What? His common sense got the better of him. She’d have forgotten she lives in Chicago and has her own life?
Spencer tried to ignore the internal argument and forced his attention back to Sophie.
“It’s not the same lake there,” she was saying, her expression earnest. “I mean, technically, it’s the same lake. But it’s not the same, you know?”
He nodded. He did know. It was like how cherry trees that weren’t part of Hidden Blossom were still cherry trees, but they weren’t the same. Or how Sophie was the same as she’d been when she was his but not the same.
“Anyway.” Sophie licked the last bits of ice cream from her fingers. “I almost never get out on the lake there. I’m always working.”
Spencer could relate. “But you love what you’re doing?”
She shrugged. “I’m up for a big promotion.”
“That’s great, Soph.” But something between them had shifted when he’d brought up Chicago. He might as well deliver the final blow. “You go back tomorrow?”
Did a shadow of regret pass over her eyes, or was he only imagining it? “I head out after church.”
He’d already known the answer, but his whole body tensed. What was he doing here, with the woman who’d already shattered him once? Who would only shatter him again when she drove away tomorrow?
But that wasn’t fair. She hadn’t come to Hope Springs to see him. She’d come to say goodbye to her grandma. She didn’t owe him anything.
He couldn’t take the way she was looking at him. “It’s too bad you didn’t get a chance to see the cherries blossom,” he said, just to fill the silence. “They’re starting to open.”
“Maybe next time.”
He nodded. But he knew there wouldn’t be a next time. Once she left . . .
It’d likely be the last time he ever saw her.
“Spencer.” His whispery-soft name on her lips almost undid him.
He let himself slide toward her. Let the soft dance of the moonlight on her lips beckon him closer.
He had dreamed of this moment for the past five years. But he’d never expected that dream to come to life.
And once it did, then what?
Who cared? He’d deal with that tomorrow. For now, all he wanted was this moment.
He slid a fraction closer, his eyes never leaving hers. He could read it there—she wanted the same thing.
But he couldn’t shake the thought of her leaving.
He straightened and cleared his throat. “We should probably go. You have a long drive tomorrow.” The words clawed their way out, leaving behind a raw trail that burned up his throat.
Sophie’s eyes stayed on his a moment longer—long enough for him to glimpse the hurt there before a hood dropped over her expression.
“You’re right.” She got up in a quick motion that yanked the blanket off his lap.
But the sudden chill that cut through him had nothing to do with the cold air.
Sophie gathered the blanket into a ball, then took off down the garden path, leaving him to catch up.
Chapter 18
The burning behind Sophie’s eyes was nothing to the burning in her heart. She’d been reading Nana’s journal for the past two hours, unable—or maybe unwilling was the better word—to turn out the lights and go to sleep. She was afraid of whose face would haunt her dreams if she did. Afraid she’d see the way he’d pulled back when she’d said she was leaving tomorrow. Afraid she’d feel the too-gentle squeeze he’d given her hand when he dropped her off at her parents’. Afraid she’d remember her own desire to kiss him—a desire that had almost overcome her common sense.
She shook her head. Here she was thinking about it again.
She turned back to Nana’s journal. Reading Nana’s words over the last days had filled her heart in a way nothing else ever had. Her grandmother had had an incredible faith—a faith that had survived through the death of her husband and grandson, through her daughter’s rejection, through her granddaughter’s abandonment. Through it all, Nana had never shown anything less than love for them all—and even more, for God. Her journal was full of Scripture verses Sophie had known once but hadn’t thought about in years. Her favorite so far was from Romans: “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
The sheer magnitude of that kind of unconditional love took Sophie’s breath away. Christ had died for her while she was still a sinner. She hadn’t done anything to earn or deserve his approval, and yet he approved her anyway because of Jesus.
It had gotten her thinking about Pastor Zelner’s comments at Nana’s funeral—about finding her worth in Christ. If God approved of her, what did it matter if she ever won the approval of her parents or her boss or even Spencer?
A giant yawn overtook her, and she closed her eyes, the journal still open on the bed next to her.
A strange heaviness clung to Sophie as she packed, making her movements lethargic.
She clicked on her phone to check the time.
Noon.
She should be on the road. Church had been done for an hour already.
She’d said her goodbyes to Vi and Ariana and Ethan there. Spencer had been conspicuously absent from the service, and she couldn’t help but feel it was her fault. That he didn’t want to see her one last time before she left.
As she clicked the phone off, she pretended not to notice the swoop of disappointment that he hadn’t called or texted. She’d let herself half-hope he’d try to convince her to stay. But he hadn’t the first time, so why should he now?
And anyway, it’s not like she’d really consider staying. She couldn’t. Her job, her life, was in Chicago.
Even if, over the past week and a half, it was like someone had taken all the appeal she’d felt for Chicago and flipped it to Hope Springs. Which was ridiculous. She hadn’t been able to wait to escape this place.
But being back, seeing family, seeing friends, and, fine, seeing Spencer had reminded her what she’d given up when she left.
