by Jayna Morrow
Was that why he’d worked out the kinks in the system? To help her and his brother? She’d missed the mark on this one. She closed the door to her office and turned back to Holden. “That was thoughtful of you. I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier. I’ve put so much of myself into this business, and your proposal put me on the defense.”
Truthfully, she’d made the dairy her life. She looked around now. Nothing was the same. Before Holden, she thought and saw things differently. He’d been right when he’d said he hadn’t changed anything. So what happened? Her artist’s eye saw everything clearly, but it didn’t always match up to reality. Which set of eyes could she trust?
“It’s OK. I should have talked to you first before I drew up such dramatic plans. A couple of quick phone calls will set some things in motion, and we can head out for some....complicated coffee.”
With a breathy laugh, she crossed to the foyer and stood by the door while Holden made his calls. Her head still tingled in the spot where he kissed her. Holden grinned at her from a few steps away, his phone pressed to his ear. Man! What was it about Holden Hearth’s smile that made her crumble? And continue to crumble until she had to pick up pieces of herself and start pressing them back together?
He pushed a button on his phone and slipped it into his back pocket.
“That was fast.”
“I’m not gonna lie to you and say that my plan is in place and going forward at full speed. That will take a few more days to incorporate it fully. But each department knows what needs to be done today, so that we can leave and not have to worry about anything until tomorrow morning.”
His car was parked next to hers, and he hurried to open the door with flare. “Your chariot, Miss.”
Giving him a little curtsy, she smiled and tossed her hair. “Thank you, Sir.”
She took in his intense stare. He focused on driving, but she wanted to know more about him, about his passions, his hobbies…his work.
The day was young. Let the questioning begin.
14
Irelynn blew into her mocha latte with extra chocolate and a double shot of espresso, ticking off the minutes until it would be cool enough to take her first sip. Holden waved his hand in front of her face, and she blinked. She must have been concentrating hard on the task.
“Earth to Irelynn.”
They sat at a round table outside the downtown storefront that Jolly Joe’s occupied. A green, canvas umbrella shuddered in the light, warm breeze. Several restaurants ran Thursday specials, which attracted a good bit of foot traffic. It was still a little early for dinner though. The steamy latte in her hand was one of those specials—add one espresso shot, get one free with any latte. Gladly. And thank you. Jolly Joe understood working people were dead tired by Thursday and needed a boost to help them make it through Friday. Mondays were another story. On Mondays, he delivered to the downtown area. Good ole’ Jolly Joe.
Of course, the dairy was too far out for anything that convenient.
“What did you say?”
“I asked you if you’d like to take that tour of Sweet Home now?”
A tour of Sweet Home. She’d get the opportunity to find out more about him along the way, such as why he hid a part of himself from most people.
There was more to him than the exterior masked by humor that he presented to the world. Holden was smart, complex, and an endless source of boundless energy. And she couldn’t stop there. She contemplated his offer, made even more tempting now as he pleaded with his big, brown eyes. Their connection sizzled and their earlier disagreement dissipated.
Her fingers slid around the insulated cup, the warmth from the latte traveling up her arms and all the way to her heart. The temperature there was as warm and energized as the caffeinated liquid. Her heart had felt more in five days than it had felt in five years. “OK, let’s go.” The words rushed out.
Soon, they were on the streets of Sweet Home, on a path of rediscovery.
He paid no attention to the more recent additions to the city and drove straight to the older areas.
“Our first stop is the lighthouse? Never thought you’d bring me here.”
Holden parked facing the towering structure covered in so many vines it was barely recognizable as a lighthouse.
She scanned the tangled greenery, the cracked plaster, and the broken glass at the top. Then she sat back. “If you think I’m going in there, you’re crazy.”
“You don’t believe the rumors that it’s haunted?”
“Of course not, but I know that the place is falling down. I don’t care for rickety stairs.”
“I’ve been up there. No ghosts and you won’t fall through. Promise.”
“Still not going.”
She crossed her arms for emphasis and then immediately unraveled them so she could take a sip of her latte. Perfect. She was still groggy and ready to wake up her brain.
“I thought you wanted a tour of Sweet Home?”
“I’ve lived here my whole life. You’re the one who wanted to drive around Sweet Home. I agreed to come along out of curiosity, but I can see what I need to from inside the car.”
“I’ve done lots of calculations on the lighthouse. It looks ready to crumble, but that won’t happen for at least another ten to fifteen years. Some of the stairs weren’t safe, but I replaced them back in high school. Come on. Let’s go to the top. The view is incredible from up there.” Holden waited a moment for her reply, then switched off the engine and opened his door.
She sighed, sliding from the vehicle without spilling her drink. She walked to the front of the car and halted. “I’ll go on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“That you tell me why you were doing calculations on the lighthouse. The truth.”
For a moment, he stood there observing the structure and formulating his response.
She’d backed him into a corner.
“It was for a science project. And a history project. They were due at the same time, so I chose the lighthouse to cover both at once. For history, I researched the lighthouse and how it came to stand in a town with no ocean nearby. And for science, well, a complete structural breakdown to calculate the process of deterioration over time and give a projection of when, with minimal use, it would come tumbling down. As I said, we still have ten to fifteen years.”
