by Becky Wade
“Corbin offered to donate two hundred thousand dollars to Benevolence Worldwide if you went on a date with him, and you turned him down?” Britt asked.
“You can bet he has accountants working for him and that he donates large sums of money every year for tax purposes. It’s not like he was going to give anything to Benevolence that he wasn’t already planning to spend on charitable causes.” Willow could hear a note of uncertainty in her own voice.
The Bradford sisters had convened for a post-lunch dessert break at Britt’s chocolate shop, Sweet Art. They were sitting on barstools that cozied up to a plank of wood mounted against the shop’s interior walls. A view of Merryweather Historical Village filled the window before them.
“It may not mean much to Corbin to give to Benevolence,” Nora said. “But think about what it would mean to Benevolence to receive that sum of money.”
“Exactly!” Britt said. “Think of the orphans.”
“I have been,” Willow admitted. “Ever since I turned him down yesterday, I’ve been second-guessing myself.”
“Eat chocolate.” Britt scooted the plate, which once held nine chocolates and now held three, in Willow’s direction. “Chocolate helps clarify thinking.”
Willow selected a round milk chocolate capped with chocolate sprinkles.
“Why are you so reluctant to go on a date with Corbin?” Nora asked.
Willow turned her chocolate by degrees until it completed a full revolution. “In large part because I can’t really . . . trust myself with him.”
Nora and Britt considered her.
“Why?” Britt asked.
“I have a feeling that we don’t know the whole story,” Nora said slowly. “About your relationship with Corbin and your breakup.”
Britt flattened her palms on the bar top and leaned forward. “Tell us the whole story! How are we supposed to discuss Corbin over chocolate if we don’t know the whole story?”
Willow’s pulse began to thud. “I’m ashamed of the full story.”
Britt’s eyes rounded. “Well, now you’re definitely going to have to spill the beans.”
“It’s just us,” Nora said gently. “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of with us.”
“I do, actually.” Willow fussed with one of her bracelets, then the next, then the next. Why was it so hard to speak the things you regretted out loud? Pride, she supposed.
She liked that her younger sisters viewed her as infallible. At least she’d liked it back when she’d viewed herself as infallible, too. For the last four years, the gap between how her family saw her and reality had weighed on her.
Fake perfection was tiring. The mistakes you didn’t confess accumulated more and more mass over time. No one ministered to you because you were busy broadcasting the fact that you didn’t need ministering to.
She was done with fake perfection. She was as fallible and sinful as anyone. “You both know about the TV interview Corbin gave and the photograph that was published of him with another woman at a nightclub.”
They nodded. “That’s why you broke up with him, right?” Britt asked.
“That’s partly why I broke up with him.” Willow twined her hands tightly in her lap to steady herself and told them the rest. The pregnancy scare. Her phone call to Corbin. Her remorse.
She braced herself to see disappointment on her sisters’ faces. Or disillusionment. But she didn’t. She only saw empathy. “Do you think less of me?” she asked when she’d related everything.
“No,” Nora said at once, an ocean of kindness in the word. “We love you, and nothing could ever change that.”
“I’ve messed up a bunch,” Britt said. “You’ve shown me grace about a million times, Willow.”
Both sisters stood to give her a hug. Willow kept tears at bay as she embraced each of them in turn. Nora and Britt felt so familiar; their arms, their hair. They still carried the sweet smell that had always belonged to each of them. Her sisters.
When they were all back on their bar stools, Willow realized that she felt emptied out inside, in a good way. As though she could breathe more deeply.
She ate her chocolate in two bites. Its rich, velvety texture flowed into her mouth like a cloud into the horizon. “So,” she dabbed her lips with her napkin, “my problem with Corbin is twofold. I can’t trust him. And I can’t trust myself around him, either.”
“The way I see it,” Britt said, “he’s asking for a date. A date doesn’t have to include a kiss or hand-holding or any of it. Essentially, if you agree to a date, you’ll just be agreeing to spend time with him. A date doesn’t have to be catastrophic, does it?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Willow answered. “I guess I’m just concerned about the path that one date could set us on.”
“I think it’s wise to be careful,” Nora said.
Willow thought about the orphans.
“Have you two talked about what happened four years ago?” Nora asked.
“Yes.”
“Has Corbin apologized?”
Willow nodded.
“And?” Britt prompted.
Willow took a sip of ice water. “And I told him I forgive him, but the truth is that I’m still working on it. Even if I can forgive him, that doesn’t mean that I should trust him a second time. It’s not like he’s the one for me.”
“Is it possible that he is the one for you, but the timing was just wrong the last time?” Britt asked.
“In my opinion the timing was perfect the last time,” Willow answered.
“The timing might’ve been perfect for you,” Britt said. “But maybe God needed more time to work on Corbin.”
Willow had been certain that Corbin was the one for her, and then she’d been certain that he wasn’t. After all that, was there any chance that he was the right man for her after all?
No.
He couldn’t be the one. . . .
Could he?
