Chapter 12
12
“Reverend Baker, you remember my son, Noah, don’t you?”
As his father greeted the pastor of Grace Christian church after the Sunday service, Noah tried to focus on the minister.
It wasn’t easy.
How was he supposed to concentrate when Bren was in the background, her expression animated as she chatted with an older woman who had a hot-pink swath in her salt-and-pepper hair and was wearing a multicolored tunic over lime-green pants?
He gave his father’s cottage dweller a slow perusal.
Next to her companion’s attire, Bren’s tapered black slacks and fluffy purple sweater with yellow flecks were downright demure—and flattering. The slight purple cast to her hair even seemed sedate.
“Of course I remember him. Hello, Noah. Welcome back to Hope Harbor.” The minister smiled and extended his hand.
Noah shifted away from Bren. If he couldn’t block her musical laughter, he could at least erase her from view. “Thank you.” He returned the man’s firm clasp.
“It was a surprise visit.” His father adjusted the sling on his arm, wincing slightly.
Noah frowned.
Dad ought to be home resting after the uncomfortable night he’d admitted having, as evidenced by the dark smudges in the hollows beneath his lower lashes. But missing Sunday services had always been anathema to him.
“Wonderful.” Reverend Baker acknowledged the wave of a passing congregant. “How long can you stay?”
“I took two weeks of vacation.” And at this point, his hopes of an early departure were diminishing by the day.
“Splendid. That should give you a chance to relax. As refreshing as long weekends or short vacations can be, I don’t believe most people get into the leisure mindset for several days after they’ve left work behind. It takes a while to unwind.”
“Then Noah may need a month. He hasn’t left work behind yet.” His father sent him a chiding look.
“It’s harder these days to get away, Dad.”
“Sad but true.” The pastor gave a rueful nod. “Modern technology and our wired world can make it difficult to untether from work. I do hope you have an opportunity while you’re here to—”
The front door opened, and a man in a clerical collar hustled in with Emma in tow and made a beeline for the minister. “Morning, Paul.”
“You’re late for doughnuts.” The minister consulted his watch. “The social hour started ten minutes ago.”
“I didn’t come for doughnuts.”
“You always come for doughnuts between Masses when it’s not doughnut Sunday at St. Francis.”
“No, I don’t. Sometimes I snitch your Danish instead.” He gave the minister an elbow nudge, his merry eyes twinkling. “But I’m not here for either today. I’m playing chauffeur to Emma.” He drew the young woman forward. “She came to the early Mass. I found her in the meditation garden afterward, and we had a lovely chat. Emma’s staying with Bren.” He scanned the room, spotted the barista, and lifted a hand in greeting. “Bren was kind enough to take her in while her car is being repaired.”
“That sounds like Bren.” The minister introduced himself to the young woman. “Welcome, my dear. If you get tired of the good father’s long-winded homilies, Grace Christian is at your service.”
“Trying to poach my parishioners again, I see. A definite breach of ecclesiastical etiquette.” The padre waved a finger back and forth in front of the minister’s face.
Emma looked between them as if she didn’t know what to make of their exchange.
Noah could relate.
But it was a hoot.
The minister shooed away the priest’s hand and changed the subject. “I assume you heard about Fred’s accident.”
“I did.” The man’s demeanor grew more serious. “I’m sorry about your injury, Fred. No one doing a good deed should get hurt in the line of duty. Makes you wonder what God was thinking, doesn’t it?”
“No.” Reverend Baker folded his arms. “Trying to read the Almighty’s mind is an exercise in futility. ‘As the heavens are higher than the earth—’”
The priest held up his hand. “‘So are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’ I’m familiar with that verse from Isaiah.”
“You knew the source.” The minister clapped a hand to his chest in mock amazement. “Praise the Lord.”
“I won’t dignify that comment with a reply.” The padre sniffed. “However, Fred’s accident still seems unfair.”
“It could have been worse. Noah, meet Father Kevin Murphy.” His father motioned toward the priest with his functional arm.
As greetings were exchanged, Bren joined them. “Good morning, everyone.”
“Ah, Bren.” Father Murphy beamed at her. “Emma told me you’ve been playing good Samaritan. God bless you.”
A faint hint of pink bloomed on her cheeks. “I was happy to help. Thank you for bringing Emma to me, but I would have picked her up at St. Francis when she was ready to leave.”
“I was happy to drive her over. It gave me an excuse to keep tabs on the competition.”
