Just Look Up

by Courtney Walsh

  “I still can’t believe he plays the guitar, especially in front of people. Nate was the most rebellious of all of us. He hated coming to church.” Lane remembered those rebellious years well. There were times Lane was the only one in the family he could really talk to.

  Ryan shrugged. “He hates being told what to do, but he’s a true believer at heart. Hey, did you think any more about my job offer?”

  She had. A lot. She’d practically gotten a virtual download to her brain full of ideas—from colors and accents to furniture placement. And she’d rejected all of it. She did not have time to design twelve cottages, especially not in the month Ryan had left before his first guests arrived.

  “I have to go,” he said. “Service is starting. We can talk about it at dinner.”

  “You still come to family dinner?”

  He grinned—lazy, lopsided, and electric—as he walked away. “Of course. I’m part of the family.”

  She watched as Ryan walked onto the small platform and slung his guitar over his shoulder. He stood behind the microphone and welcomed everyone. Then his eyes met hers. “And especially those who haven’t been back in a very long time—welcome home.”

  Home. Her body tensed. Not for her. Not anymore.

  Lane did her best to focus on the church service. The music unexpectedly drew her in. Ryan certainly had a gift. “Anointed,” her parents would say. But the buzzing of her phone kept her only partially engaged during the pastor’s message, and it warranted many a dirty look from her mom.

  Lane looked around the small church and saw Betsy sitting in the row behind Ryan, Hailey, and Jack. Betsy glanced at her, and for the briefest moment, Lane remembered how important their friendship had been to her at one time. Betsy probably had no idea. Lane had never told her.

  Since she left Harbor Pointe, she’d searched for a friendship like the one she took for granted, only to decide such a thing didn’t come around twice. She’d never dwelled on it before, but sitting here in the church they’d attended as kids, a deep loneliness washed over her, one that was always prevalent but usually easy to push away.

  Not today.

  Today the reality of it stung.

  After the truth came out about Lindsay and Jasper, Betsy had tried to be a good friend. She’d even driven to Chicago one Saturday and Lane practically turned her away. She didn’t want to be reminded of home or her family or the fact that anyone knew of her humiliation. She didn’t want to be close to anyone or give another person the power to hurt her the way she’d been hurt.

  “I won’t tell anyone, Lane,” Betsy said. “I know how hard this must be for you.”

  Lane had been ugly to her—it was the only way to make Betsy go. Told her she could never understand because she’d never been in love. No one had ever cared for Betsy the way Jasper cared for Lane. She’d said hurtful things, but it had done the trick. Betsy stopped calling, and Lane hadn’t talked to her since.

  At the time, it had been the one thing Lane could think of to protect herself, but her methods had been faulty. She knew that now. But now it was too late.

  She’d behaved so badly and it had crushed her friend. No wonder she refused to wait on Ryan and her at Hazel’s the other night. Some wounds reopened as easily as if they were fresh, regardless of how many years had passed.

  Lane understood that better than most people, didn’t she?

  CHAPTER

  17

  POST-CHURCH CONVERSATION had Lane inhaling deep four-count breaths and exhaling for as long as she could. She stared at the ground as her parents stopped to talk to every single person they saw, and she tried to be polite and answer all the questions that came her way.

  “Yes, I live in Chicago.”

  “Yes, I actually like it there.”

  “No, it’s not a dirty city. I don’t mind the people. My career is going well. How did I lose all my weight? I moved out of Harbor Pointe.” Pause for laughter. “Of course that was a joke. Just diet and exercise.”

  Nellie Lampkin practically felt her up trying to determine “where she’d put all that weight,” despite Lane’s repeated attempts to move out of reach of the old woman’s grabby hands.

  “I simply don’t understand it.” Nellie’s head moved in short bursts, wobbling on a too-thick neck like a bobblehead doll, as she pinched and poked around Lane’s torso. “There was so much fat on you before. Where’d it all go?”

