by Cindy Kirk
John agreed the combination was “lovely” and “festive.” She decided she may have gone a bit overboard with her effusiveness over the arrangements when she found him staring at her with an odd expression.
“I wish every couple could agree so easily on flowers for their wedding.” The pretty young clerk smiled as she wrote up the order.
Hope thought about reminding the clerk the flowers weren’t for their wedding, a fact that the girl seemed determined to forget, but didn’t see the point.
“Hope and I share similar tastes,” John told the girl. “And interests.”
Hope nodded. He’d spoken the truth. While she’d never been as adventurous as John, they both enjoyed hiking and movies and dancing.
Unlike with Chet, who was happiest entertaining a houseful of people or socializing with a group, it had been the dates with other couples or quiet evenings at home watching movies that she and John had cherished.
Hope signed the order form and frowned. How had she forgotten everything they had in common?
“Is there something wrong with the price?” the clerk asked, two lines creasing her brow. “I gave you the standard discount since Harmony Creek sends business our way.”
Hope shook her head. “No, no. I was thinking of something else.”
“I’m getting hungry,” John said when they exited the shop. “Shall we check out Fatbellies? It’s just down the street.”
Hope wrinkled her nose. “I can’t imagine why Verna would want to take her bridge club to a place with a name like that.”
He laughed and took her arm. It felt so natural to walk beside him on the sidewalks of the town square. Almost like old times when they’d spent most evenings and weekends together. She liked it. Liked it a bit too much.
Hope brought a hand to her head. She was so confused.
Her heart gave a lurch just as her heel caught on an uneven piece of concrete.
John’s hand tightened on her arm and he steadied her. “Whoa. Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “I don’t know what to do about everything that’s happened between us.”
They reached the café, but he kept walking.
“You’re referring to us being married.”
“I’m referring to everything. Finding out we’re still married, sleeping together, how I feel when I’m with you.”
She hadn’t meant to include that last part, but it was definitely part of the picture.
They strolled in silence for several long seconds.
“When I spoke with Dan Sullivan—”
“You spoke with Pastor Dan?”
“Like you, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
Hope remembered her aunt suggesting they visit with the pastor but hadn’t given it serious consideration. While she liked and admired the minister, she was embarrassed to talk about how irresponsible she’d been. Or maybe, she admitted, to have him say things she didn’t want—or wasn’t ready—to hear.
“What did you think of him?”
“I’d met Dan before on a few occasions, but I didn’t really know him.” John paused near an ornate wrought-iron bench at the edge of the sidewalk. “I like the guy. Oddly enough, he went to seminary with the pastor of the church I attended in Portland. Just goes to show it’s a small world.”
“You had a church you attended?”
“That surprises you?”
“It does.”
“We used to go to church together back in high school,” he reminded her.
It was another thing she’d forgotten.
“The pastor and I talked about there being a time or a season for everything. Back when we got married might not have been our time. We needed to grow up, to mature, to become the people we were meant to be.”
Hope considered, nodded.
“But this is a different season in our lives. And, while it’s impossible to know why, we find ourselves still married. Is this part of some eternal plan? While it may not fit into our goals, it may be part of God’s plan for us.”
“Dan thinks we should stay married, give it a shot.” Hope emitted a dry chuckle. “It doesn’t surprise me. I can’t imagine him pushing for divorce.”
“I want to make our marriage work.” John stopped and turned to face her on the sidewalk. “I meant the vows I said to you that day. I meant every word inscribed in this ring.”
John reached into his pocket and held out the vintage band in white gold.
He’d kept it. The ring he’d placed on her finger, the one she insisted he take back on the drive home. She didn’t need to look at the inscription. Every word was etched on her heart.
From every valley to every summit, faithfully yours forever
She stared down at the ring. Tried unsuccessfully again to think of the list she’d methodically composed that morning.
“I-I made up a list this morning.” She forced the words past her dry throat. “With some rules and an implementation plan should we decide to consider taking this route.”
“I know you’re a planner and very detail-oriented.” A slight smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Those are wonderful qualities, especially for a CPA. But this time, I propose we simply take it a day at a time. No list to follow. No formal plan. No rules. Just get to know each other again and make the success of our marriage a priority. I believe it will be worth the effort.”
His eyes held a questioning glint.
“If we do this,” she said, “this time I won’t say ‘I love you’ until I’m certain that I do. I won’t put this ring on my finger until I know I want to be with you forever.”
She’d offered the words of love so freely last time. Too freely. It had led to their getting married before either had been ready for such a commitment. All this pain and heartache might have been avoided if she’d kept her emotions under control until she’d been absolutely sure of her feelings.
“Understood.” John slipped the ring back in his pocket. “But I promise you, I’m going to do everything in my power to make you fall in love with me again.”
Hope studied the menu at Fatbellies. Because of the name, she’d anticipated mostly high-calorie, high-fat entrées. Surprisingly, the bistro menu held a number of relatively healthy options.
