by Melissa Tagg
She scanned the view, tilted her head, focus latching on a couple in the corner, fingers laced, leaning into each other as they took in the darkening horizon.
Ava followed her sight. “Oh, now I see.”
Autumn jerked. “What? No, I’m just . . .” She let the sentence drop.
Ava zipped up the jacket she wore over her U of M T-shirt. “Did I tell you when I came here on that college trip, I never made it up to the third landing?”
“No, why not? Get scared?” That’d be funny. Ava, the one who’d never been scared of anything.
“Ha, and no. Ryan and I had started dating the year before that, which you know—”
“Much to the chagrin of Mom and Dad.”
“And his parents, too. Anyway, I’d wanted him to come on the trip. It was spring, not like he’d miss any football games. But the team was in conditioning whenever they weren’t playing, so he said no. I pouted for a while, but finally decided, fine. I’ll show him what he’s missing. I sent him postcards every day, sometimes multiple times a day. Posted all these photos online of the fun I was having. Even though inside I was, like, miserable.”
“My lovesick sister.” It amazed her, really, that Ava was talking so openly about Ryan now. Maybe it was the Paris effect.
“The worst was when I came up here. It was so gorgeous, but I kept thinking, ‘I shouldn’t be here without Ryan. Doesn’t feel right without him.’ Made it up as far as the second landing but couldn’t make myself go up to the highest point. I decided I’d wait and come back someday . . . with Ryan.”
Her voice softened at the last part, cracking when she said Ryan’s name. Autumn leaned toward her sister, reaching her arm around her waist. She took in the glassy sheen in Ava’s eyes. And yet, something peaceful had settled over Ava’s face.
“Oh, sis.”
Ava shook her head. “It’s okay, really. Healing’s been slow, you know. But it’s . . . good. And I didn’t tell you this so we could get all morose.” She met Autumn’s eyes. “Just wanted you to remember I know what it’s like to love a Hunziker boy. And to hurt over it.”
Autumn inhaled sharply. “Ava, no. I—” Ava’s soft laughter cut her off. From almost tears to giggles? Her sister was jet-lagged. “What’s so funny?”
“You are. Listen, we don’t have to talk about Blake if you don’t want.”
“I don’t want.”
Ava nodded. “Okay then.” Pause. “So when are you going to go back home and tell him how you feel?”
“Ava!” She yipped the word, arms folding. The laughter of the college students turned rowdy. “Look, I can’t go home. I might be a little homesick now and then.” Or a lot. “But this is my dream. It’s what I wanted. I’d be crazy to give it up.”
“Sometimes what we think we want and what we really want are two different things.”
“Thanks, Socrates.”
“If you’re appointing me a philosopher’s name, I’d prefer Aristotle. And you’re welcome.” Ava allowed another drawn-out pause before speaking again. “So . . . there’s another reason I came. Wanted to give you something.”
Ava reached into her pocket and pulled out . . . a bracelet? “I found this the other day. Went looking for it, actually, after your latest e-mail. Mom sent it to me one year for my birthday. At the time I thought, ‘There she goes again. Trying to cutesy up her tomboy daughter.’ But then I took a closer look at it, saw the inscription.” She held out the bracelet for Autumn to look at.
Autumn fingered the narrow silver plate, read the inscription out loud. “‘Hope does not disappoint. Romans 5:5.’” She looked up. “Mom sent this?”
“Yeah, and I think she was trying to send me a message. Wasn’t really ready to hear it then, but I did look up the verses. I read them again recently, this time in The Message paraphrase. Talks about being alert for whatever God is going to do next.” She handed the bracelet to Autumn and pulled out her phone. “Here, read it on my phone.”
Bible study with her sister at the Eiffel Tower. Hadn’t seen this coming.
“In alert expectancy such as this, we’re never left feeling shortchanged. Quite the contrary—we can’t round up enough containers to hold everything God generously pours into our lives through the Holy Spirit.”