Finally, her suitcase was packed, and she had no more excuses to stall. She surveyed the room. Better not forget anything. Who knew when she’d be back.
Her eyes fell on the worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on the nightstand. She grabbed the book and flipped it open to the page with the cherry blossom. Her fingers traced the paper-thin petals.
She should leave it here. Then there’d be nothing to tempt her to think about Spencer.
Yeah, nothing but her memories. Ones she’d thought she’d buried long ago but that had fought their way to the front of her thoughts and refused to leave.
She snapped the book shut and tucked it into the front of her suitcase, then pulled the suitcase off the bed and wheeled it into the hall. The thought of talking to her parents was suddenly too much, but she couldn’t just walk out without saying goodbye. A search of the kitchen, formal dining room, and living room came up empty. They’d come home with her after church, but apparently they’d taken off again. She suppressed a sigh. Why should she be surprised that they hadn’t stuck around to see her off? Anyway, this would make things easier. Which didn’t explain the pit in her stomach. Did they really care that little about her?
Whatever. She was done worrying about what they thought of her.
She forced her chin up and wheeled her suitcase toward the front door.
But as she passed the den, she paused. She could have sworn she heard a rustling sound from inside. But that didn’t make sense.
Neither of her parents had been in that room in years, as far as she knew. Heart thundering, she crept to the doorway and peeked cautiously inside.
“Mom?” In her surprise, the word came out louder than she intended, and her mother’s head jerked up. She lifted a quick hand to swipe at her eyes but not before Sophie saw the moisture hovering on her lashes. An old photo box sat open in front of Mom, but she dropped the picture she’d been examining and yanked the cover onto the box.
&n
bsp; Shock coursed through Sophie, but she wasn’t sure what startled her more—seeing Mom crying or seeing the photo box. She recognized it immediately.
“Are those—?” She stepped gingerly into the room, easing toward Mom.
“They’re nothing.” Mom twisted to stash the box in its spot under an unused stack of books on the built-in shelves, but Sophie intercepted her. With something approaching reverence, she lifted the cover off the box. After Jordan died, she’d pored through this box so many times, until Mom caught her and told her it was off limits. She said Sophie needed to move on and that dwelling on her brother would only hold her back from her own life.
Sophie only wished she’d understood then that Mom’s way of dealing with grief was unhealthy, that ignoring your feelings wasn’t an answer. She picked up the photo Mom had thrown on top of the pile.
It was one of her and Jordan, playing together in the lake. Mom had snapped the picture right as Jordan sent a huge splash of water careening toward Sophie. She was smiling in this picture, but the moment after, she’d been crying and screaming at Jordan.
What she wouldn’t give to have moments like that again. “I miss him.”
Mom’s head swung toward her, and Sophie covered her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She knew Mom wouldn’t talk about him.
But Mom gave a tight nod. “Heading out?”
“You know, I think Nana managed to get a picture of me screaming at him after this. When she showed it to me, I asked if she was going to throw it away.” Sophie kept talking as Mom moved toward the doorway. “She said we should keep it because it was important to remember all the moments—not just the good ones—because it’s all the moments that make us who we are.” Sophie had thought then that Nana was crazy, but now she was starting to understand what Nana had meant.
Sophie lifted her head. If Mom could only see, too. But Mom had disappeared down the hallway.
Sophie shook her head at herself. Why did she bother?
But for some reason she couldn’t explain, she felt compelled to follow Mom to the kitchen.
She stood at the counter, waiting for Mom to pour herself a cup of coffee. The sag to Mom’s shoulders unnerved Sophie almost as much as seeing her cry had. Since the day of Jordan’s funeral, she’d never seen her mother anything less than one hundred percent put together.
She longed to step around the counter, hug Mom, and tell her they could mourn Jordan and Nana together. But they’d never had that kind of relationship.
She bit her lip, trying to figure out how to say goodbye.
But Mom beat her to it. “You should get going.”
Sophie nodded and opened her mouth to agree, but instead, what came out was, “I could stay a little longer if you wanted.”
Mom’s eyes flicked to hers. “Why would I want you to stay?”
All the air seeped out of Sophie, like a balloon with a small hole that widens as it deflates. “Never mind,” she mumbled. “Just thought you might need help cleaning out Nana’s house.” She reached for the handle of her suitcase.
“I called a service to do that. They should have everything out of there by the end of the week.”
Sophie let go of the suitcase, wincing as it crashed to the floor. “What will they do with it all?”
Her mother took a slow sip of coffee. “What do you mean what will they do with it? They’ll donate the furniture and stuff. Toss the rest.”
Sophie pressed a fist to her stomach. Could her mother really let some strangers throw everything of her grandmother’s away?
“Don’t you want to keep anything?” Her voice sounded high and little-girlish, but she suddenly felt like a little girl.
“Of your grandmother’s?” Mom may as well have rolled her eyes for how well she hid the scoff in her voice. “She decorated her house with garage sale bits and pieces. There’s nothing worth anything there.”
“What about her personal stuff? Jewelry, pictures?”