“I’m leaving Merryweather in less than a month,” Willow said. “Now is not the time to acquire a boyfriend.”
Text message from Willow to Nora:
Willow
I just realized how you can help me, research-wise, with Operation Find Josephine. You game?
Nora
Yes, ma’am.
Willow
I’m wondering what vacation properties Senator Foster Holt owned in 1977. Is that information a matter of public record?
Nora
Yes. It’ll take some digging, but that information can be found.
Willow
Thank you! I’m now the one who will owe YOU Ben & Jerry’s.
Email from Willow’s friend at Benevolence Worldwide to Willow:
Hi, Willow!
I hope you’re still enjoying your stay in Washington and that the rainy weather there hasn’t washed you away quite yet.
Listen, I heard that Corbin Stewart made a donation of two hundred thousand dollars to Benevolence and that he’s pledged to give eight hundred thousand more over the next eighteen months. I remember that the two of you dated once, and I know he’s living in Washington at the moment. So I’m dying to know . . . does this donation have anything to do with you?
If so, thank you! We’re all thrilled. The entire office celebrated his donation yesterday with cinnamon rolls.
Chapter
Fifteen
Willow groaned, squeezed her eyes shut, and rested her forehead on the upper tip of her laptop’s screen after reading the email from her friend who worked for Benevolence. She clunked her forehead on the smooth metal a few more times for good measure.
She’d managed to withstand Corbin’s attempt to blackmail her into a date with a donation to Benevolence. But now he’d gone and quietly donated to Benevolence anyway, plus pledged much more to the charity besides—without telling her. Without expecting anything in return. Which indicated that he might just be a redeemable human being, after all.
It would be churlish to refuse to go on a date with him now, consi
dering the magnitude of what he’d just done for the organization she loved and had been pouring herself into for years.
It wasn’t as if one date could put her chastity at risk. Was chastity even a term she could associate with herself at this point? Or had she spent all her chastity on Corbin way back when?
It seemed, suddenly, that she’d gone a little overboard with caution. If he could give a million dollars to Benevolence Worldwide, then she could go on a date with him.
Something that felt like relief smoothed the worry lines from her face. Relief? It couldn’t be relief. But it was a strange sort of relief to know that for the next little while she wouldn’t have to battle inwardly.
He’d finally given her a good reason to say what a dangerous part of her—the part that had motivated her to swim in the inlet—had been wanting to say.
Yes.
Any chance you’ve reconsidered my invitation to go on a date? Corbin texted Willow later that night.
He reclined on his sofa watching football, his phone on his chest, as he waited for her answer.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then forty-five. The longer his phone stayed silent, the more optimistic he became. When a full hour had passed, he sat up and dialed her number.
“Hello?” she said.
“You didn’t immediately say no to my text. Which has made me hope that you might actually be reconsidering my invitation to go on a date.”
“I heard a rumor, Corbin.”
“What rumor?”
“A rumor that you didn’t tear up that check for Benevolence. That you sent it in instead.”
“You weren’t supposed to know about that.”
“But I do.” A pause. “That was surprisingly decent of you.”
“Maybe I should put that on my business cards. Corbin Stewart. Surprisingly Decent.”
She gave a soft huff of laughter.
He moved to the sofa’s front edge, sitting up straight, waiting. C’mon, Willow. C’mon.
“Thank you for donating. That money will make a big difference to a lot of kids.”
“You’re welcome. Are you finally willing to go out with me?” C’mon.
“Well, in light of your generosity, one date seems like the least the Benevolence Worldwide children and I can do.”
“I’m happy for the Benevolence Worldwide children and all. But can you leave them at home when we go on our date?”
“If you insist.”
“I do. I’ll pick you up at noon on Saturday.”
“Noon? I was expecting you to pick me up around seven p.m.”
“You’ve only agreed to go on one date with me, so I’m planning a very, very long date.”
“Heaven help me,” she murmured.
“Don’t eat before I pick you up. I’ll feed you.”
“You better.”
“Dress casually.”
“If you want me to dress casually because we’re doing something outside, I feel inclined to warn you that the forecast calls for rain.”
“It won’t rain. It wouldn’t dare.”
When they hung up, he pushed to standing. He ran a hand through his hair, then did a fist pump with his good arm.
He gave a great deal of his money away every year. He cared about kids in need. He did. And he was glad that his donation was going to help them. But he hadn’t donated to Benevolence because of the kids. He’d donated because he’d suspected that Willow would learn about it, and he knew her well enough to guess how she might react if she did. His strategy had paid off. And he didn’t feel the least bit guilty.
Which could mean that he wasn’t as good as he probably should be now that he was a Christian. On the other hand, he hadn’t been prepared to stand around, behaving like a boy scout, while Willow slipped through his fingers.
He’d grown up in a hard neighborhood. He’d learned a person had to pursue their goals using the tools they had in order to have a shot at success.
One of the tools he had? Street smarts.
Willow spent the hour prior to her date with Corbin telling herself all the reasons why this date wasn’t a big deal. She’d simply hold her heart in reserve. No problem.
