The square of cream-colored vellum bore the thistle stamp of the Culloden Manor Hotel.
Blood whooshed in her ears. How could she have forgotten about this? She had gone through her purse countless times and had never seen the note, shoved into an inside pocket.
“What’s that?” Becky asked.
“Nothing.” Andrea quickly slipped it back into her purse with trembling hands, but she’d have had better luck ignoring a signal beacon now that she remembered it was there.
The community church lay on the edge of town, a white clapboard building with a spire that reminded Andrea of the country churches in every old movie she’d seen. Green lawn spread around it, and churchgoers already stood in clusters along the walkways and on the steps.
A sudden burst of panic overcame her as Becky parked next to her husband in the small lot. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Becky put a steadying hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Andy. No one’s going to judge you. No one cares about what happened back then, if they even remember.”
Andrea swallowed down the lump in her throat and gathered her courage before she climbed out of the car.
Becky and Dan each took one of the three-year-old twins—David and Hannah—from their car seats, leaving nine-year-old Casey to Andrea. She held the door open for the boy while he hopped down, and he slipped his hand into hers.
“Don’t be afraid, Aunt Andy,” he said. “Church is fun.”
“Am I that obvious?”
His smile made him look like a small version of Dan. “Mom said your old church was mean to you. Everyone’s nice here. You’ll like them.”
“Well, how could I be afraid with that kind of reassurance?” Andrea squeezed Casey’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show me where we have to go.”
They made their way to the sanctuary in fits and starts, stopped by clusters of people who knew Becky’s family. Becky introduced Andrea as her sister, and no one showed anything but pure welcome as they shook her hand. Gradually, some of the tension eased from her shoulders.
“I’ll take the kids to Sunday school,” Dan said. “Why don’t you and Andrea find seats?”
Andrea smiled at Dan’s departing back as he led the twins away, Casey trailing behind. “You’ve got a good one there.”
“I absolutely do.” Becky walked her down the center aisle of the small church. She chose a pew near the back and slid in. Not long after, the rest of the seats began to fill. Dan reappeared and sat on the other side of Andrea. They were flanking her for protection, determined that no one do anything to scare her away. Or maybe they were just blocking the exits so she couldn’t make a run for it.
Andrea joined in the worship songs, but once the pastor took the pulpit, her mind began to wander to the envelope in her purse again. She drew her attention back to the sermon, which was based on the story of the Prodigal Son. She bowed her head and smiled. Of all the services she could have attended after coming back to her faith, it was a story of how God rejoiced when lost souls were restored to Him. Becky reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly.
Then they were back on their feet, singing the closing song, and Becky slipped her arm around Andrea’s waist. “Thanks for coming, Sis.”
“Thanks for bringing me.”
Their exit was just like their entrance. More people who knew Becky and Dan, more friendly introductions. When they finally made it to the walkway, Andrea slipped away from them and reached into her purse for the envelope.
Was she ready to see what it said? Her pulse raced, and fear spiked through her middle. She slid her finger beneath the seal and broke it with a crack.
“You’re a difficult woman to track down, Andrea Sullivan. Or should I say, Andrea da Silva?”
Andrea froze at the distinctly Scottish voice behind her. A chill rippled through her body. She shoved the note back into her purse and took a deep breath before she turned. James stood several steps behind her, his hands resting casually in his pockets and looking so handsome she momentarily forgot to breathe.
He walked toward her with the boyish grin that always made her knees go weak. “Do you know how many art deco movie houses there are in Ohio?”
“How many?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded breathless.
“Thirteen. And every single one of those towns now has a stoplight.” His blue eyes bored into hers, and for a minute, she forgot she was standing in a crowd of people. “But I did tell you I enjoyed a challenge.”
Before she could say anything, he looked past her, and his smile reappeared. “You must be Becky. I’m James.” He brushed past Andrea and took Becky’s hands, then kissed her on the cheek.
Andrea stared at Becky in amazement. “You knew?”
“He called a couple days ago,” she said sheepishly. “He wanted to make sure you were here before he flew in from London.”
“May I steal your sister for a little while?” James asked.
“Have her home before dark.” Becky beamed at Andrea, and she wondered how her sister had ever managed to keep the secret for the past few days.
James reached for her hand. “Take a walk with me?”
Andrea hesitated, but the minute her fingers intertwined with his, her world shifted with a satisfying finality, like the pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. “A walk would be nice.”
She felt eyes on them as they walked hand in hand down the front path, but she was far too stunned by the presence of the man next to her to care what anyone thought. They moved down the street toward the park in silence until Andrea finally found her voice.
“What are you doing here?”
“You promised me a tour. Where else would I go for a spring holiday but Ohio?”
“Be serious.” Her pulse raced so frantically she thought she might faint onto the sidewalk.
“All right, seriously, then.” James stopped abruptly and tugged her into his arms right there on the street, so close she could feel the pounding of his heart. “I’m here because I’ve not been able to stop thinking about you since you left. I’ve called myself every name I know for letting you go. I wasn’t looking for this, but now that I’ve met you, I can’t imagine my life without you.”
