True to You

by Becky Wade

  John angled to face her more fully. “Have you finished your work for the day?”

  “I have.”

  “Are you up for giving me a tour of the buildings?”

  “Of course.” Nora adored talking about her village but took care not to prattle on about it because she knew she had the potential to get swept away by fervor and end up boring people. That John had actually requested a tour was as delicious to her as one of Britt’s truffles. “Do you want the free tour of the village or the very expensive, very detailed, history-packed ten-dollar tour?”

  “The ten-dollar tour. I want to see your village.”

  He’d put slight emphasis on the word see. Ah. So he wanted to take in the details of it now, while he still could. Which explained the concentrated expression on his face earlier, when he’d first seen her. And the way he’d looked at the sunset last night. And his careful study of the view off the lodge’s balcony in Oregon.

  “When you’re fighting unconsciousness during my lecture about western migration,” she said, “just remember that you requested the ten-dollar tour.”

  “I like to live dangerously.”

  “All right, then.” She smiled at him.

  “One thing first?”

  “Sure.”

  “I brought the letter I wrote to Sherry.” He pulled an envelope from his back pocket. “Would you be willing to read it before I mail it?”

  “I’d love to.”

  He handed her the envelope. He’d already affixed a stamp and addressed it to Sherry in neat handwriting.

  They sat on one of the benches facing the green, and she spread the letter carefully across her knees. She read it twice. Her chest tightened more and more with every word because she so desperately wanted his search to end well for him.

  What he’d written and how he’d written it made it clear that he’d implemented the suggestions in the reference material she’d sent him. He’d succeeded at condensing his life onto a single plainspoken sheet of paper. He’d put no guilt, pressure, or accusation on Sherry.

  Finding John’s birth mother had not only cost the two of them a lot of hours and effort, but Nora knew that it had taken an emotional toll on John, as well. In the end they’d succeeded at their task, but as soon as Sherry received this letter, the power would shift to her. The decision to respond or not respond to John would be hers. This search could still result in a dead end, a possibility that left Nora longing to scribble a note of her own onto the letter. Something along the lines of, John is a good man. He won’t overstep. He simply wants a meeting and a medical history, and he deserves for something to go right at this particular point in his life so please call him. Please do.

  Their best hope was that Sherry had long been interested in reconnecting with her birth son and would thus reply quickly to his letter. Nora hadn’t forgotten, however, that John had told her long ago that he’d checked the registry that connected birth parents who want to locate their adopted children with adopted children who want to locate their birth parents. Sherry had not been listed.

  “I think it’s a wonderful letter,” she said truthfully and passed it back. “In my opinion, you worded it exactly right.”

  He nodded and sealed the envelope’s flap. “Is there a mailbox nearby?”

  “Yes, we have one here at the village. Are you . . . ready to mail it? Right now?” He’d had Sherry’s address in hand for well over a month. For reasons of his own, he’d waited to send his letter, and she didn’t want to rush him at this point. This was a no-going-back kind of letter to mail.

  “I’m ready.”

  “How about I say a prayer over it? To give it a good send-off?”

  “I’d like that.”

  She intertwined her fingers with his. “Lord, prepare Sherry’s heart to receive this letter. Go with it in power. We know that in all things you work for the good of those who love you, so I’m stepping out in faith, believing that John’s search will ultimately be for his good and Sherry’s good, too. Amen.”

  “Amen,” he whispered. He met her eyes. “Thank you.”

  She wrapped a hand around his elbow as they walked to the mailbox situated between The Pie Emporium and the General Store.

  John opened the slot and without hesitation slid the letter in.

  Whoosh. Gone.

  He’d set the ball rolling, and it couldn’t be stopped.

  Text message from Britt to Nora:

  Britt

  I’m racked with curiosity about Willow and Corbin Stewart. There were a lot of sparks in the air between them at Grandma’s party. Do you think we should talk to her about him? Or would that be too painful?

  Nora

  I think we should wait and let her discuss him with us when she’s ready.

  Text message from Willow to Nora:

  Willow

  Are we supposed to go on forever pretending that Zander and Britt are nothing more than friends, simply because the two of them are so bent on pretending? Zander’s unhappy, and it’s starting to make me irritable. Do you think we should talk to Britt? Or would that ruin everything?

  Nora

  I think we should wait and let her discuss him with us when she’s ready.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty

  The next night, John and Nora stood in the parking lot at a restaurant called Gino’s, delaying their good-bye. He had his back up against his Suburban, Nora in his arms. She’d set her feet in between his much larger ones, and he’d tilted his head down to watch her.

  She was finishing a story about her sisters and a prank the three of them had pulled when they were kids. The sound of her voice, her scent, the softness of her body, her smile. All of it was working magic on him.

  After she’d given him a tour of the historical village yesterday, they’d shared a take-out dinner at her house. Today, when he’d offered to drive to Merryweather after work again, she’d volunteered to make the trip to Shore Pine instead. They’d walked down Main Street and back, stopping at each of the stores she’d wanted to visit, then eaten homemade ravioli followed by cheesecake at Gino’s.