“Don’t you love that?” Ava pocketed her phone. “Autumn, I think if you’re honest with yourself, you’re having a hard time here because you’re wondering about what you’re missing out on at home. And you’re scared of going home because of what you’d miss out on here.”
Frustration scraped over her. “Aren’t those valid concerns?”
“Not if they’ve got you trapped in a constant state of what-if. You said once in December that you want adventure, freedom. Maybe the real freedom is in letting go of the what-ifs. Choosing hopeful expectation over worry that life is going to shortchange you.”
Hopeful expectation. It sounded great, but . . . “What if I’m not sure which thing to hope for? What I want anymore?”
“Maybe you start by thinking back to the last time you can remember when everything felt right. Like you were exactly where God wanted you to be. When you wouldn’t have changed a single thing about that moment.”
Before Ava even finished saying the words, Autumn was there. Sitting atop the Whisper Shore water tower, legs dangling from the railing, Blake’s hand over hers. Moonlight glinting over Lake Michigan and the town bordered by shadowed fields.
Not everything had been perfect in that moment. After all, Blake’s father had just had a heart attack. They’d spent the night before in the hospital.
But even then, there’d been a rightness. She’d felt so much a part of Blake’s life, waiting in the hospital, just . . . being there. For him. She’d felt more purpose slouched in that waiting-room chair than she’d even begun to feel here.
It’d been the same feeling she had making final festival preparations, helping Blake pull the town together for one more event of the year. And Christmas night with Mom and Ava . . .
And at the inn. Laughing and sharing pranks with Harry. Ducking into the kitchen for Betsy’s food and advice. Catching Jamie asleep on the night shift. Talking with Uri about his late wife. Even climbing around the roof patching those stupid holes.
Slowly, like the fading of sunset’s colors, it all came into focus. No, it hadn’t been homesickness she’d been feeling. It was the ache of two desires vying for top billing. But suddenly—finally—she knew.
She loved that old, broken-down inn.
She loved her quirky little town.
She loved . . .
Blake’s face filled her mind. His annoyingly perfect smile and constant tease and dark eyes that danced with playfulness. Ava was right. She didn’t just miss the man. She kinda . . . loved him.
Oh, Lord, I think I really do.
And she’d given it all up for some misguided definition of what her life should look like lest she miss out. A shake rattled through her.
“Autumn, are you crying?”
Hot tears tracked down her cheeks, too many for her rapid blinks to hold back. “Yeah, but . . . it’s only ’cause I figured it out.”
“Figured out . . . ?”
“Let’s go.”
“Uh, up to the third floor? Sure. Though, we may have to wait awhile for the elevator.”
“No, I mean, let’s go.”
“Where?”
But she was already moving, gaze searching for the elevator, the answer to Ava’s question pushing her on.
Home.
20
The sky’s embrace had never felt so warm. The pull of the clouds, never so intoxicating.
Blake inched his plane into an angle with his right rudder pedal, gaze swooping from white wisps outside the windshield to the instrument panel he knew like a favorite childhood book.
“I told you it’d come back easy enough, Blaze.” Ike’s voice was muffled through his headset.
Blake let his grin answer for him and pulled back on t
he steering yoke to lift the plane’s nose. It may have taken years and a few too many false starts to find his way back into the cockpit. But now that he was there, with the turquoise swirl of Lake Michigan beneath him and the open expanse all around, he could practically taste it—the freedom.
Not that it had been an easy feat, even today. First he’d had to get through an hour’s walk-around with Ike, proving he still knew his way around the aircraft, naming every piece of equipment and reciting rules that had somehow stuck in the back of his brain since his original training for his commercial-pilot certificate.
But the hardest part had been takeoff. He’d taxied for a good twenty minutes before finally lining up on the runway and letting instinct take over.
Now he wondered what he’d been waiting for. Exhilaration ribboned through him as he handled the plane, pushing through the sky in angles and waves. Wonder what Ike would say if I attempted a loop.
He glanced over at the older pilot. Ike had abandoned his clipboard with the checklist of items to “test” Blake on. Ike met his eyes. “Don’t even think about it, kid.”