“Jamie, I—”
“Don’t say anything. I know it’s fast. I know after all you’ve been through, you’re afraid of making a mistake, and the idea of being in the public eye is the last thing you want. If it bothers you so much, I just won’t renew my contract with the network. I don’t need the program. I’m busy enough with my restaurants and the hotel. And if I can’t convince you to come back to Scotland with me, then . . . I guess we’ll work something out.”
Andrea stared at him, stunned speechless. He was offering to give up his TV show for her, without any assurance of her love, without any plans for the future. “Why would you do that?”
He brushed the hair away from her face as he had done that night outside the door of her cottage. “Because now I know what’s important to me. I love you.”
She stared at him in amazement and waited for panic to rush in at the words. Instead the glow of certainty flowed into her, warming her body like sunlight on a cold day. “I love you too.”
Then his lips were on hers, sweet and warm and filled with the promise of the future. She twined her arms around his neck and held him close, not caring who saw them or what they thought. She had resisted this for so long, thinking herself unworthy of love, unworthy of forgiveness. And now all she’d ever wanted stretched out before her for the taking. She kissed him back with abandon, pouring every last bit of her joy into her touch, until her head spun and the only thing keeping her on her feet was his arms around her.
When they parted, James laughed, a low throaty sound in her ear. “If you keep kissing me like that, I won’t be able to get you to the altar soon enough.”
Andrea stiffened, alarm flaring in her head. “Jamie . . . I can’t. I love you, but I can’t marry you. Not yet. We need time to get to know each other fi
rst. Get used to being a couple. Just . . . make sure. Can you understand that?”
To her relief, he only smiled. “I think you better read the note, then.”
She retrieved the envelope from her purse. Her hands quivered as she bent back the flap and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. Tears pooled in her eyes, but this time she didn’t try to wipe them away. A smile came to her lips as she read the single line on the page.
I love you, Andrea. I can wait.
Discussion Questions
The story opens with a mistaken-identity meeting straight out of one of Andrea’s favorite old movies. Both Andrea and James “stick to the script,” acting in expected ways because of the setting. Are there situations in which you behave according to others’ expectations? If so, why?
James allows others to believe his playboy reputation is deserved, and Andrea plays along with the idea when confronted by jealous rivals. Is it wrong for them to allow other people to believe the worst? How much responsibility do we have for the way others perceive us?
Andrea has been subjected to certain assumptions about her business sense because she is an attractive woman. Do you think that there is still a double standard for women in business? Do you think that women have to work harder to prove their capability than their male counterparts?
James regrets the fact that he’s been a bad example of a Christian man. How do you reconcile living freely under grace with the need to act as a good witness?
Andrea is expected to do whatever it takes to get the contract. Have you ever been in a situation where your personal beliefs conflicted with the requirements of your job or school? How did you resolve that conflict? In hindsight, do you believe you made the right choice?
Compare Andrea’s relationship with her sister, Becky, and James’s relationship with his brother, Ian. Both sets of siblings have experienced broken or disrupted homes, but they have vastly different relationships. Why do you think that is?
Andrea dismisses her feelings toward James as merely physical because she no longer trusts her own judgment. How do you regain confidence in your ability to make good choices after you’ve made a significant error in judgment?
At the end of the book, Andrea realizes that not only does she need to ask God’s forgiveness for her past mistakes, she needs to truly accept that she can be free from the past. Why do you think this is so essential to her ability to love again and accept love in return? How do your feelings about your own past influence how you approach the future?
Chapter One
She shouldn’t be here.
Grace Brennan snapped several pictures of the fog-shrouded river, forcing down the tide of anxiety that threatened to rise up and engulf her. Chances were he wouldn’t be here either. People changed in ten years. She certainly had. What kind of man stuck to such a rigid schedule for over a decade?
She ambled down the cement embankment to where the muddy waters of the Thames lapped the bank and raised her camera once more. Even in the dim morning light, her telephoto lens captured every detail of the boats rowing against the ebb tide, from the markings on the shells to the club crests on the rowers’ kit. Grace had photographed enough regattas in her career to recognize the different clubs and schools by their colors, to distinguish the casuals from the competitive rowers. To know from a distance she hadn’t seen him yet.
It was a mad impulse that brought her here anyhow. Her regrets should have stayed in the past where they belonged, with the rest of her mistakes. Back then her fears had clouded her judgment, skewed her perspective. And no matter how far she’d come, there might always be parts of her that were broken. What would coming back here do but remind her of what she’d given up?
She was about ready to move on to some street-level shots when a sleek red eight glided with precision toward the bank on which she stood. Again the camera came up to focus on the crew, and her heart rose into her throat when her gaze landed on the man in the stroke seat nearest the stern.