Sophie’s mother drained her cup. “Your grandmother wore costume jewelry and took terrible pictures. None of it’s worth keeping. It’s just stuff. Junk.”
Sophie supposed it was true that it was just stuff. But stuff could have meaning, couldn’t it? Memories?
“What if I clean out the house?” The words came out before Sophie could think them through. “Or we could do it together.”
Her mother studied her with the closest thing to compassion Sophie had seen from her in a long time. She didn’t dare to breathe. Was Mom really going to say yes? But Mom’s careful, neutral expression snapped back into place. “You have to get back to work. And I have better things to do with my time than sort through your grandmother’s clutter.”
Mom was right, of course. She did have to get back to Chicago. But the thought of every memory she’d made with Nana being thrown into the trash was too much. And besides, the moment the idea had popped into her head, she’d been overcome with a peace she hadn’t known in a long time. She didn’t know why exactly she felt the need to stay, but she did.
“It’ll only take a few days. I haven’t taken a single vacation in the five years I’ve been with the firm. I have plenty coming to me. I’ll just call Chase and let him know.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Chase, the man who was here the other day?”
Sophie nodded warily. Here came another lecture.
“Good, and while you’re talking, make sure you patch up whatever went wrong the other day. He certainly suits you better than that farmhand you sat with at your grandmother’s funeral.”
Sophie’s chest burned, and she fought every instinct to lash back. Spencer wasn’t a farmhand. He was running that farm. And whatever he chose to do with his life, he was the best man she’d ever known.
But there was no point in defending Spencer to her mother. It’s not like she’d ever be with him again anyway.
“So you’re okay with me cleaning out Nana’s house?”
“If you can get it done in a week. I want to get that house on the market before tourist season is in swing. Lots of potential buyers then.”
“Deal.” Sophie snatched her suitcase and headed for her room to unpack, her footsteps lighter than they’d been since Nana died.
She dialed Chase’s number, more than a little relieved when he didn’t answer, and left a message that she needed to sort some things out and would be staying another week. She promised to make it up to him by dealing with their least favorite architect on every project for a year.
As she passed through the kitchen, she asked Mom one more time to come with her. Apparently, she was a glutton for punishment.
But at least her expectations were realistic enough that she wasn’t crushed when Mom repeated her no.
On the way to the car, Sophie pulled out her phone.
Her finger hovered over the number for only a second before she pressed it. This time her expectations were too high. But she couldn’t bring herself to dampen them.
Chapter 19
Spencer slammed the stack of financial statements to the kitchen table and snatched at his ringing phone. He scowled at the unfamiliar number on the screen. He couldn’t shake the bad mood that had clung to him all morning as he pictured Sophie on the road back to Chicago. It didn’t help that since the moment he’d gotten home from church he’d been trying to deal with the farm bills that had piled up while Dad was in the hospital. Managing the books was his least favorite part of life on the farm, especially when a look at their financial standing left him wondering how they’d make it to harvest without going bankrupt.
“What?” he snarled into the phone. He was in no mood to be polite to telemarketers today.
“Spencer?”
Spencer closed his eyes, all the pent-up frustration leaking from him. In its place he was left with something even harder to handle.
Hope.
He tried to tamp it down.
“Hey, Soph. Is everything okay?” Maybe she’d gotten a flat tire or something on her way
out of town.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I don’t know why I called, actually. Well, I mean, I do, but I’m not sure why I thought you— I mean, I wanted to—”
Spencer couldn’t help his grin. Sophie was always so certain, and yet, on the rare occasion when she wasn’t, she babbled like a fool.
A very cute fool.
“What’s up, Soph?”
He heard a quick intake of breath. “You weren’t in church this morning.”
He tapped his pen against the table in a sharp rhythm. “I went to church in Silver Bay this morning.”
“Oh.” How could she put so much meaning into one syllable?
“It’s closer and—”
“Yeah, of course.” Sophie brushed off his lame excuse. “Anyway, I was just calling to ask if your invitation to see the cherry blossoms was still good.”
Spencer dropped the pen. “Aren’t you going back to Chicago?”
“No. I mean, yes.” Another quick breath. “I mean, I am, but not for a few more days. I’m staying to help clean out Nana’s house first.”
Spencer fought to control the way his heart surged. She was staying for a few more days. Not forever.
“So does it?” She sounded tentative, unsure, and he wanted to reassure her, tell her of course it did—whatever “it” was, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember her question.
“Does it what?”
Her sparkling laugh reached right through the phone and wrapped itself around his heart. “Does the invite to see the cherries still stand?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the words out past the snag of emotions. “It still stands.”
“Great.” Relief and something deeper mingled in her voice, but Spencer refused to let himself put a name to it. “I need to get a start at Nana’s first, but how about I come around four?”
“Four sounds perfect.” Spencer hung up and tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him. But it was hopeless. He shoved the papers aside and jammed his feet into his work boots. He needed to move.
On the way out the door, he almost bowled Tyler and the twins over.
Not Until Forever (Hope Springs Book 1) Page 12