The waitress had just brought their drinks when Amity sauntered in. Her friend’s eyes lit up when she spotted Hope and John.
“Amity is headed this way,” Hope said to John, then lifted her hand in a friendly wave.
John put down his menu and stood when Amity reached the table.
“This is a treat. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Amity exclaimed. She cast a friendly glance in John’s direction. “Always a pleasure to see a handsome guy.”
John grinned. “Won’t you join us?”
“I don’t want to intrude.” Amity brought a long nail to her lips, the hot pink perfectly matching one of the colors in the fringed kimono top she wore over black leggings. “Everyone has been raving about the Bellyburgers here so I thought I’d pop by and get one to go.”
“Stay,” Hope urged. “Eat with us.”
If she and John were going to try to make their marriage work, socializing with friends would be part of the plan.
“Since you insist.” Amity slid into a chair across from Hope and cast John a curious glance, and Hope began to fill her friend in on the details of her wedding. When Hope told her about their teenage elopement, Amity sat slack-jawed and demanded to know every “scandalous” detail.
The waitress had just brought Amity a menu and a glass of iced tea when Pastor Dan strolled through the door.
Interest flared in Amity’s eyes when the minister caught sight of them and started over. “Who’s Mr. Hunky? He looks familiar. Was he at the soup supper?”
Hope didn’t have time to reply before Dan was at the table.
John rose to shake his hand. “Good to see you.”
“I decided it was time to check out the Bellyburgers everyone is talking about,�
�� the pastor said.
“That’s why I’m here too.” Amity gazed at Dan through lowered lashes. “Will you be taking one home to your wife?”
Hope recognized the predatory gleam in her friend’s eyes. She stifled a groan. The pastor might not know it yet, but he was in Amity’s crosshairs.
“I’m not married,” Dan said with an easy smile.
“In that case”—Amity gestured to the empty chair—“join us.”
“I don’t want to intrude—”
“Don’t worry your gorgeous head about that,” Amity told him. “I already intruded on Hope and John’s little tête-à-tête. What’s one more interloper?”
Dan laughed. “When you put it that way . . .”
The minister—looking very un-ministerial in jeans and a chambray shirt—took a seat, and this time it was John who performed the introductions. Hope wondered if the omission of “pastor” was deliberate or an oversight.
The waitress took their orders, and Amity’s gaze remained focused on Dan. She tilted her head. “I was certain I knew every handsome man in this town. How did you escape my notice?”
“I thought I knew every beautiful woman,” Dan returned. “How did you escape my notice?”
“I like your style.” Amity batted her long, dark lashes at him. “Do you like to dance?”
“I do.”
“There’s a street dance this coming Saturday night,” she told him. “Part of the Harvest Festival. I think it’d be fun if the four of us went together. Unless you have a girlfriend. Five would definitely be a crowd.”
“No girlfriend.” Dan cocked a brow. “What about you?”
Amity laughed. “No girlfriend for me, either.”
“What about a boyfriend?”
Hope’s friend tossed her head, sending those dark curls cascading down her back. “I know you’ll find this impossible to believe, but I’m completely unencumbered at the moment.”
“Lucky for me,” Dan murmured.
“Totally lucky for you,” Amity agreed. She shifted her gaze to Hope.
Hope could see the question in her gaze.
“Sounds like fun.” She turned toward John.
“It’s a date,” John said.
The waitress delivered the food and Amity was halfway through her burger when a thought seemed to strike her. She ignored the question Hope had just asked about an upcoming wedding she was planning and fixed her gaze on Dan.
“I don’t believe you told me what you do for a living.”
He smiled, dipped a fry into a mound of ketchup. “I don’t believe you asked.”
“You’re going to make me guess.” A smile crossed her lips. “I love guessing games. I’m really good at them.”
Hope and John exchanged a quick, significant glance and smiled.
Amity went through a number of occupations, then scowled in frustration. “Okay, I give up. Tell me.”
“I’m a minister.”
“Har-har.” Amity rolled her eyes and stole one of his fries.
“He’s giving it to you straight,” Hope told her friend. “Dan is the minister at my church.”
“Get out of here.” Amity’s startled look changed to amusement. “I’ve never had the hots for a preacher before.”
Hope wished she could clap her hand over Amity’s mouth before she dug herself into a deeper hole, but Dan only grinned.
John leaned close to Hope’s ear. “Something tells me Saturday night will be an experience we won’t soon forget.”
John had barely pulled the Harley into the driveway and was feeling pretty jazzed about the day when Hope casually mentioned needing to cancel her date with Chet. Apparently they’d discussed attending the Harvest Festival together.
Chet had been a few years ahead of him in school, and while they’d been on several sports teams together, they’d never been friends. John could see where that kind of man might appeal to Hope.
Financially secure. Stable. Conservative.
The perfect trifecta.
But Hope was married to him. There was no doubt in John’s mind that he loved Hope more than Chet ever could. But that didn’t mean their marriage was out of the woods yet.