She’d wanted to pry a few answers out of him, but not risk her life by climbing to the top of a condemned structure. She’d imagined a pleasant afternoon drive down dirt roads and asphalt streets, with Holden pointing out his old home and school. Then she could ask him about his family and the extracurricular activities he participated in. She took a swig of her latte wincing at the burn. Her tongue would be tender tomorrow, but she needed the boost. The lighthouse towered above her like a pillar to the sky, and butterflies filled her stomach. She’d been out here and sketched the lighthouse several times, but she’d never gone up. She didn’t know if her stomach could handle it.
“Do you trust me?”
She let her mouth fall open and slapped a hand to one cheek like a melodramatic actress in a black-and-white sci-fi film. One slow step, then another.
Holden held his hand out. She took it reluctantly. He led her through the open doorway. The broken door lay on the ground inside. Everything was dim and dusty. Tiny windows with no glass let in narrow shafts of light. Before her stood a winding staircase with wooden steps and iron handrails. Most of the boards were damp and rotten, but several were newer with modern-made screws.
Irelynn slid her hand along the rough handrail, the warm iron heating her hand like the cup of coffee in the other. The deep grooves and grainy texture prickled against her skin, but she held on to it and climbed up one step at a time.
Holden took the stairs as if they were new and stable, not an ounce of fear. His stride was confident. Holden was up to something. He opened the door at the top of the stairs, and it creaked. It stuck halfway through. Holden gave it a hard shove to boost it over a
warp in the flooring. He stepped into the room, grinning from ear to ear.
“Don’t worry about the floor. It—”
“Has another ten, fifteen years. Yes, I heard you.”
The top floor of the lighthouse was an empty, round room filled with nothing but spider webs and dust. The wall came up to her waist. Between that and the ceiling, the framework for the glass panes remained, but the glass was gone. A strong breeze blew in through the open space, drawing her to an impeccable view of Sweet Home.
“Oh, my, Holden, I’ve never seen anything like this.” She set her coffee cup on top of the wall, gripped the edge, and leaned out as far as she could manage.
“You like it?”
“Like it? I...” she began. A gust of wind snatched her cup, spraying drops of lukewarm latte over her skin. She jumped back, embarrassed by her lack of judgment, and wiped her wet forearms on her jeans. “Did that really happen?” She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
“You did say you wanted coffee. Well, there you have it. Here, let me help.” Then, before she could object, his fingertips brushed away the droplets on her cheek. “You even look beautiful covered in coffee.”
She gulped. “You think I’m beautiful?”
He spun her around so that she once again faced the overlook. This time, she leaned against the wall but refrained from leaning out. Holden stepped up behind her, placing a hand on the wall on either side of her so that she was trapped between two stunning views—Sweet Home and the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. His chin came to rest on her shoulder.
“Do you see that green land, the groves of trees, gardens, historic homes and buildings dotting the area, and giant bluebonnet rugs all around?”
“Yes, it’s so lovely.”
“You’re even lovelier than that. I look out over all of this, and I’m reminded of your natural beauty.”
She felt so light that she feared the wind would carry her away. “Why, Holden, you do have a serious side. And a sentimental one, I might add.”
“Sentiment has nothing to do with it, and I’m not trying to butter you up. I’m speaking the truth. Hasn’t dear, old Emerson told you how beautiful you are?” His smile was different this time, sweet and serious. “If he hasn’t, he’s blind.”
“I thank you all the same.”
“No, Irelynn. Thank you for making this past week the most memorable of my life. I know God had a hand in this. Do you believe in a higher plan?”
“I struggle with that.”
“With your faith, you mean?”
She nodded. “You remember I told you my father killed himself?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I want to believe. I was raised to believe. Most days I do, but in my dark moments, I remember what the Bible says about murder. I can’t think about the possibility of my dad’s soul...” Her voice trailed off. She was unable to finish. Instead, she focused on her breathing and holding back tears. If she had a breakdown in front of him, it would be her own fault for bringing the subject up. While she needed to talk about her fear with someone, she really, really wished she’d have picked a better time and place. She barely knew Holden. And here they were standing in a place that could crumble at any moment.
Standing in a place that could crumble at any moment...
Indeed, that was where she was in her life.
Oh, God.
“I do remember. I also remember you telling me that, at the time of his death, he wasn’t in his right mind. God knows that it was the illness, not the man, who made that decision. He won’t be held accountable. Don’t let your fears control you and keep you from a deep relationship with your Savior. Jesus loves your dad and you. Do you believe that, Irelynn?”
“I do. I guess I needed to hear it from someone else though. You’ve made my heart beat normal again for the first time in a long time.”
“Glad I could help.” A peck on the cheek was followed by his arms closing around her. “I’ve been doing everything else wrong all week.”
“Not wrong.” She let herself relax and lean into his embrace. “I was being difficult. I do like your ideas.” She melted into him, and his heart beat rapidly. Could it be that he was nervous? That was enough to bring her gaze upward. He stared back at her, his eyelids twitching ever so slightly. She couldn’t imagine this overbearing, hyperactive, bothersome man being nervous.
