Chapter 26
26
Hope Harbor felt a million miles and a lifetime away.
And he’d only been back in St. Louis for three days.
Noah set his laptop down on the island in his condo none too gently and continued to the fridge. Surveyed the meager contents, most of which had been there since before he went to visit his dad. A tired head of lettuce. Four eggs. Cheese. An almost empty container of OJ.
It was hard to squeeze in a trip to the grocery store when you spent twelve hours a day at the office.
He pulled out a half gallon of milk and twisted off the cap. Sniffed the contents. Winced.
It had soured.
Kind of like his life.
His stomach growled, and he shut the door to the refrigerator. A frozen nuked dinner would have to do. Nine o’clock was too late to go out for dinner or even order carryout. If his stomach wasn’t staging a rebellion, he’d forget about eating and crash.
He pulled out the first entrée he touched, tore off the cardboard packaging, and shoved it in the microwave. It wasn’t going to be anywhere near as tasty as the food from the casserole brigade, or Charley’s tacos, or Frank’s pizza—but it was an easy, if lonely, meal.
While the microwave hummed, he sank onto a stool at the island and pulled out his phone.
No messages from Bren.
Sighing, he set the cell on the island.
Yes, she’d responded to the couple of texts he’d sent her, but her replies had been brief and impersonal. Nothing in them had captured her vibrant personality or kind heart or the electricity he’d felt in her presence. And she’d initiated no communication.
Was she pulling back? Had she decided he was no longer worth wasting gray matter over and written him off?
Or were her nights as restless as his, filled with longing and uncertainty and conflicting emotions?
Maybe he should call her tonight, instead of waiting until Sunday, as he’d mentioned in one of his texts. It would be easier to get a read on her mood if he heard her voice. Written exchanges didn’t capture—
His cell began to vibrate.
Bren?
His pulse picked up—then quickly decelerated when his dad’s name popped up on the screen.
Not that he didn’t want to talk to his father, but after the last three intense days at the office, a call from his favorite barista would have perked him up more than a chat with his dad.
He put the phone to his ear. “Hi, Dad. I was going to call you later.”
“Am I interrupting any social plans? It is Friday night.”
“Nope. I’m waiting for the microwave to finish heating my dinner.”
“Don’t tell me you just got home from work.”
“Work’s crazy busy right now.” Like always. “What did you have for dinner?”
“Eleanor Cooper sent over beef stew, homemade bread, and a sizeable chunk of her famous chocolate fudge cake. The casserole brigade is outdoing itself.”
Noah’s mouth began to water. “That sounds great.”
“It was. There was so much food, I invited Bren to join me.”
The very person he wanted to discuss.
“Did she come?”
“Yes. We had a very pleasant visit. And a meal shared is twice as delicious.”
Noah stood. Paced across the room.
How could he get the information he wanted without activating his dad’s matchmaking impulses again?
“Um ... what did you two talk about?”
“Mostly the 5K and Emma’s new job at Sweet Dreams.” His father proceeded to give him more details than he cared to know about the latest sponsors for the run and Emma’s treat-of-the-day bill of fare. “I told Bren I intended to go to Sweet Dreams on Tuesday and get a piece of baklava, and she offered to take me as a thank-you for dinner tonight.”
That sounded like the woman he’d come to know during his stay.
“Are you going to go with her?”
“You better believe it.”
The microwave pinged, and he walked over to it. Checked his dinner, such as it was. Reset the timer. “Did she, uh, stay long?”
“No. She was slammed trying to finish a calligraphy order. Bren’s a go-getter, let me tell you. But she still manages to have a life and keep everything in balance.”
Unlike his son.
Dad didn’t say that, but his message was clear.
“You have more flexibility if you work for yourself.”
“Very true.” The faint background noise diminished, suggesting his dad had walked into another room. “You know, Hope Harbor could use a talented CPA. If someone filled that niche, they’d be able to set their own schedule and make time for runs by the sea every day and a life outside of work.”
“They’d also make significantly less money.”
“You might be surprised. In any case, there’d be other compensations. By the way, Bren asked me if you’d said anything about when you were coming back for a visit.”
That was a positive sign—wasn’t it?
“What did you tell her?”
“I said it could be a while, based on past experience.”
While there was no recrimination in his father’s matter-of-fact tone, it nevertheless niggled at his conscience. Much as Dad and Mom may have wished he’d trekked out to their turf more often, they’d never made him feel guilty for the long gaps between visits.
“I’m going to try to get out there on a regular basis in the future.”
“That would be wonderful, Son. And I expect Bren would be pleased too.”
His spirits ticked up “Did she say that?”
“Not in words, but a man doesn’t get to be my age without learning to pick up nuances and cues. I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you while you were here, but I got the feeling she was missing you.”
“She hasn’t said anything to me about that.”
“Have you said anything to her about your feelings?”
They were venturing onto shaky ground.
“Um ...”