  The wind pulled a piece of red hair across her face. Gently, he caught it and smoothed it back as she continued talking.

  I love her, he thought.

  I love her.

  Sometimes, when something was right, you just knew. All those years ago, when his friend had suggested the SEALs to him, it had been the same way. He’d known right away that the SEALs were for him. For the second time in his life, he was experiencing that same unexplainable certainty.

  He’d started falling for Nora the day they’d knocked on doors on Regent Drive and she’d jokingly told him he was as intimidating as a torpedo. His feelings for her had been growing roots ever since, stretching into the corners of him, tunneling so deep they couldn’t be pulled out.

  He’d never loved any of the women he’d dated in the past. He’d liked them. He’d been physically attracted to them. He’d cared. But this was as different from those other times as black from white.

  She finished telling him her story and laughed.

  He smiled at her, emotion gusting through him. He hadn’t cried since he was a child, but tears were threatening at the back of his eyes now, gathering like storm clouds.

  He could feel soul-deep devotion steal over his heart. Hear it in the thundering of his pulse. He lowered his head, pausing when their profiles were just millimeters apart. Her lips came open with a quickly indrawn breath that caused him to groan.

  He closed his eyes and kissed her while need roared through his bloodstream. He held himself ruthlessly in check. She was much smaller than he was, but he was powerfully aware that he was the one completely at her mercy.

  If he had Nora in his life, then no matter what came with his vision or with his search for Sherry, he could face it. Which was why he’d finally been able to mail the letter to Sherry yesterday. He could deal with his future because he’d still have her, the most important thing—


  A warning bell sounded deep within him. It was wrong to rely that much on Nora. On anyone. He needed to watch himself, to make sure he kept God as his most important thing.

  He wrapped his arms more tightly around Nora, drawing her closer, determined to shelter her from the cold and anything else that could ever hurt her.

  The next morning on his way to work, John stopped at a red light and reached into the door pocket next to his seat in search of a scratch piece of paper. He wanted to jot down a reminder about the emergency preparedness presentation he’d be giving to city officials in Chicago in a few weeks.

  He pulled out the first thing he touched and saw that it was the kind of paper sleeve that the teller at the bank gives you when you withdraw cash. His brow furrowed. He couldn’t remember withdrawing cash and putting it there—

  Wait. He flipped it over. On the back he’d written, I noticed that you hadn’t cashed my checks.

  This was the money he’d given Nora. He ran his thumb along the edge of the bills stuffed inside the sleeve. He didn’t have to count them to know that she hadn’t kept a single one.

  The light turned green, and he eased forward. Nora had snuck into his car and left the money in the side pocket for him to eventually find.

  “Nora,” he growled. That stubborn, stubborn, unbelievably stubborn woman. Even as he thought it, though, he wanted to laugh.

  She was about to find out just how stubborn he could be.

  At some point during the first week after they’d become super couple Jora instead of just John and Nora, Nora suggested they take turns planning how they spent their time together. One day, she’d choose what they would do. The next day, he would. It seemed to her like a brain flash. They were very different people with histories and hobbies that hardly overlapped at all. What better way to introduce each other to the things they enjoyed?

  They may have been kissing when Nora suggested the taking turns thing. And the kissing may have made John more amenable to the idea than he would have been otherwise.

  The next day, John took her kayaking.

  “I’m not speedy,” she called to him, “but you have to admit that I’m surprisingly good for a beginner.”

  “You’re very good.”

  To her untrained eye, John could pass for an Olympic kayaker. Seriously. That’s how effortless this appeared to be for him.

  “Although,” she said, “it’s probably pretty hard to fail at sitting in a stable little boat and holding a paddle. All beginner kayakers probably surprise themselves with how good they are.”

  “You’re an excellent beginner.”

  She followed him down a narrow inlet that crooked like a finger away from the hand of Lake Shore Pine. The sound of rippling water filled her ears, and the air smelled like cedar thanks to the fallen tree up the bank on her right.

  She’d tried kayaking once with Grandma when she’d been nine and hated it. Grandma had complained the whole time about how much her bottom hurt due to the hard kayak seat. When Nora had piped up with a complaint about her own uncomfortable bottom, Grandma had given her a sermon about how the Lord hadn’t sent Nora to this earth to be comfortable. Kayaking with John didn’t even belong in the same solar system as kayaking with Grandma.

  Her only small . . . okay, not so small . . . worry was that John would spend his turns taking her on a group of excursions entitled The Things I Always Do With Every Girlfriend.

  He wasn’t, was he?

  Because she didn’t want to go on that particular group of excursions.

  He owned three kayaks and had transported hers to the water with the kind of familiarity that made her think he often let guests borrow them. That thought was immediately chased by images of him kayaking with other women.

  She should let go of her dumb concerns and fully embrace the present. Yet imagining him kayaking these same waters with past girlfriends gnawed at her every time she glanced at John and saw again how painfully handsome he looked in his T-shirt and baseball cap.

  “Did you go kayaking with Allie?” she heard herself ask.

