It's Always Been You (Seasons of Hope Book 4)

by Jessica R. Patch

  Well, that wasn’t true. Ezra coming back to Mistletoe had done that. Or at least brought them to the surface; the kiss had lanced the festering pain. Now, it oozed all over, and Sierra wasn’t sure how to tend it. Other than prayer, but even prayer hadn’t wholly taken away the ache—even if she did find some peace and comfort in those moments.

  Ezra was right about one thing. Sierra could make her own choices. She’d dreamed about traveling the world by his side. Imagined a life together. It was easy to feel bold and confident when she was alone with her dreams. When she was absorbed in worship and could actually feel the presence of God, she was fearless. But she didn’t always feel that kind of courage, and when it came down to the wire, she let fear cripple her.

  Mom had asked her to wait until she’d finished culinary school to marry Ezra, and she jumped onboard—not because it was what she wanted but she could hide behind it. Not take that chance. That risk. Not have to face that fear.

  She’d let herself down. Ezra down. God down.

  Messed up the plan. And guilt ate at her mercilessly. She’d battled it daily.

  “I liked the double fudge chocolate,” Ansel offered. Hallelujah he spoke!

  “Great.” Sierra turned to Cynthia Herron, owner of the bakery. “We’ll take that for the groom’s cake. As for the wedding cake…” She frowned. “Ezra? Care to throw in some input.”

  “No. I’m not the bride. Besides, cake is cake. You’re going to shove it in each other’s mouth, barely taste it, and move on to garters and bouquets being tossed. A year later, you’ll pull it out of the freezer and turn your noses up because, let’s be honest, frozen cake—a year old frozen cake—is disgusting.”

  Sierra folded her arms across her chest. “For an artist, I expected you to be more romantic. Not cynical.”

  “Not cynical. Realistic. Freezer-burned cake does not a romantic marriage make.” Ezra’s eyes darkened as he peered into Sierra’s. His tone turned husky. “It’s the memories behind the cake. The day that surrounded the cake. The people that gathered to eat the cake. It’s about the beauty of the cake. The way sugar and vanilla remind you of a cherished moment and take you back to the icing-laced kiss and crowds applauding and laughing over love. So who cares what flavor you pick, Sierra. Romantic enough for you?”

  She held in a dreamy sigh. Yes, quite.

  Jemma leaned into Ansel, and he squeezed her shoulder. “Ezra’s right, Sierra. It doesn’t matter what flavor. Pick whatever. White. Red velvet. Chocolate. We don’t care.”

  Great. Ezra had turned Jemma love-sick with his poetic words, and she missed the whole point. It didn’t matter but she still needed to choose. Sierra turned to Ezra.

  Ezra’s mouth quirked. “I pick white.”

  Sierra blinked. Of course he did. He loved white. It represented a clean slate. A blank canvas. A new beginning. She choked back tears. “White it is, Cynthia,” she said as she worked to read Ezra’s thoughts, wondering if he was feeling the same tender yet intense emotions that radiated through her chest. “White is perfect.”

  “White is perfect.” His eyes arrested hers as a sizzle charged the air.

  He lightly brushed a bottom strand of her hair between his fingers.

  Jemma broke the heat. “Great. You think Cassie will design the cake topper or should Audrey top it with flowers? I kind of like flowers.”

  Sierra shook the moment from her head and struggled for words. “Flowers would be gorgeous. We’ll talk to her this afternoon.”

  They finished up at the bakery, and Sierra left them to go to worship team practice at the church. After practice, she grabbed a few wedding magazines that held reception menus along with her iPad and headed for the lake.

  She dangled her feet over the pier as she made mental notes. “Hey, Miss Bradley!”

  Greta Cannery, her boyfriend Corey Phillips, and a few other high school kids, including Brett Minor, waved from a pontoon boat. That kid had pranks written all over him. “Hi Greta.” She waved back. “You guys know anything about my house being up for sale?”

  “Can’t say,” Brett called.

  She just bet.

  “You take it off the market?” he asked.

  “I think we both know I never put it on the market, Mr. Minor.”

  They eased across the lake, leaving only laughter in their wake.