“Sorry to butt in, Son. I try not to be a busybody in general, but I do worry that the parade is passing you by on the romance front. I know you’ve been keeping your feelings about Bren close to your vest, but the ability I developed to pick up nuances works on you too. And after watching the two of you at The Perfect Blend the last morning you were here, it was obvious you were both lovesick.”
Noah hesitated—then proceeded with caution. “Lovesick implies someone is in love.”
“Or falling.”
“The situation with Bren and me is complicated.”
“Does it have to be?”
As Charley’s quotes from Confucius and Dr. Seuss replayed through his mind, Noah scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t know. But if there’s a simple solution, I’m not seeing it.”
“It’s possible you’re looking too hard.”
Frowning, he propped a hip against the island. “What do you mean?”
“I’m thinking about a story from when you were little. You were running a fever, and your mom sent me to the store to get a bottle of baby aspirin. I searched and searched on the shelf but couldn’t find it. I finally had to round up a sales clerk to help me. Turns out the aspirin was right in front of me all along, but because the packaging didn’t match the image I had in my mind of what it was supposed to look like, I couldn’t see it.”
Noah tried to apply the story to his situation. Came up empty.
“Sorry. I’m missing the relevance.”
“My analogy may have been a bit convoluted. I was trying to illustrate how the thing we’re searching for could be staring us in the face, but if the image ingrained in our mind shows it packaged differently, we can’t see it. I know how important your career is to you, and that partnership you’ve set your sights on, but a CPA is a CPA wherever he practices.”
“The nature of the work can differ, though. Along with the rewards.”
“True. A CPA job here would look very different, I imagine.” His father’s manner remained gentle and agreeable. “But in the end, I think it comes down to what you most want to remember about your career when it’s winding down. The paycheck? The prestige? The power? The challenge? The stress? Or would it be enough to know you’ve done good work that helped people but that still left you space for a life apart from your job?”
A faint ache began to throb in Noah’s temples. “I thought I knew what I wanted. I had everything planned out.”
“People can change their minds. And plans can be altered.”
“Not without a lot of effort and disruption.”
“Sometimes the payoff is worth it. Are you happy in your job, Noah—and in St. Louis?”
Happy?
That wasn’t an adjective he’d often applied to his job. There were days it was satisfying. Interesting. Stimulating. But did he often leave the office feeling happy?
No.
And while St. Louis was a fine city, he’d felt more at home in Hope Harbor than he did in his hometown these days.
“I could be happier.”
“In that case, it may be worthwhile to think about alternatives to both the city and the job ... if you’re so inclined. In the end, though, it’s your life, and you have to live it in a way that suits you.”
“I’m not as certain as I once was about what that should look like.”
“Give yourself time to work through it. Rushing big decisions is never smart.”
“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”
His dad chuckled. “Tell me something I don’t know. I remember how you always wanted your mom to put her bread into the oven to bake before the yeast had time to leaven the dough. In this case, time may be the leaven that will bring clarity.”
“Waiting is easier said than done.”
“You can always stay in touch with Bren while the two of you work this out.”
“I’ve tried, but I only get short answers to my texts.”
“Have you called her?”
“Once. It rolled to voicemail. I think she may be backing off.”
“Or trying to play it cautious and safe. Can’t blame her for being careful. You do come across as a workaholic, and she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would be willing to take second place in a man’s affections to a job.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
“I hear you.” He wandered over to the window. Gazed out into the darkness as the microwave pinged. “On a different subject, how did your wrist look in the follow-up X-ray today?”
“All positive news. The bones are aligned and appear to be healing properly. Is your dinner ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Go eat. We can talk more this weekend. You want me to pass any message on to Bren?”
“No. I’ll reach out to her again.”
“Smart plan. And remember, you’re not in this alone. I’m in your cheering section.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Always happy to hear from you. Bon appetit.”
“My dinner isn’t worthy of such a gourmet wish, but thank you.”
“Love you, Son.”
“Love you back.”
As his dad ended the call, Noah went to the microwave, removed his dinner, and peeled back the clear film over the container. Grimaced.
Despite the long gap since the wrap he’d wolfed down on the fly at noon, his appetite had deserted him.
Besides, he had more than enough to chew on after the conversation with his dad.
And a major case of indigestion was already setting in.
Noah was calling.
Again.
Why wasn’t he sleeping in, like most people did on Saturday morning?
Or was he having as much trouble clocking shut-eye as she was?
Bren tightened her grip on her cell as a breeze ruffled her hair and the first rays of sun topped the hills to the east, gilding the edge of Sunrise Reef. Amazing, as always, how the dark, dull rocks came alive when touched by the sun.
As her cell continued to ring, she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
To answer or not to answer, that was the question.
Answer.
At the prod from her conscience, she exhaled.
Yeah. She should talk to him. Dodging his calls was juvenile and cowardly and rude.
So she’d be mature and discreet—and hope it wasn’t super obvious that in her case, at least, absence was making the heart grow fonder.