  In response, he immediately dipped an oar and turned his boat diagonally across the water so that he could study her.

  “You did, didn’t you?” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m guessing she wasn’t a beginner and that she was more than surprisingly good.”

  “You’re right.”

  Pain nicked her. It served her right! She shouldn’t have mentioned Allie. A fully confident woman wouldn’t have. It was just that she really didn’t want to become another tally mark on John’s long list of girlfriends.

  “Allie was great at kayaking.” He gave the tip of her boat a tug and slid her in beside him. “But she wasn’t you.”

  The sides of their kayaks bumped. With a huff of startled laughter, Nora caught the lip of his seat to steady herself. She didn’t want the surprisingly good beginner to pitch headfirst into the water right in front of him.

  He looked at her with utter seriousness, as if determined to communicate clearly. “There’s no comparison between the two of you in my mind, Nora. The dullest moment with you—”

  “With me, there’s never a dull moment.” She gave what she hoped to be a persuasive smile.

  “Shut up and let me compliment you.” Humor ghosted across his lips. “The dullest moment with you is one hundred times better than my best moment with any of my past girlfriends.”

  Her heart expanded wildly with joy and hope.

  “I didn’t have a choice about when in my life I’d meet you, Nora. If I’d had a choice, I would have chosen to meet you years ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “Before you, I was making decisions with the information I had available at the time. Now everything’s different. Because of you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Into their second week of dating, John still hadn’t received a response from Sherry.

  When it was Nora’s turn to plan their date, she decided to introduce John (indoctrinate him?) to her love of antique recipes. She pulled her wooden recipe box forward to the edge of her kitchen counter.

  John regarded it like he would a homework assignment. “You’re going to make me cook?”

  She tipped open the lid. “I’m going to do you the honor of letting you cook with me.” Her growing trust in his affection had been bringing out her sassy side. “Might I remind you that your dullest moment with me is one hundred times better than your best moment with your past girlfriends?”

  He slanted a look at her. “Did you memorize what I said?”

  “I memorized it all right.” She slipped out a recipe and handed it to him. “I collect old recipes. All of these were handwritten at least one hundred years ago. Each one is like a time capsule.” She flicked through a few of her scrupulously organized tabs. “I have recipes for a wide variety of things. Punch, soups, dessert, soap, candles.”

  “Have you tried them all?”

  “Every one. Prior to you, I had a lot of time on my hands,” she said dryly. “So? What would you like to make? I’ll let you choose.”

  “Dessert.”

  They studied the dessert recipes one by one. When he came to the one for peach cobbler he held it up. “Now we’re talking.”

  They made a grocery store run, returned to the Bookish Cottage, and scrubbed their hands. Once they had the peaches, sugar, and water simmering in a saucepan, they turned their attention to the all-important pie crust.

  John worked the rolling pin back and forth over the dough the way Nora demonstrated. “I’ve never used a rolling pin before.”

  “Then you’re overdue.”

  “Do I look like a girl?”

  She giggled. “You most definitely do not look like a girl.”

  He dipped his pointer finger in the open sugar bag, then swiped it across her cheekbone.

  “Excuse you!” she protested.

  “Oops,” he said. “My mistake. Let me get that.” He bent his head and k
issed the sugar away.

  She went still, butterflies swarming in her stomach.

  He dipped his finger back into the sugar.

  “That’s unhygienic,” she said weakly.

  “I’ll buy you another bag.”

  “Big spender.”

  He left a trail of sugar crystals along one side of her forehead, then kissed them away.

  “You’re turning out to be . . .” she breathed, “a very good baker.”

  “I never thought I’d like baking.” He swept sugar along the bridge of her nose. His lips followed. “But I do.”

  “I do, too. . . . That is . . . um. I can’t remember what I was saying.”

  His sugar-covered finger glided across her bottom lip. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’m clumsy today.”

  “Unforgivably clumsy,” she managed. Then he kissed the sugar away from her bottom lip, and she knew, she knew with unshakable conviction, that this kiss was sweeter than the sweetest antique recipe for peach cobbler could ever be.

  Into their third week of dating, John still hadn’t received a response from Sherry.

  When it was John’s turn to plan their date, he signed Nora up to volunteer again at one of his emergency training drills. Knowing she was present made running his course graduates through their paces a lot more enjoyable for John.

  Today’s session was taking place on the floor of his building arranged to look like a mall. A wide hallway ran down the center with “stores” located on both sides.

  John followed two of his students into the store Nora had been assigned to. A man and woman stood behind the counter. His trainees led them out.

  Nora, however, was nowhere to be seen. He walked deeper into the space, searching the corners for a small, crouched form. He’d had the sprinklers recalibrated after the last incident, so no water fell today. However, special-effect fog hung in the air just like it had the day they’d met.

  He still didn’t see her. He checked under the cashier’s counter. Empty. He opened one of the closet doors. Empty. He opened the second closet and found her sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, arms locked around them. Her eyes sparkled with challenge. “Well, shucks. It seems your trainees overlooked me yet again.”