  Lane pressed her lips together and imagined herself back in the loft, wearing her comfiest yoga pants and her worn-out purple Northwestern sweatshirt, poring over the designs for Solar’s new space.

  But even as she did, the image of the cottage at Cedar Grove popped into her mind. She shook it away. She hardly had time to think about that right now.

  “You’re just so thin now.” Nellie’s tone was one of disdain, as if Lane had morphed into something wholly ugly and undesirable. And this after spending her life being equally ugly and undesirable in a differently shaped body.

  “I’m healthy now.” Lane tried to keep her tone calm. She didn’t have to defend herself to Nellie Lampkin—why did she feel like she did? The woman had a knack for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. When Lane was a kid, Nellie was the one who pulled her brothers home by their ears to tell their parents the boys let the dog “dirt in her yard.”

  Lane could still remember the look on her mother’s face when she explained—not so politely—that her boys had absolutely done no such thing and that she expected an apology, which, of course, never came. Nellie was a tough old bird, and Lane hated that she was in her crosshairs.

  “What’d you do, stop eating gluten? That seems to be the hot button for weight loss these days. It’s a bunch of hooey, if you ask me. A life without bread is no life I want to live.” Nellie’s eyes narrowed as she stared at Lane. “You’re not bulimic, are you?”

  Lane felt a gentle hand on the small of her back. “There you are. I was looking for you.”

  She froze as Ryan’s body pressed into her side, his touch warm and safe like a harbor for a ship that had been out in a storm all night. Lane often felt like she was being tossed on the sea, her nerves shot, as if that was simply how life was. She’d gotten used to it.

  But with one touch, it seemed he’d calmed the storm that raged inside her.

  Of course that was ludicrous. No man had that kind of power over her. She was just thankful for the distraction.

  “Mrs. Lampkin, I’m sorry to rush her off like this. We have lunch plans and we don’t want to be late.” Ryan smiled at her—a real smile, with his eyes—and gave Lane a soft push to the side. “You do look beautiful in that pink dress, Mrs. L. You should wear pink every day.”

  Lane tossed a glance at Nellie, whose cheeks had turned red as she soaked in Ryan’s compliment. He gave her a wave and moved with Lane toward the front door and out onto the lawn of the church. Churchgoers gathered in small groups in the grass, and her own family hovered by their car, parked in the gravel lot. She turned away, embarrassed that Ryan had heard and seen Nellie’s invasive hunt for fat. She’d cringe about that for years to come.

  The same way she’d cringed all those years ago when women like Nellie would tell Lane’s mom to take food away from her daughter, get her on an exercise program, and do something about those extra pounds.

  “It’s okay; you don’t have to thank me.” He stopped walking once they’d cleared the majority of the crowd outside the church.

  She glanced at Ryan, who was the kind of disheveled good-looking that wasn’t fair to the rest of the human race. Lane had a feeling the guy woke up like this—sandy-colored hair, stunning green eyes, bright-white teeth lined in perfect rows, and just the right amount of stubble on his chin to keep him from looking preppy.

  “You’re expecting a thank-you?”

  “It’s the least you could do after I just saved you in there.” Ryan crossed his arms and looked at her. “We’ve all been cornered by Nellie Lampkin, though I’m not sure everyone has
the same kind of relationship with her that you do. She seemed awfully comfortable with you.” He waggled his eyebrows as he said it.

  She sighed. “I would say she means well, but I don’t think she does.”

  “No, she’s kind of a terrible woman.” Ryan’s eyes flickered and Lane couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You’re the one who told her she looked good in pink.”

  “A little payback for the nasty things she said to you.”

  Lane felt her smile skitter away. “I can’t believe you heard all that.”

  “She’s not exactly quiet.” Ryan stood several inches taller than her, broad and strong, but she didn’t dare let herself imagine there was safety in his arms. She’d made that mistake before. Besides, she was leaving that afternoon. All this nonsense running through her mind about Brooks had to stop.

  “You shouldn’t let people like that make you feel bad about yourself.”