  Sierra immersed herself in Pinterest ideas and magazine articles.

  “Talk about zoned out.” Ezra’s voice wrenched her from the magazines. He rowed a canoe about ten feet away. “I called your name twice.”

  She studied the boat, his hands gripping the oars. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like? I’m row, row, rowing my boat.” He winked and rowed toward her, his muscles flexing with each stroke.

  “What are you really up to?” Sierra asked.

  “I’m heading over to the south side of the lake. I want to sketch the water lilies.”

  “Getting your Monet on?”

  He chuckled. “Don’t knock Claude Monet. He cornered the market on water lilies.”

  Sierra snorted. “Well, have fun.” It was a gorgeous area of the lake. If anyone could re-create it on paper, it would be Ezra. In fact, he’d sketched it a few times when they were teenagers.

  “Wanna come? I hear you’re not supposed be out on the water alone, especially when the sun starts to set.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I don’t know. But it has to be true, right?” He patted the seat across from him. “Come on. No nostalgia. Just a…I don’t know…a not so lonely venture.” Was he lonely? Sierra was.

  She toyed with the idea. Last time he coaxed her into a venture on the lake, they’d ended up covered in mosquito bites. A midnight outing to catch lightning bugs under the stars. A blanket. A few intense kisses. And a billion bug bites.

  So much for no nostalgia. Memories were imprinted everywhere. Could she get in this boat and simply be friends? After that kiss in the woods? After what it did to her? Her brain kept her feet planted on the pier, but her heart begged her to leap into the boat.

  She’d missed their friendship over the years. Never had one quite like it.

  Ezra dug into a tackle box and held up a can. “I’ve wised up in my old age.”

  Bug spray.

  “Also, I’m terrified of getting West Nile.” He reached for her hand.

  She chided herself as she took it. This was a big, fat stupid mistake.

  Loneliness won out, though.

  “Heard you took your house off the market.”

  “Ha. Ha. I just had words with that Minor boy. He didn’t admit nor deny that he had something to do with it. I know he did, though. It was in the eyes.” She stepped into the canoe, the water rippling as it rocked from her weight. “And I’m afraid of West Nile, too, so spray me up.”

  They coated themselves with mosquito repellent, and Ezra resumed rowing toward the south side of the lake. “We could get him back.”

  Not a bad idea. The little prankster. “You have a lantern with you? It’s going to be dark soon.”

  “You think I’d remember bug spray but forget a lantern?” He tsked her. “Where’s your faith, Sierra Bradley?”

  Tucked into the folds of fear.

  She settled onto the bench and inhaled the pine air mixed with lake water. “I love summer.”

  “Me, too. I forgot how much I missed this lake.” He scanned the woods, the sky…Sierra.

  They’d shared their first kiss in these waters.

  Ezra’s sight flitted to her lips, sending a tingle into them, and a wild flutter into her belly. The sky streaked with purple, pink, and blue. A breeze tickled her skin, rustled her hair.

  A mosquito bit her ankle.

  She sighed. “So tell me about Adah. I haven’t talked to her since she moved to California. She doesn’t post much on Facebook. I’ve stalked her page.”

  Ezra smiled that sweet close-lipped smile, as if wanting to hide his perfectly straight
, white teeth. “She does a lot of double shifts at the hospital, and when she’s not working hard she’s catching up on playing hard.”

  Nodding, Sierra let her fingers skim the water while Ezra rowed like he’d done it his entire life. Not even winded.

  The cool water tickled her fingertips. “I remember the first day I saw you in church. I was shocked.”

  He laughed. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. You were always so mysterious. Sitting in class alone drawing.”

  “Drawing you.”

  “You know, now that I’m an adult and look back, I should have been creeped out by that, not flattered. Of course, CSI hadn’t come out on TV then either.”

  “Difference between stalking someone and being drawn to them.” His soft voice carried above a whisper.

  “Fine line,” she taunted. “You better not have pictures of me lining the walls of a room in your house.”

  “Caught me.” He arched an eyebrow and held her gaze.

  One beat passed.

  Two…four.