“And help himself to our doughnuts.” The minister sent him a withering look, but the subtle twitch in his lips took the sting out of the comment.
“That too.” The padre winked at them. “Emma, Bren, may I escort you to the fellowship hall?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.” Bren adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder.
“Noah and I will join you too.” His father turned to him. “Unless you want to skip the social gathering.”
“Are you sure you’re up to mingling, Dad?”
“I can manage to say hello to my friends and have a doughnut.”
Noah hesitated, but only for a moment. Anxious as he was to have the delayed heart-to-heart talk with his father about moving, they did have all day for that. And Dad and Mom had always enjoyed the get-togethers after Sunday services.
“In that case, let’s stay for ten or fifteen minutes.”
They all headed across the vestibule, his dad beside him until a Helping Hands board member waylaid him. With Father Murphy and Emma engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion, Bren fell back to give them privacy.
That put him side by side with the barista.
Several awkward beats passed as he searched for a topic to throw out.
“Did your, uh, houseguest get her car problem sorted out?” Noah motioned to the duo ahead of them.
“The problems—plural—have been diagnosed. The repairs will take a few days.”
“Does that mean she’s staying on at the cottage?”
“For a while.” Bren lowered her volume. “She’s also trying to find a job in town.”
Noah stopped. Faced her. “She’s staying in Hope Harbor?”
“If the stars align.” Bren halted too. “She likes the vibe here. Who wouldn’t?”
“Liking the vibe isn’t a sufficient reason to put down roots.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are other factors to consider when choosing a place to live.”
“Such as?”
“Opportunities for gainful employment and career advancement. Cost of living. Access to goods and services. Crime rate statistics. Commuting distance.”
“Hope Harbor ticks all those boxes, unless you’re intent on climbing the corporate ladder. I don’t think that’s Emma’s priority.”
Checkmate.
“Fine. I’ll concede that Hope Harbor may be a fit for her—if she can find a job. What is she qualified to do to earn a living?”
“Apparently she’s quite a talented baker. She worked in a bakery in Nebraska.”
He frowned. “Cupcakes don’t pay the bills. Unless there’s a bakery in town that wants to hire her?”
“There isn’t. She tried that.” Bren glanced at the younger woman, who was giving Father Murphy her rapt attention. “I got the feeling the repairs will deplete her savings. I think she may be planning to pay the bill by credit card to buy herself a couple of months to refill the coffers.”
“Credit card interest can eat you alive.”
“I know.”
He squinted at her. Surely this wasn’t leading where he thought it was. “You’re not thinking about loaning her the money, are you?”
She fidgeted with the strap of her purse. “Maybe.”
Bingo.
“Seriously?” He stared at her. “She could be a bad credit risk. Unless you have a legal document to fall back on, she could skip town and leave you holding the bag.”
“She won’t.”
“Intuition again?”
Her features hardened. “Don’t knock it. It’s saved my butt more than once.”
“From what?”
The question spilled out before he could stop it, and her sudden inhale suggested she was as surprised by it as he was.
But instead of backing off or apologizing for being nosy, he waited. Despite what he’d told his dad, he was curious about her background.
“A few ... sticky ... situations that could have gone south.”
“As a child or an adult?”
Her knuckles whitened on the strap of her purse. “Both.”
A faint alarm bell began to ring in the back of his mind. Everyone ran into sticky situations as an adult. Childhood was a different story.
“Bad childhood experiences can have a long-lasting impact.” He kept his tone mild, despite the sudden tension in his shoulders.
“That’s true.” A flicker of pain echoed deep in her eyes, so subtle only someone focused on them would pick it up. “Let’s just say I didn’t have a dad like Fred. And Mom had other priorities.”
A mom with priorities that didn’t include her daughter?
A sudden, strong urge to reach out and take Bren’s hand blindsided him, and Noah sucked in air. Shoved his fingers into his pockets before he did something inappropriate. “I’m sorry.”
“I survived.” She offered a stiff shrug.
“Sorry to interrupt, but could I steal you for a minute, Bren?” The woman with the hot-pink streak in her hair joined them, a faint hint of jasmine swirling in the air around her as she bustled over. “Bev Price, owner of Bev’s Book Nook on Main Street.” She stuck out her hand.
Noah introduced himself as she gave his fingers a hearty squeeze.
“Oh, Fred’s son.” Her smile broadened. “Nice to meet you. Your father’s a wonderful man. One of my regular customers. Do you like to read too?”
“I don’t have much time to read for pleasure.”