  Lane waved him off. “I should go. My parents will wonder where I am.”

  But as soon as she said the words, she saw her parents’ sedan pull out of the parking lot and away from the church.

  “Unbelievable.” Lane watched the car disappear down the hill. “They left me.”

  “Must’ve thought you were riding with me.” He nodded toward his motorcycle.

  “I’m not getting on that thing.” Lane looked away.

  “Scared?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He stilled. “I’m not going to let fear stand in the way of doing something I really love. And your brother wouldn’t either.”

  That was true.

  “Let’s do it. It’s warm out today. It’s the perfect day for it.” He unstrapped an extra helmet and handed it to her. “I’ll drive safely, I promise. Or do you have a transportation rule?”

  Lane snatched the helmet from him but didn’t put it on. “And why should I trust you?”

  “I’ve given you no reason not to.” He smiled.

  Yet. She’d be smart to keep that in mind.

  “You can walk if you want to.” Ryan swung a leg over the bike and started the engine. “Up to you.”

  It was not like Lane to get on a motorcycle with a man who’d basically become a stranger to her, especially not this soon after the accident. In college she’d developed an incredible sense of control—and she liked it.

  Getting on the back of Ryan’s bike meant giving over control to someone else. And that unnerved her, no matter—or maybe because of—how good he smelled.

  “Last chance?” He revved the engine.

  “Didn’t you have a concussion or something?”

  He shook his head. “No. Just a gash on my leg and a headache.”

  “You promise to go slow?”

  “I promise to keep you safe.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  He grinned. “No, it’s not.”

  This was stupid. She should walk. She absolutely should not get on his bike. She shouldn’t wrap her arms around him, press herself into his back, inhale the masculine smell that even now danced around her nostrils.

  She shouldn’t do any of those things. So why was she putting on the helmet? Why was she swinging her leg over the bike? Why was she awkwardly trying to figure out where to put her hands?

  “They go here.” Ryan took her arms and wrapped them around his torso. When he let his grip on her go, she loosened them, but as soon as he pulled away from the curb, she realized loose wasn’t an option.

  “Hold on,” he said, turning his head toward her.

  She did as she was told as he accelerated down the street, and her stomach somersaulted the way it did when her dad had driven them on “Butterfly Hill,” the road he loved to take because its curves and bumps promised butterflies to even the slowest of motorists.

  Ryan braked for a stop sign, fixed his feet on the road, and leaned back. “You okay?”

  She nodded, self-conscious in the helmet yet thankful it hid the way she was feeling—defenseless, vulnerable, excited.

  But this was Ryan Brooks. She was not allowed to feel this way about him.

  Then again, she was leaving in a matter of hours. She might never see him again. That gave her instant protection from any silly attraction she was battling at the moment.

  He returned his attention to the road, and they were off again. With each passing block, she grew more and more comfortable with the movement of the bike and with Ryan’s nearness.

  “Care if we take the long way?” he asked at another stop.

  She shook her head. Secretly she was thankful for any diversion that kept her from her parents’ Sunday dinner even for an extra few minutes. Also secretly, she kind of liked being on the back of his bike. He was right not to let fear keep him from getting out there again. He loved this, and she could see why. Nate loved it too. She knew as soon as he was able, he’d be here at Ryan’s side. Not that she’d ever admit any of those things out loud.

  They drove through town and onto country roads that were dotted with farms and cornfields and vast amounts of green. The lake came into view and the road wound parallel alongside it for several miles, each one drawing her closer to Ryan and more exhilarated by the speed of the bike. As they drove, her mind wandered until it reached the end of itself. For the first time in years, she didn’t have that buzzing pressure to do more, to be more.

  It had been replaced by the feeling of the wind, the smell of the lake, the heat of the spring sunshine, just starting to warm up in time for summer. The whirl of busy drifted away as if she’d left it on the curb before they even pulled away.