That transparent, huh? “Think about what?” He donned an innocent smirk.
“You’ve got the same look you had twelve years ago. Only your fifth or sixth time up, and you got the hankering to try some aerobatics. Right then and there, I knew I had trouble on my hands.”
Blake’s chuckles rang out. Months or even weeks ago, Ike’s words might’ve stung. But sometime between sobbing at Ryan’s grave and now, he’d let go of the regret, the label trouble.
Or maybe he’d allowed the grip of his shame to start loosening even sooner. It’d started that first day home, when Mom and Dad had welcomed him with open arms. And continued when Autumn Kingsley walked into his life and took up residence in his heart whether he liked it or not.
Funny thing was, it wasn’t ’til she walked out of his life that it hit him: Their friendship—relationship?—whatever it was, it’d bloomed long before he’d done anything to earn it. Same with his parents’ forgiveness. And, well, God’s acceptance, right?
That was the kind of truth that filled a man with confident expectation.
That got him out to the airport, into the cockpit, up in the skies.
That fueled newfound dreams.
Speaking of . . .
His gaze darted to the clock on the instrument panel. He was supposed to get an ad to the newspaper by noon to make this week’s issue. And he’d been hoping to finish painting today.
In the two weeks since he’d landed the loan and signed the papers to become the new owner of the Kingsley Inn, they’d made progress on renovations. But they still had a long way to go if they wanted to be ready for tourist season kickoff in May.
“Come on, Ike, one loop and then I’ll take her down.”
“Nothing doing, Blaze. You want me to sign that endorsement to keep your certificate current, you keep this flight standard.”
“Boring, you mean.”
“Stuff it, kid. You know you’re not bored.”
Not even close. Every muscle and nerve breathed with life today. And it wasn’t just this flight, but anticipation at what the coming months held. It still amazed him the bank had agreed to a loan. That they’d accepted his offer over that of the developer who’d also bid on the land. Dad’s cosigning probably had something to do with it.
And the town of Whisper Shore had changed since winter. Somehow the festival had brought the little community back to life, sparked a new appreciation for its history and tradition, revived the charm. Maybe that’s why the people at the bank had opted for preserving the inn rather than letting a developer tear it down.
And they’d trusted Blake to do it.
He just hoped he could live up to the promises he’d made. To do all he could to turn the business around and build it back up to the draw it’d once been. He had bold plans and a hopeful outlook.
The one chink in his confidence? Wondering what Autumn would think of the inn’s new owner. A tremor of turbulence rocked the plane, but only for a moment. Blake’s knuckles tightened on the yoke and he held steady, eyes on the altimeter.
He assumed Autumn knew about the sale. Certainly Victoria had told her. Maybe it wouldn’t even matter to her. It’s not like she’d be around to assess his progress.
But he couldn’t help hoping there was at least a piece of her that was happy, maybe even grateful, that someone—even him—had saved it. That the new owner loved the place and meant to preserve its legacy.
“Shifty wind,” Ike grumbled. “Crept up out of nowhere.”
“That’s Lake Michigan for you.” He lifted one hand from the yoke and clamped Ike’s shoulder. “All right, a half-loop. What’s it called? An English something-or-other?”
“English bunt, and I don’t think so.”
“Dude, it’s child’s play.”
“It’s not on the checklist.”
“Neither was bringing you donuts this morning, but I did that, didn’t I?”
“Now you’re just playing dirty.” Ike’s sigh rolled like the propeller’s spin. “Fine, do the stunt. But up your altitude first.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Ike only rolled his eyes, and Blake once again pulled on the yoke to push the plane higher in the sky.
“Not too fast or you’ll stall.”
“Got it. I’m not a total newbie.”
“Look who’s all cocky all of a sudden.”
“Not cocky.” Blake reached good height and gave the yoke a gentle push until the wings leveled. “Just . . .” He shrugged. “At home.”
Ike’s nod spelled understanding. “All right, then. Do the stunt.”