“What a pity. Books are like a magic carpet that can take you anywhere you want to go without ever leaving your armchair. Stop by the store while you’re in town. We may be able to find a book that will tempt you to indulge. If not, you can help yourself to the cookie of the day. Your dad’s favorite is chocolate chip oatmeal.”
“Thanks. I may do that.”
“I’ll see you around, Noah.” Bren turned on her heel and escaped with the other woman, weaving through the crowd that remained in the vestibule. As if she couldn’t get away fast enough.
Once the distance between him and the two women increased, Noah took a deep breath.
That had been an unsettling encounter.
No, a stronger adjective was in order. Like disturbing. Unnerving. Alarming, even.
Because he’d come close to touching Bren. Too close. And that would have been a huge mistake, despite the strong—and surprising—protective instinct she’d activated in him. Whatever had happened to her in the past was over. She didn’t need his support.
And he didn’t need to send signals to yet another woman that could be grossly misinterpreted, either.
Suppressing a shudder, he swiveled away from the two women and homed in on his father.
When their gazes connected, Dad raised a finger to signal he’d be another minute.
After acknowledging the message with a dip of his head, Noah slowly wandered toward the fellowship hall.
But doughnuts weren’t front and center in his mind.
That spot belonged to Bren.
And hard as he tried to stem the cavalcade of questions looping through his brain, they refused to be silenced.
If Bren’s father hadn’t been like Dad, what had he been like? What priority would her mother have put above her daughter? And assuming Bren’s upbringing had been difficult, could she have left home young too, like Emma appeared to have done? If so, how had she survived? Had someone stepped in and helped her, as she was helping the young woman whose car trouble had caused their paths to intersect, or had she been on her own?
So many unknowns.
Yet as he entered the fellowship hall and wandered over to the coffee dispenser, one thing was clear.
Unless his instincts were off, the woman who’d taken up residence in his father’s cottage was a survivor. Whatever setbacks and difficulties had befallen her, she’d overcome them. The life she’d created here in Hope Harbor might not be his cup of tea—or coffee—but based on her comment once that she’d lived in quite a few places before settling here, she appeared to have found her niche in this town. And she’d built a life here that suited her.
There was much to admire in that.
Perhaps more than in the success of a man who’d mapped out his life early on and followed the course he’d set with nothing but minor glitches along the way.
Brain churning, Noah took a disposable cup from the stack on the table and stuck it under the spigot of the coffee dispenser. Pressed the lever. Stifled a yelp and jerked back when the hot java gushed out, spattering the side of his hand.
“Sorry about that, young man.” A gray-haired woman hurried over, exuding dismay. “Everyone in the congregation knows about this temperamental machine, but we should post a warning sign for visitors. Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Even if his skin was smarting.
“Just ease the lever on slow and careful. That’ll keep you from getting burned.”
“Thanks.”
He followed her instructions to the letter after she moved on.
And maybe there was a lesson in that directive for his personal life too. If he continued to ask questions about Bren’s background and her story started gushing out, it was possible his admiration for her would not only grow but morph into something more.
Something dangerous.
Like ... affection.
Which would be bad.
Very bad.
Pleasant as Hope Harbor was, he had no intention of staying. Nor did Bren have any intention of leaving, unless he was misreading her. She came across as too independent and self-sufficient to ever let attraction or romance disrupt the life she’d created here.
So unless he wanted to risk getting burned, he should back off and stop digging for information about the barista next door.
No matter how loud Dad sang her praises—or how much he wanted to learn more about her story.
“This is a quiet corner. Or as quiet as it gets at Grace Christian after a Sunday service.” Bev claimed a niche in the vestibule. “Sorry if I misinterpreted, but I was picking up a distress signal back there.”
Bren peeked over the woman’s shoulder. Noah had disappeared into the crowd.
Good.
“You didn’t misinterpret. Thank you for swooping in to my rescue. My gums were beginning to flap, and you know that’s not like me.”
“No, it’s not.” A hint of speculation glinted in Bev’s irises. “I wonder why.”
Bren fingered one of her imperial jasper earrings, the colorful stone smooth against her skin.
She could use a sounding board, and Bev knew more about her than anyone else in town. Not everything, but the bookshop owner had the big picture. And her insights had always been helpful. What could it hurt to see what she had to say about Noah?
After confirming that Fred’s son was gone and none of the congregants lingering in the vestibule were within hearing distance, Bren moistened her lips. “I think I can guess.”
“I can too. You’re attracted to him.”