Hope had made it clear she didn’t want to love him. He had the feeling she didn’t trust him either. How could she? He’d taken off as soon as things got tough.
One thing was certain. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Hope’s conversation with Chet was unraveling, as she’d expected. When she told him she was committed to making her marriage work, which meant they wouldn’t be able to see each other anymore, there’d been stunned silence on the phone.
“Do you love him?” Chet asked.
“I did ten years ago, but we’ve been apart ever since,” Hope reminded him. “I don’t know what I feel.”
“You were a child when you married him. At that age you’re still trying to discover who you are.” He spoke in that dismissive tone he used when her opinion differed from his. “Now you’re an intelligent woman with a lot going for you. You could have any man you wanted.”
Hope gave a little laugh. While flattering, it wasn’t necessarily true. Besides, it didn’t matter. “John and I are legally married. We spoke vows. I have to try to make the marriage succeed.”
“You’re smarter than this,” Chet said softly, reverting to his persuasive tone. “Simply because you chose unwisely when you were eighteen doesn’t mean you should compound the mistake by sticking with someone you don’t love now.”
Hope noticed he’d automatically assumed she didn’t love John. Irritation bubbled up. How could Chet know what she felt? While she preferred not to delve too deep into her emotions right now, she’d always had feelings for John, she’d simply buried them.
With a calm she didn’t feel, Hope attempted to explain that John was a fine man and they had much in common. But she’d barely started to make her point when Chet interrupted.
“Staying shackled to this man makes no sense at all.” Chet’s voice rose with each word. “How can you even think of tossing over someone like me, who might one day be a U.S. senator, whose family is one of the most influential in the state, for a guy who welds metal? You won’t be happy with him. How can you be? He’s inferior to you in every way.”
“Tread carefully here,” Hope warned. “You’re speaking about my husband.”
“I’m so much more than him.”
Hope suddenly understood why she’d never wanted Chet as a steady boyfriend. Chet thought more of himself than he did her. While she believed he liked her and genuinely enjoyed her company, deep down it had always been about him. What he wanted. What he thought.
Chet was competitive. The fact that she hadn’t been interested in an exclusive relationship with him had only fueled his desire for her. For him, it was all about winning. Her reluctance to tie herself to him had been an obstacle for him to overcome.
Her choosing John over him was like throwing a red flag in front of a bull. He wanted her even more now, simply because he couldn’t have her.
Hope let him rant for several more seconds, then abruptly ended the call, wishing him only the best in the future, but making it clear she wasn’t interested in hearing from him again.
For a minute, she remained seated, waiting for the tiniest hint of sadness to surface. She felt nothing but relief. She stood and moved to her closet.
Excitement coursed through her as she stared at the clothes and contemplated what she would wear to the Harvest Festival and her date with John.
On Saturday, Hope dressed carefully in skinny jeans, heeled boots, and a fluffy sweater the color of mint. Expert use of the curling iron had her normally straight hair falling in gentle waves. She knew from past experience the soft curls wouldn’t last. Fifteen minutes in a light breeze was all it would take to undo her work. Still, she wanted to look good when John first saw her.
With that thought in mind, she took extra time with her makeup. She applied smoky gray eye shadow and t
hree coats of mascara with a deft hand. Then, in seconds, her lips became a glossy sheen of coral.
When she was satisfied she looked her best, Hope grabbed her brown peacoat. She scooped up a cashmere scarf in autumn shades of gold, pumpkin, and russet before heading downstairs. She found Aunt Verna and John at the kitchen table.
John had gone casual, in jeans and a navy sweater that made his eyes look the color of the ocean. Normally she’d compare them to the sky, but it had been cloudy and overcast all day and the afternoon had felt more like true fall than the Indian summer weather they’d been enjoying.
Hope loved the slight bite to the air. While Aunt Verna dreaded the approach of winter, Hope looked forward to it. She couldn’t wait to sit in front of a roaring fire, a cup of hot cocoa in one hand, with snow falling gently outside the window.
Both John and Verna looked up when she entered.
John’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Hey, beautiful.”
Yes, the time with the curling iron had been worth the effort. Hope smiled, unable to stop the ripple of pleasure. Feeling smug, she crossed to the table, to the open laptop Aunt Verna and John had been studying.
“What are you two working on?” she asked, peering over her aunt’s shoulder.
“Invitations to Luke and Laura’s wedding,” John said.
Hope looked at the date Verna had plugged in and pulled her brows together. “The wedding is less than two months away. The invitations should already be in the mail.”
“I had to confirm the date with Pastor Dan first.” Verna gave a little shrug. “This will be a small ceremony, so it’s not as essential they go out so far in advance.”
“Even after you order,” Hope began, “it will take time to get them, then address—”
“Under control.” Verna patted Hope’s hand. “I’ll get expedited shipping. Trust me. Everything is proceeding exactly as I hoped.”