  “I liked church,” he said. “It was peaceful, and my grandparents loved it, and I loved them. And the added bonus was you were there. I, unlike you, wasn’t shocked at all. It made sense.”

  Sierra dried her wet fingertips on her shorts. “Have you stayed in church all these years, Ezra?”

  “Off and on. I never lost my faith. Can’t say it hasn’t been shaky at times. But I can’t come out here or paint and not be convinced that God exists. There’s too much beauty…too much of life I don’t understand as well. Everything makes more sense under a paintbrush.” He covered his bare arms with another coat of spray then offered it to Sierra again.

  She added another layer to her arms and legs, concentrating on her ankles. “Are you happy with where life has brought you?”

  He inhaled deep and exhaled. “At times. I have an opportunity to help other young artists showcase their work and make their mark on the world. It feels good to give back in that way, and this opportunity to teach in France is a once in a lifetime kind of thing—a real honor. But I’ve had to make some sacrifices.”

  Had Sierra made any sacrifices in her life?

  No.

  “What kind?” Guilt knotted her chest. She never took chances that required giving up much of anything. Her choice to stay behind wasn’t a sacrifice. It was safety. Staying in the realm of the known. Refusing to forfeit fear.

  “I don’t paint as much. I’m tied up in the business side. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it. How much of a release it was for me until I came here. I love sketching, but it isn’t the same.”

  “No, I imagine not.”

  Ezra leaned forward. “I’ve given up seeing my family to build my dreams as an artist. I regret it at times. I should have been here more for Jemma and Adah. Maybe they wouldn’t play so hard, ya know?” Deep creases rippled across his brow. Same face when he felt upset, angry, or worried. So many times, Sierra had traced that line, smoothing it out with her fingertips.

  Not anymore.

  “You’re here now.”

  Ezra gripped the oars and sighed. “For a few weeks. Long enough to lay down some green for Jemma’s wedding. She didn’t even ask me to give her away.”

  “You’re a groomsman. You can’t do both.”

  “Pity groomsman. I barely know Ansel. Uncle Charlie is flying in with Adah to give her away. Kind of feels like a slap.”

  “Who knows, she may change her mind before it’s all said and done. Although, once we nail down the reception menu, I’m holding her to it. She gives me whiplash. Eden said she’s one more ‘I don’t care’ away from throwing in the towel. But I know Eden, when she commits, she’s in for the long haul.”

  “I guess you’d have to be when you marry a man like Knox.”

  “He’s not the same. It’s crazy what kind of changes God can make in your life.” She shook her head. “I envy Eden.”

  “Got it bad for Knox, do you?”

  She laughed. “No way. I’ve never been one for the bad boy. I’m a sucker for the nice guy.”

  “So why didn’t you make a play for the pastor?” He darted his sight behind them and continued rowing.

  “Who says I didn’t?” She raised her eyebrows.

  He paused mid-row then chuckled. “What happened? You and Audrey mud wrestle for him?”

  “Ha. Ha. No, that’s what Knox would have required if we were after him.” She laughed. “That was mean.”

  “That was funny and probably accurate.”

  True. Sierra shifted in her seat. “Gabe wasn’t worth a fight. That sounds terrible, doesn’t it? I guess what I mean is I didn’t feel about him like Audrey felt. She would have mud wrestled for him.” She’d sacrificed. Gave him up for his calling to the church. “I wouldn’t have even arm wrestled.”

  Ezra stared off in the distance. “You didn’t care enough to sacrifice for him. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “I…”

  “Am back to pronouns.” He smirked, but hurt slid across his face.

  It wasn’t about not loving Ezra. She’d never convince him, though. She all but just said she didn’t love him enough to sacrifice and go to France. He was right. But he was also wrong.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sierra climbed out of Cassie’s truck after they parked by Eden’s garage. “I’m not a painter. Just ask Ezra. I can’t believe you roped me into this.” But not really. Again, Sierra couldn’t tell Cassie no. Not like Cassie would let her anyway. She scratched her ankle that had been eaten up by mosquitoes the other night.

  “This isn’t Picasso. It’s slapping some paint on a door. It doesn’t need to be perfect.”