  Finally, after forty-five glorious minutes of forgetting every responsibility she had, they started back toward town. Before they reached the city limits, he slowed and turned down a long paved driveway leading to a large white house overlooking the lake.

  Surely he didn’t live here. Where were they?

  She sat up straighter until the rest of the home came into view. Her parents’ car was parked in the grass next to several others, and her mom was unloading food from the backseat.

  In the distance, Lane saw Noah and Emily’s kids running around the yard, chasing two big yellow Labs. A shirtless Jett came tearing out from behind the garage and tackled one of the dogs. Lane wondered if the dog would retaliate, but it didn’t. It pulled away and ran off with its companion, Jett trailing close behind, trying to catch its tail.

  Otis ran out from the side of the house, determined to keep up with the other dogs. “How’d he get here?”

  “Guessing your parents went home and got him when they picked up the food.”

  It was a thoughtful gesture, though she wasn’t sure why she felt a sudden twinge of emotion because of it. Otis was just a dog. Yet knowing they’d thought about something she loved—it made her feel included. And she hadn’t felt included in her family for years.

  Ryan parked the bike, put the kickstand down, and turned off the engine.

  She loosened her grip around him and took off her helmet. “Where are we?”

  “Sunday dinner.”

  “I thought it was at my parents’ house.”

  “We rotate.”

  A blue Honda Civic came into view and drove toward them.

  “Did they invite the whole town?” Lane remembered Sunday dinner. It was always right after church, but it was the only real meal they had all day, which was why her mother called it “dinner” and not “lunch.” Her parents filled their table with neighbors and relatives, but judging by the number of cars, the amount of participants had only grown. Lane had forgotten the way she’d sat through those meals, as quiet and unmoving as if she weren’t there at all.

  She’d listen as they all spoke, telling stories and being social, and she had wondered how they did it—shared themselves so readily with other people. Ryan had that same talent. She might even admire it a little. It had always been so hard for her, yet it was what she wanted more than anything—to fit in. To belong.

  “Your parents a
re well-loved,” Ryan said. “And they make everyone feel welcome.”

  Well, that was ironic.

  Lane shoved the pitying thought aside. She’d done well for herself, and if she’d felt welcome here, she might never have spread her wings. After all, she’d practically been pushed out of Harbor Pointe, so leaving had never been as difficult a prospect as staying would’ve been.

  Still, her mother’s comment about work being the only thing she had nagged at her.

  Hailey and Jack emerged from the blue Civic.

  “Uncle Ryan!” Jack raced over to the bike, and Ryan held up a hand of warning.

  “It’s still hot, buddy; remember.”

  “I got it.” He raised his hand and Ryan slapped him five. “Mom, can I go play?”

  Hailey gave him a nod and he ran off toward the other kids.

  “He got you on the back of that thing?” Hailey shook her head at her brother.

  “She hated every minute.” Lane could tell Ryan was smiling as he said the words. Something in her body language must’ve given her away.

  “It was more out of necessity than anything.” Lane lifted herself up and off the bike. “My parents left me at church.” She placed her feet firmly on the ground but still felt like she was floating.

  “Oh,” Hailey laughed. “That was nice of them.”

  Ryan dismounted the bike and took the helmet from Lane. “I knew you’d love it. You just gotta loosen up a little.”

  She narrowed her eyes. He was cocky. Or maybe it was confident. Whatever it was, he was sure of himself in a way that Lane never had been. She’d learned to fake it, but deep down, she always knew it was phony.

  “Who says I loved it?”

  Ryan’s eyebrows popped up. “You didn’t have to say anything.”

  Lane’s mind spun back to one particularly tight curve. He’d navigated it beautifully, but it had required that she tighten her grip around his torso. She wondered if he’d taken that route for the sole purpose of forcing her to hold on more firmly.

  “Don’t mistake the thrill of the ride with affection for the driver,” Hailey said. She glanced at Lane. “He’s so ridiculous.” She walked off toward the house, carrying a tray of deviled eggs.