Because unless the feeling was mutual, and unless they figured out what to do about it if it was, extended contact would only add to her insomnia. Radio silence for a while might be prudent.
Something to think about, anyway.
Bracing, she put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Noah.”
A beat ticked by. “You answered.”
“Your other call came at a bad time.” A slight fabrication. She could have put aside her calligraphy and answered it.
“You didn’t return it.”
Offshore, a dolphin arced out of the water, its sleek body glistening in the sun as a doleful silver-white harbor seal watched from a rock on Sunrise Reef.
“I returned your texts.” Far safer than listening to the mellow baritone that always turned her bones to jelly.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Likewise.”
“Dad said you had dinner with him last night.”
“Yes.”
“In case you didn’t pick up on it, he’s aware the two of us are interested in each other.”
“I picked that up. But he didn’t ask me any leading questions.”
“He asked me plenty during our phone conversation last night.”
She gripped her phone tighter as the sun crept higher, painting the reef with its golden rays. “What did you say?”
“I told him we’re trying to sort things out.”
“Are you any closer to that on your end?”
“No, but I’m still working on it. Are you?”
“I’m thinking but getting nowhere. Bev suggested we try a long-distance courtship.”
“She knows about us too?”
Bren snorted. “I’m getting the feeling that anyone who’s seen us together knows about us.”
“What do you think about the long-distance idea?”
“I think it could work if one of us was willing to relocate in the event we got serious.”
“Meaning me.”
She shifted her weight.
Yes, she did. And while it wasn’t fair for all the sacrifices to be on his end, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the notion of picking up and starting over yet again after searching so long for the home she’d found here.
“You know how I feel about Hope Harbor, Noah. Do you feel as strongly about St. Louis?”
“No. But I do have to think about my job and all I’d give up if I walked away.”
“Would job considerations be as important to you if a long-distance courtship led us to consider a serious commitment?”
His brief hesitation was telling.
“I don’t know.”
Not what she wanted to hear.
But in truth, if he parroted the question back to her and threw out leaving Hope Harbor as a possibility, she’d have said a firm no.
Impasse, pure and simple.
Which made further contact pointless unless one of them changed their mind.
Time for the radio silence suggestion.
A cloud passed over the sun, momentarily snuffing out the light on the reef as she summoned up the fortitude to do what she had to do to protect her heart. “I have a suggestion.”
“Am I going to like it?”
“I doubt it, but I think it’s the smart course to follow.”
“I’m listening.” His cautious tone, however, suggested he wasn’t overly receptive.
“I think we should take a communications break. See if lack of contact affects how we feel about each other and our situation.”
“For how long?”
“We could try six weeks.”
“With no contact at all?”
“Yes.”
The sound of a forcefully expelled breath came over the line. “You’re right. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither. But it’s safer—for both of us.”
“You know what? I’m getting tired of playing it safe.” His admission was laced with frustration.
She could relate.
But someone had to be the voice of reason in this conversation.
“Six weeks isn’t long in the big scheme of things. And the space will give us a chance to think.”
“Can we text?”
“That counts as communication.”
“You’re killing me here.”
“Do you have a better plan?”
Several seconds ticked by. “No. I wish I did. You know six weeks from today is the 5K.”
How apropos.
“Maybe a finish line will be in sight for us by then too.” Or perhaps just a finish.
But she left that depressing possibility unspoken.
“So this conversation is it for six weeks.”
“We’ll survive.” She hoped.
“Speak for yourself. You’ve got Bev and Emma and a host of friends, not to mention an ocean view. All I have is work.”
“That’s all you had before.”
“I know. But it doesn’t feel like enough anymore.”
That could be a positive development—but she wasn’t going to get her hopes up. Nor would she encourage Noah to leave the career path he’d followed for more than a decade. If he ever decided to make a change, it had to be his own choice, no coercion involved.
“You’ve only been back in the office three days. See how you feel in six weeks.”
“I know how I’m going to feel. Lonely.”
“Maybe not. Maybe you’ll forget all about me.”
“No matter where we end up, Bren, that will never happen. You’re not a forgettable woman.”
At the husky cadence in his voice, her pulse lost its rhythm for a moment. “You’re pretty memorable yourself.” Her words rasped, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Take care, okay?”
“You too. I guess it’s goodbye for now.”
“Yeah.” It was all she could manage.
“I’ll be in touch six weeks from today.”
“Talk to you then. Bye.” She ended the call. Closed her eyes. Choked back a sob.
Why, after all these years, had God sent a man like Noah into her world to plant seeds of discontent about her solo life and offer her a tantalizing taste of romance—then put a seemingly insurmountable roadblock in their path?
As if in response to her question, the sun burst through the clouds, bestowing a dazzling radiance on the reef.
But the golden interlude lasted no more than a handful of heartbeats. More clouds moved in, snuffing out the glow on this Saturday morning.
And hard as she tried to ignore the symbolism, Mother Nature’s display felt like a visual depiction of her relationship with Noah—and an ominous omen for how it would end.