Love at Mistletoe Inn

by Cindy Kirk

  “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 three 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.”

  Hope wished she shared her aunt’s faith.

  “What kind of invitations do Luke and Laura want?” Hope glanced at the choices on the website. “Vintage? Modern? Artistic? Classic? Whimsical?”

  “Once again, they’ve given me carte blanche.”

  “I can’t believe neither of them have a preference.” Hope frowned. “They don’t seem at all interested in their own wedding.”

  “They’re in a war zone. They may be more focused on staying alive,” John offered.

  “Good point.” Reluctantly, Hope acknowledged she may have been too quick to judge.

  “You’re in your late twenties.” Verna settled her gaze on her niece. “What would you prefer?”

  “I’m not into classic.” Hope studied the screen, paused, considered. “Whimsical is too cutesy. I’d say somewhere in between.”

  Verna glanced at John, which led Hope to conclude Luke must be in the same age range.

  “I agree with Hope.” John shot her a wink. “We’re on the same page again.”

  “You guys are making this easy.” There was satisfaction in the words. Verna tapped the screen. “What about something like this?”

  Hope glanced at the simple design. Clusters of pinecones edged the invitation. Their deep brown was a perfect foil for the white center where the wording was displayed. Shaped like a snowflake, the center boasted strategically placed swirls of burgundy. A single sprig of mistletoe near the date and time added a festive touch. She cocked her head, nodded. “I like it.”

  “We have a winner,” John announced.

  “But the wording needs some tweaking,” Hope said quickly when Verna selected the image.

  “What’s wrong with the words?” Verna asked.

  “If this were for me, I’d want something more personal,” Hope told her aunt.

  “Like what?”

  As Hope chewed on her lip and thought, John took the ball and ran with it.

  “For instance, if Luke is having something personal inscribed on Laura’s band, you could get rid of this wording”—John pointed at the screen—“and substitute the inscription at the top.”

  “You’re right,” Hope said, loving the suggestion. “That would be a great touch.”

  “Why don’t you give me an example?” Verna asked John.

  “In Hope’s ring, I had inscribed the words ‘From every valley to every summit, faithfully yours forever.’ ”

  Hope didn’t know what to think when Verna began to key in the inscription. “John isn’t saying to have them use that—he’s just giving an example.”

  “I understand that.” Verna continued to hunt-and-peck the letters. “If Luke hasn’t had anything inscribed in her band, I want him to see how many words would fit.”

  “Oh,” Hope said. “That makes sense.”

  “Where is it?” Aunt Verna asked.

  Hope inclined her head.

  “Your wedding ring.” Verna looked pointedly at her hand. “John is now wearing his wedding band, but your finger is still bare.”

  For a second, Hope almost thrust her hand into her pocket, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Verna had already seen the bare ring finger. She lifted her chin. “I’m not quite ready to put it on.”

  “I thought you’d decided to embrace your marriage.” Verna spoke as if John wasn’t even in the room.

  “I have.” Hope shifted from one foot to the other, not sure how much to divulge. Some things needed to stay between her and John. Unfortunately, her decision not to wear the ring until she was sure they were going to stay together made it look as if she wasn’t invested in their marriage. Especially since John had chosen to wear his.

  She chewed on her lip and tried to think of an appropriate response.

  “Hope’s ring is a special symbol between us. When I put it on her finger the next time, we will both know that’s where it’s going to stay.” John stood up and laid an arm casually around Hope’s shoulders. There was no mistaking the gesture. He was telling Verna he stood with his wife.

  Hope experienced a rush of pleasure at his support and understanding. How had she forgotten how kind he could be? He’d been like this even as a boy. She leaned into him, taking in his warmth.

  “There’s another comment I have about the invitations.” John pulled her even closer and absently kissed her hair. “Or rather, a question.”

  Verna lifted a brow.

  Hope wasn’t sure if the gesture was in response to his comment or his increasi
ngly easy show of affection.

  “Why aren’t the names of the parents listed on the invitation?” he asked.

  “I chose one that didn’t include the names,” Verna said casually. “I find the practice a bit old-fashioned.”

  Hope exchanged a surprised glance with John.

  “I like the practice,” Hope said hesitantly. “I don’t find it old-fashioned at all.”

  “I don’t either,” John echoed.

  “If we were the ones getting married, I’d want your name on the invitation. You’re our family and we’d want you to be part of this special day.”

  John’s gaze focused on the screen, his expression sober. “We didn’t think of anyone but ourselves when we ran off to get married.”

  “You were too busy thinking how much you loved each other,” Verna said softly, her tone one of understanding rather than condemnation. “Love should be at the base of any marriage. Other things are nice, but in the end, they aren’t what matters.”

  Impulsively, Hope reached over and hugged her aunt, tears springing to her eyes. “I love you. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother after my own died.”

  John’s arms encircled them both. “I agree, you’re the best.”

  Verna blinked back tears and swatted them away. “I love you both too. Now get out of here and let me work.”

  Hope straightened and grinned. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want Luke and Laura’s guests not to show up at their wedding because the invitations didn’t get sent out in enough time.”

  “Once again, I appreciate your comments and insights.” Though Verna’s eyes still held a sheen of tears, she smiled.

  “Are you certain you don’t want to come to the festival with us?” John held his hand out to his foster mother. “We’re taking Hope’s car, so there’s plenty of room.”

  “I’m looking forward to enjoying a cup of hot tea and getting these invitations ordered.” Her aunt’s gaze shifted between Hope and John. “Besides, there’s a full moon tonight. A night for romance and love.”

  Aunt Verna blew them a kiss.

  When John linked fingers with hers, Hope knew the only thing he needed to do for the night to be absolutely perfect was to keep holding her hand.