claire almost missed the single word.
She shook her head. Ruth folded the next tablecloth without comment, and they finished putting everything away in silence.