However, as soon as she answered his knock and looked into his mischievous brown eyes, her confidence in her ability to hold her heart in reserve began to waver.
He’d dressed simply in jeans and a white athletic shirt. A day’s growth of scruff marked his hard-planed face. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” She collected her tote bag. In addition to the skinny jeans, tall boots, blue shirt, and padded vest she had on, she’d packed a pair of sneakers, a light jacket, a down jacket, a hat, and a pair of gloves. “It would be helpful if I knew where we were going. That way, I could leave some of this behind.”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Surprises are overrated.”
“Surprises are fun.” He held eye contact with her.
Great Scott. This attraction between them had suddenly become scary powerful.
She locked Bradfordwood’s front door and climbed into his car. It was too late now for misgivings. She’d agreed to a date. They were going. The ship had sailed.
“A field?” she asked twenty minutes later when they arrived at their destination and he turned off the Navigator’s ignition. “You’re taking me to an empty field?”
“Yep,” he said, looking pleased with himself.
Willow exited the car and stood in the tall grass alongside the rut marks that had passed for a road the last mile or so. Dense pine trees surrounded them on all sides. She couldn’t fathom why Corbin had brought her to this high, remote spot in the middle of nowhere. Was he planning to abduct her? Perform science experiments on her?
Surely there wasn’t a restaurant within a ten-mile radius—and her stomach was beginning to grumble. She’d eaten oatmeal and fruit this morning, but that seemed like ages ago.
Corbin opened his trunk. He wedged a rolled-up blanket underneath his good arm, then lifted a picnic basket in the fist of that same arm.
“We’re going on a picnic?” she asked.
He led her down a barely discernible path. “We are.”
That coaxed a smile from her. She loved picnics, even though she hadn’t been on one in . . . years? “Was the food inside that basket prepared by your caterer?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you keep her on a retainer?”
“Sort of. She cooks five dinners a week for my dad and me and leaves them in the freezer for us to heat up. She’s always happy to do extras, like that Monday Night Football dinner. Or romantic picnic lunches.”
“Do you order a large number of romantic picnic lunches?”
“This is the first.”
It had drizzled steadily all morning. Yet just as Corbin had predicted, the rain had swept to the side like curtains on a stage to make way for the production of Corbin’s grand date.
Corbin didn’t seem intimidated in the least by the pressure of planning a grand date. Come to think of it, he never seemed intimidated by pressure. He always rose to challenges. That facet of his character had been endlessly evident on the football field. He was renowned for playing with concentration and nerves of steel whenever the game was on the line. The bigger the stakes, the better he performed.
Commentators and reporters had speculated that Corbin had been born with the X factor that all truly great quarterbacks possessed—the ability to handle tremendous tension and expectation. The more Willow understood Corbin, though, the more she suspected that particular ability had also been forged in him by his childhood.
That’s what she presumed, anyway. She didn’t know that to be true for sure because he’d never trusted her with the details. “Corbin?”
“Yes, my darling?”
“That ‘my darling’ sounded mocking.”
“I meant it to sound endearing.”
Their footfalls crunched over pine needles as she followed him through air crisp with the fragrance of the forest. �
�You’ve never told me many details about your childhood.”
“Where did that thought come from?”
“You’re a public figure, but you’re actually a very private person. Whenever anyone, including me, tries to ask you questions about your childhood that you don’t want to answer, you counter with lots of charisma and humor. You keep people at a distance so skillfully that they end up laughing and liking you and hardly even noticing that you never revealed anything substantial about yourself. Am I right?”
“Well.” He held a branch out of the way for her. They continued on. “You’re not wrong. I don’t like spilling my guts to everyone I meet.”
“The problem is, you never spilled them to me, either. And I was your girlfriend for months. No one will ever be able to know you, Corbin, until you’re willing to tell them things.”
“So ask me something.”
“What was it like for you, growing up with your dad?”
He groaned.
“See? You’re like a three-year-old who refuses to eat his vegetables on this subject.”
“If I answer your questions, will you answer mine?”
“Yes.”
They stepped into a meadow that overlooked two distant hills sloping in a V to the lake they guarded. The sky resembled a masterwork impressionist painting in shades of blue and gray and cream. A trio of birds flew in quiet, lazy circles where the meadow rolled away, dropping off in elevation. Willow could see no evidence of civilization, only of God’s workmanship.
“Our picnic spot?” she asked.
“Yes. Do you like it?”
“It’s stunning. How did you find this place?” She’d grown up near here and never known of its existence.
“John told me about it.”
Willow took the blanket from him and unfurled it onto the damp grass. Luckily, the blanket had plastic on one side and fabric on the other. They both sat and unpacked the contents of the basket. Ham, Swiss, and arugula sandwiches on crusty French bread. Dill pickles. Potato salad. Kettle chips.
“What’s this?” Corbin held up a glass bottle filled with a burgundy liquid.
“Organic blackberry soda, apparently.”
“Why would she have packed that?”