As usual, Bev had nailed it.
“Yes, and that’s crazy. As far as I can tell, we’re total opposites.” She scrubbed her forehead. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Attraction often doesn’t.”
“But I don’t want to be attracted to him.”
Bev chuckled. “Hormones can be difficult to control.”
“You control them.”
“Now, yes. Not so much in the past. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my sweet daughter. Beyond unbridled passion, her father and I didn’t have anything in common. If he hadn’t been killed in the service overseas, I doubt we would have lasted as a couple. But the experience did teach me that I don’t need a man in my life. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“That’s how I want to be too.”
“Not everyone is meant to go through life solo, dear girl.” She leaned closer and touched one of the teardrop earrings. “Imperial jasper is also a reminder of the power of companionship. Don’t let a bad experience or two sour you on all men.”
“I don’t know, Bev. Relationships are risky. Besides, assuming I was willing to consider altering my single status, Noah isn’t the right man. He’ll be leaving soon. Even if we had a lot more in common than we do, there’s no future with him.”
“How do you know you don’t have a lot in common?”
Bren gave her a get-real look. “He’s a CPA. I have a GED. He has a corporate career. I work at a coffee shop. He wears Brooks Brothers shirts. I have purple hair.”
The other woman waved all that aside. “Externals don’t always reflect what’s in the heart. You’re also selling yourself short in terms of brainpower. You operate a successful calligraphy business with clients around the country, doing not only the creative work but the marketing and financials. And you built it from scratch. That takes smarts and drive and ambition—and a skill set I’d wager is broader than Noah’s.”
Warmth flowed through her at Bev’s praise.
Was it any wonder she loved this woman?
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. I bet if you got to know him better, you’d find far more common ground than you expect.”
“On the remote chance that’s true, it still doesn’t solve the distance obstacle. His career is in St. Louis, and I never want to leave Hope Harbor.”
“I hear you. I love this town too. But who knows? Our fair little town could grow on him.”
“I don’t see that happening, but suppose it did. What would he do here?”
“Accounting work, of course. Numbers are a reality of life wherever you live. As a matter of fact, I’d like to consult with him while he’s here on a question I have about a business expense now that my accountant in Coos Bay has retired. If I could find a new one closer to Hope Harbor, I’d hire him or her on the spot.”
“Tracy at Harbor Point Cranberries does accounting work.”
“I’ve talked to her. With the success of the cranberry operation, she’s shedding clients, not taking on new ones. There’s definitely a market here for someone with Noah’s skills. You may want to pass that on.”
Bren didn’t try to hide her skepticism. “I can’t imagine the work in a small town would be anywhere near as challenging as the types of jobs his firm takes on.”
“While that may be true, the trade-off could be less stress. Next time you see him, would you pass on my number and ask him to call me? It will be a paying job, by the way. I don’t expect free advice.”
“Sure. But don’t hold your breath. It may be too small potatoes for him.”
“It never hurts to ask. And speaking of finances, are you still thinking about loaning Emma some money until she gets on her feet?”
“I offered, but she doesn’t want to take it. I plan to try again.” Bren sighed. Shook her head. “I was so like her at that age.”
“But you didn’t cross paths with a Bren Ryan.”
“No. It would have been far easier if I had.”
“Except you might not have ended up in Hope Harbor—and wouldn’t that have been a shame? We’d never have met, and The Perfect Blend wouldn’t be the same.”
Pressure built in Bren’s throat, and she leaned over and hugged the older woman. “You always put a positive spin on everything.”
“It’s the only way to live.” She returned the squeeze, then stepped back. “We can let the dark clouds in life snuff out the sun, or we can rise above the clouds and stake a claim where the sun always shines. Our choice. Let me know how it goes with Emma. And bring her over to the Book Nook for a cookie and a chat one day.”
“I will.”
“See you soon.” With a wave, Bev strolled away, leaving a trace of jasmine lingering in the air.
As she disappeared, Bren gave the vestibule a sweep.
Fred was nowhere to be seen, so he must have joined Noah in the fellowship hall.
Too bad Emma was waiting for her there. Otherwise, she could duck out and avoid another potential encounter with the father/son duo.
But with Fred’s broken wrist, and Noah’s obvious concern about him overextending himself, it was possible they’d already left—or soon would.
Best plan? Duck into the sanctuary for a few minutes to ensure the coast was clear before she continued on to the fellowship hall.
And while she was there, it wouldn’t hurt to send a request heavenward for guidance.