The thrill tickled through Blake as he increased the plane’s speed, the hues of the sky blurring. He pushed the yoke forward, gently at first, then with more pressure until the plane swooped, drawing a half circle in the sky. For mere seconds, they dangled upside down, Ike’s whoop ringing through the cockpit, until Blake righted the plane and slowed.
The beat of his heart put rhythm to the laughter lost in the hum of the engine.
“You nailed it.”
“Told ya.”
“Okay, take her down.”
Minutes later, the plane descended at the Whisper Shore Municipal Airport, the bump of the wheels against pavement barely jerking the inside of the cockpit. Once they came to rest outside the hangar, Blake cut the engine and turned to Ike.
“So . . . I’m good to go?”
“I’ll type up and sign the endorsement today. Once that’s done, your certificate’s considered current again. Good to go, indeed.”
“Sweet.” He unbuckled his seat belt and removed his headset.
“One more thing, kid.”
“What’s that?”
“Assuming you’re going to be sticking around—”
“Oh, I’m definitely sticking around.”
“Then we need to assign you a long-term hangar.”
Long-term. He liked the sound of that.
The two weeks of her two-week notice at the Paris hotel had felt more like twenty. And the flights—oh, she could’ve sworn they’d circled the globe at least a dozen times. Then the drive from Detroit in a compact rental car she couldn’t drive fast enough.
But now that Autumn was finally home, nerves had turned her into a knotty, immobile mess. Jittery emotions propelled her past the turnoff into town—and Blake—and she headed toward the inn. Or at least where it used to be.
What had she planned to do, anyway? Show up on Blake’s doorstep? And say . . . say what? Why hadn’t she thought further ahead than the travel portion of her impulsive return?
She stepped out of the car, the lake’s foamy smell instantly pulling her in, the call of a sea gull and the water’s lapping the perfect soundtrack to the assurance she’d hoped for. This is when she loved Whisper Shore best, just waking up after winter, a lingering calm rolling into anticipation as tourist season waited on the horizon.
&nbs
p; The thought of tourists tugged her gaze from the lake, over quartz-gleaming sand and past the vibrant spring-green span of grass to where the inn still stood. Even from a distance, the grin of the old place was more vivid than ever—repainted shutters glinting in the sunlight and whitewashed porch stretching like a toothy smile. The new owner was making the changes she hadn’t been able to manage.
Maybe now’s the part, God, where you show me what to do next. You got me home. I think I might know why you got me home.
And it wasn’t the inn. Still . . .
She knew every inch of the place, all its weathered nooks and crannies. She’d long ago memorized the sound of the lake’s nighttime lullaby from the dilapidated porch. She knew which creaks belonged to which stairs and could feel the design of the wooden banister without even running her hand along it.
She may not have appreciated it while she’d been there, but the time away, the distance, well, it cleared her perspective.
On the inn.
On a lot of things.
Autumn closed her car door and several tentative steps later climbed the porch stairs. The smell of paint lingered in the air as she reached for the front door, the jingle of the bells such a familiar greeting she almost didn’t notice.
And a familiar voice, too.
“No, we’re north of Grand Rapids.” Pause. “Yes, south of Mackinac Island. Uh, no, east of Lake Michigan.”
Autumn covered her mouth to stop an outburst of laughter.
Harry glanced up, irritation smoothing into an actual smile as he covered the phone’s mouthpiece and whispered. “This is why GPS systems were created.”
“Hello to you, too, Harry.” Shouldn’t he look a little more surprised?
“Harrison.” He shook his head and returned his attention to the caller. “Yes, if you’re coming from the west, take exit 51.” Pause. “Yes, on your left.”
Seconds later he hung up and rounded the desk, arms outstretched. “I knew you’d come back.”
“No you didn’t.” She stepped into the hug. “I didn’t even know until I did.”
“Come on, I’ll take you back to meet the new owner.”
“Oh, no, that’s not why I stopped by.” That would be way too awkward. Possibly emotional. Not that she didn’t wonder about the new owner. . . . But it was going to be awkward enough at first, living in town and not working at the inn—let alone owning it. “Harry, I don’t—”