“Even the idea of coming here?”
Her hometown spread out before her like a life-size landscape painting, a tapestry of every place she’d ever sketched. But this view was new and different and amazing. Holden had brought her to new heights, given her a new perspective. Another gust of wind almost blew her off-balance. Holden absorbed the shock and tightened his grip by grabbing the top of the wall with one hand and sliding the other around her waist. “Whoa, the wind is strong. Is there stormy weather heading our way?”
“Surely not in July.” She shook the thought of a rare, summer storm from her mind. She’d watched the weather report, and the meteorologist called for dry heat. “Before the wind almost blew us away, you asked if I liked your idea of coming here. I love this idea of yours.”
He grinned and nodded, once again content. “Good. I’ve wanted to bring you up here ever since I saw your drawings of the town. There wasn’t a single sketch of the view from the lighthouse, and I figured you’d love it.”
“You were right. Thank you for bringing me up. I need—” She clamped her mouth shut and stared straight ahead.
“What do you need? Tell me, please.”
“I need to sketch the whole town from here, a bird’s eye view. It’s magnificent.”
“Then you will. I’ll bring you back with your sketchbook tomorrow. You can sketch all day.”
“We have to work tomorrow. Maybe Saturday.” An unsettling, yet satisfying feeling came over her at the thought of adding to her collection.
“Saturday, then. How about one more view to think about in the meantime?”
“Sure, what’s that?”
He leaned forward and she followed his lead so that half their bodies suspended in midair, creating the illusion of flying. “What an incredible feeling.”
“This is only the half of it.”
“Huh?”
“Now look down.”
15
A glob of decoupage glue landed on the top of Irelynn’s bare foot, and she jerked. She laid her paintbrush down and reached for the damp cloth on the coffee table, glad she hadn’t ruined her project. She mopped up the mess, but a sticky residue remained.
“Good grief!”
Holden Hearth. He was nowhere around, but she still blamed him. Memories of their visit to the lighthouse the day before consumed her. Her mind replayed the moment when she’d accepted the challenge to look down, and his arms slid around her. Over and over again. “I’ve lost my mind.” Talking to herself was a sure sign that she had deep considerations. It was usually the first indication of stressful and confusing times in her life, accompanied by bouts of clumsiness and forgetfulness. She checked clumsiness off her list and heel-walked to the bathroom to stick her foot under the faucet. The goop washed off. One more thing she’d been splattered with over the past twenty-four hours.
But she’d been smiling all day when she wasn’t dropping stuff. Oh, well. Back to the grindstone.
Holden’s new schedule proved true, and she was out the door well before five, not typical for a Friday. He’d had some personal business to attend to for Gabriel, so she’d come straight home to work on Mrs. Lissemore’s painting. So far, she’d come up with a basic plan and started the background, through which she’d hoped to illustrate the passage of time.
Beyond that, she had a vague idea of what the final product would look like. This wasn’t one of her little drawings in her private sketchbook. This was a full-scale painting to be revealed at a monumental event. It had to be unique. It had to be special.
It had to be perfect.
“Aah!” Her
cell phone chirped, and she jumped, pressing one hand against her chest. Holden’s number popped up on the screen.
“Hello.”
“Where have you been?”
She was confused by the concern laced in his voice. The clock on the wall declared it to be a little before six thirty in the evening. She’d been so focused on her painting that she’d lost all sense of time. Only, she wasn’t on a schedule outside of work and wasn’t accustomed to having someone worry over her whereabouts. “I’m at home.” She put it matter-of-factly. “Have I been listed as a missing person?”
“No, no, no. I didn’t mean to sound so bothersome. I drove by earlier to see what you wanted to do for dinner and you weren’t home.”
“I stopped off to do a little research for a painting.”
“That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“Where did you think I was?” She hoped she didn’t sound too irritated.
“With Emerson.” His reasoning, though valid, took her by surprise. “But I guess I shouldn’t let that get to me. You two are dating. Tell me about your research.”
“I don’t want to give away too much, but I will say that up to now I’ve only captured Sweet Home in pieces. Today, I changed that and sketched the completed puzzle.” She returned to the easel and admired her accomplishments, satisfied with the rapid flow of creativity even after such a long dormant period. She reached for the jar of decoupage.
“Please tell me you didn’t go to the lighthouse alone.”
Her hand froze. “Holden, I didn’t think it would be an issue. You said it was safe...” Her voice trailed off.
“Still, you shouldn’t have gone there alone.” He let out a ragged breath. “There’s always a chance that something could happen and there’s safety in numbers.”
“You were busy,” she mumbled. “And I was anxious to get started. Plus, I can’t draw with someone looking over my shoulder.” And you would be too much of a distraction.
“Promise me you won’t go there again without me...or, someone, with you.”
She considered the work-in-progress one more time, and the other work-in-progress standing next to it. She’d been reluctant to create the first. The second, however, leaped onto the canvas. How could she say no to the inspiration for that work of art? “I didn’t think about any possible danger. I apologize if I scared you.”