His dark hair was short now, thick waves cropped into submission, but she would have recognized him anywhere. He radiated capability and confidence with an oar in hand, and even his rowing waterproofs couldn’t hide a physique that was as lean and muscular as a decade before. Clearly she’d had good reason to believe things hadn’t changed.
Grace’s hand tightened convulsively around the column of the thick lens as she let the neck strap take the camera’s weight. Her muscles tensed, her heart pounding. Should she call to him? Would he even speak to her?
Then he turned her way and stopped, the oar frozen in midair. He saw her, no mistake. She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do.
Just as quickly he turned away, his movements brusque and businesslike as he removed his oar from the lock. Her hopes rushed away as quickly as the tide.
Ten years wondering how she’d feel if she saw him again. Ten years convincing herself that time and distance would change things. Pure rubbish, all of it.
She still loved him. And he still hadn’t forgiven her.
Grace wound her way into the Regency Café, ignoring the irritated looks from waiting patrons. Even at eight in the morning, the greasy spoon was packed with diners, the queue stretching out the door, voices raised in a hum just short of deafening. She scanned the crowded room until her gaze landed on a beautiful Indian woman staking out a corner table.
Asha held up her arm and pointed to her wristwatch with raised eyebrows.
“I know, I know, I’m late.” Grace grimaced as she approached the table, but Asha squeezed her into a bone-crushing hug before she could get out the rest of her apology.
“Only by about two years! When did you arrive in London? Before you called this morning, I didn’t even know you were coming.”
“Landed last night.” The tightness in Grace’s chest eased as she slid into a chair and placed her gear bag between her feet. “It was a last-minute decision. Did you order for us?”
“Of course. I didn’t queue for an hour for tea. I got your usual. It is your usual, right? You didn’t go vegan on me or anything . . .”
Grace laughed. “Absolutely not. I live on bacon. Besides, Paris hasn’t been as much fun since they stopped sautéing everything in a kilo of butter. You know you’re in trouble when even the French turn health conscious.”
Asha laughed too, her expression radiating happiness. Since they’d met on a medical mission in Jaipur twelve years ago, Dr. Asha Issar had become her close friend and confidante. Grace had no doubt that her joy was genuine.
“So tell me, why are you back in London?”
“To see you, of course.” At Asha’s disbelieving look, Grace laughed again and amended, “It was time, Ash. I couldn’t avoid an entire country forever. I’m considering moving back.”
“I’d love that. But you said you’d never leave the field. What happened?” Asha’s attention settled on Grace’s right arm, where it rested on the table. “Does it have something to do with the new tattoo?”
Grace touched the tiny green dragon that curled around her wrist like a bracelet, melding seamlessly into the design of colored flowers and wrought iron above it. It was good work—artistic work—but she should have known Asha would understand this was no more a whim than the other tattoos that covered her right arm to the shoulder.
“Brian is dead.”
“Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry. What happened?”
Grace swallowed hard while she brought her voice under control. “You hear about the incident in Syria?”
“That was him?” Understanding dawned on Asha’s face. “That was you. You were the other photographer who survived the blast. Grace, why didn’t you tell me?”
Because she hadn’t told anyone. Because the grief was too fresh.
And deep down she felt responsible.
Sure, she’d not been the one to fire the grenade. She’d warned Brian that their position was too exposed, had been trying to get them out. But he was so young and eager to get the shot, and it had been her re
sponsibility to rein in that reckless enthusiasm, just as her own mentor, Jean-Auguste, had done for her.
She’d failed miserably.
“So that’s why I’m here,” Grace said at last. “I’m supposed to be in Aleppo, but I couldn’t get on the plane.”
Asha reached for her hand across the table and squeezed it hard. “I understand; I really do. But you love the work. Surely you don’t want to quit.”
“Come on, Ash. You know shooting conflicts was supposed to be a short-term plan, not the past ten years of my life. Everyone with half a brain is out, onto something safer.”
“But you’ve worked for this since you were nineteen!”
“And look where it’s gotten me.”
“Achieving a level of success most people never imagine. Newsweek and National Geographic have you on speed dial. You were listed as one of the most influential photographers of the decade, for heaven’s sake.”
“One of the most influential photographers of the decade.” Grace gave a short, humorless laugh. “Had I died along with Brian, would anyone have missed me besides you and Jean-Auguste? I’m thirty-four, Ash. I can pack up my entire life in three cases and a duffel bag. My parents don’t talk to me anymore, and the only person to send me a birthday card was the president of my photo agency.”
Asha’s gaze drilled into her. “You’re back for Ian.”
“When you say it that way, I sound completely pathetic.”
“Not completely pathetic. Just a little bit.”
“It was daft,” Grace said. “If you could have seen the look on his face—”
“You saw him? What did you do? What did he say?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to find out.”
“Grace—”
“I know, I know. But what do you say in that situation? ‘Hi, I’m sorry I ran out on you six months before our wedding. How have you been?’ Besides, for all I know, he’s married and has half a dozen kids now.”
Five Days in Skye Page 27