  Sierra had helped Cassie remove Jax’s shed doors to use as a wedding prop. They were going to paint and distress them; Sierra had zero experience and wasn’t even sure why they had to do it at Knox’s place, but something told her not to inquire. Just do as she was told.

  “You buy the white tulle yet?” Sierra asked.

  “Of course. Unlike the bride, I’m on top of things. Great idea by the way. Once we line the trees with the tulle and place the doors in the center, she’ll be hidden from guests and the groom.”

  “You figure out a way to hang lights over the tulle?”

  “No. But I will.”

  Knox headed their way, along with Ezra. “What’s Ezra doing here? And where’s Eden?”

  Cassie waved. “I don’t know about Ezra, but Eden had some work to do at the Hope Center.”

  Sierra was amazed how much good had come from turning the old bar into a place for families in need, counseling, and free medical exams. “What are you ladies up to?” Knox still had swagger, it showed in his walk, while Ezra had more of an easy, confident stride. Sierra preferred the confident stride over the swagger. She doubted Knox even realized or meant it. Some things just didn’t change.

  “We’re storing doors here, and we need the cover of your garage to paint them.”

  “It’s a work barn not a garage,” Knox countered.

  “Then why do you park vehicles in it?” Cassie asked. “Exactly.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you store them in your garage?”

  “Did you not hear a word I said?” Cassie huffed.

  “Everyone hears what you say; no one understands the babble. And we can’t read between your lines.” Knox rubbed the scruff on his chin. A tattoo poked out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.

  “We need to paint them…without Jax knowing,” she muttered.

  “Ah, now that makes more sense.”

  Great. Sierra was now an accessory to theft or something or other. She looked at Ezra. “What brings you over here?”

  “Summer scrimmage. That I turned down.”

  “Dean is having knee surgery on Tuesday. We don’t need an athlete. Just a warm body.” Knox slid a door from Cassie’s truck and leaned it against the back wall in his barn-garage.

  “Can you see why I refused after an offer
like that?” Ezra’s tone sounded wooden, but amusement and humor flickered in his eyes. It was clear he liked Knox.

  “Yeah, he’s practically begging,” Cassie noted.

  “I am begging.” Knox grabbed the other door and carried it into the barn. “We’ll have to forfeit. Do I look like a man who forfeits?”

  No. He looked like a man who got his way through persuasion or coercion, whichever did the trick. But Ezra was never into sports.

  “Anything else you need hidden in my barn?” Knox brushed his hands on his jeans then shoved Cassie’s head in a brotherly fashion, sending her stumbling backward.

  “You mean your garage? No.” Cassie gave him a flat look and focused on Ezra. “So you’re not going to play? Me and Audrey have new cheers ready to go. You can’t say no. We can’t forfeit.”

  “All you have to do is stand in the outfield.” Knox grinned and scanned Ezra. Today, he’d chosen black framed retro glasses instead of contacts, a checkered shirt that cuffed at the elbows and skinny jeans and Converse. “And look pretty.”

  “Fine.”

  Knox had trapped him with the man-card.

  “But only because you recognize I’m pretty,” Ezra ribbed. “And I’m a fan of girls with pom-poms and cheers.”

  Since when?

  Knox laughed, rough, raspy. Still looked like the playboy he once was. Cocky grin on his face and eyes that made women swoon.

  “Knox!” Eli hollered. “Rachel’s awake and crying. She feels kinda hot.”

  Mr.-Playboy-face was wiped out in .2 seconds and Daddy-face kicked into gear as he raced across the yard. That was the Knox Sierra was comfortable around.

  “See you on the field. If you need a glove, grab one from my barn.”

  “Garage!” Cassie yelled back.

  “Shut up, Cassie!” Knox countered and sprinted inside the house.

  She beamed and raised her hands as she looked at Ezra. “Rah, rah, ree!”

  Jax’s truck ripped into the drive, leaving a cloud of dust. He jumped out and stomped toward the barn. “We’ve been hit! Those little pranksters got us.”

  “They put your house up for sale?” Sierra asked. Surely, those crazy seniors wouldn’t mess with Jax Woodall.