Love at Mistletoe Inn

by Cindy Kirk

  Hope stole a quick, worried glance at her aunt.

  “I’ll be a phone call away.”

  She started to nod when, in one deft move, John shifted and gathered her close against him.

  “I love you so much,” he whispered against her hair.

  Her head fit perfectly against his chest, just under his chin. For several heartbeats, Hope let the warmth of his body embrace her, imparting strength, giving comfort. Words of love rose from deep inside her and threatened to spill out.

  At the last second, she clamped her lips together. She would not say the words until she was absolutely sure the marriage would work. Slowly and deliberately, she stepped back. “Drive carefully.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite put together. Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  Not until Hope heard the door close behind him did she allow the tears to fall.

  Hope kept the lights in Verna’s bedroom on low. While snow continued to fall, she reviewed her calendar and pondered the earlier conversation with John.

  In the glow of the bedside lamp, Hope admitted to herself what she’d been unwilling to admit to him. She didn’t need the money from her tax work, especially when she factored in the aggravation and impact to her personal life.

  She abhorred the added pressure during a time of the year when Harmony Creek was at its busiest. Last tax season she and Verna had joked they’d seen so little of each other they’d forgotten what the other looked like.

  Was that the kind of life she wanted? The kind of life God wanted her to live? If she and John combined their incomes, they could still put a healthy amount of money away and have a richer personal life.

  Last week, John had shown her his tax statements. She hadn’t asked. He’d just pulled them out, saying he didn’t want any secrets between them. She’d been shocked at his income, which was significant and appeared to be steadily rising.

  Of course, everyone knew a substantial income didn’t matter when expenditures surpassed revenues. Her father had been a successful businessman and her mother had enjoyed a flourishing career as an interior designer. Money had flowed in. The problem was it flowed out even faster. Their home had been filled with constant bickering and tension, all over money.

  From the time Hope was old enough to understand what was going on, she swore once she was grown she’d never put herself—or her children—in that situation.

  She’d work hard and save her money. If she married, she would choose a man with similar views on money. She wouldn’t take his word on his spending habits; she would watch and observe. That way she would know for sure.

  When John had encouraged her to play hooky from her duties to grab some pizza, her antennae had started to quiver. Yet Hope admitted that his point about not working a regular eight-to-five job, as well as the need to be flexible, had validity.

  Tossing a twenty-dollar bill on the table for an eight-dollar tab had red flags popping up all over. She’d be a fool to ignore such a blatant warning. Hope leaned back in her chair and shut her eyes. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and slipped down her cheeks.

  “Hope.”

  Verna’s soft voice had her blinking rapidly and straightening in the antique rocker.

  “You’re awake.” Hope cleared her throat and swiped at her eyes, hoping the light in the room was dim enough that Verna couldn’t see she’d been crying. “How are you feeling?”

  “My shoulder is a little sore,” Verna admitted. “But I’m hanging in there.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Hope pasted a bright smile on her lips. “Can I get you anything?”

  Verna glanced around. “Where’s John?”

  “He’s not back yet.”

  “Ah, yes. He went to pick up the award.” Verna nodded, then winced.

  Hope’s heart twisted. “You’re hurting.”

  “Just a bit. Would you mind repositioning my pillow?” Verna asked. “It seems to have slipped.”

  “Of course.” Hope leaned over her aunt and made the adjustment.

  “Why the tears?” Verna asked in a low voice.

  Too late, Hope realized that bending close to adjust the pillow had given her aunt a good view of her reddened eyes. “I’m just tired.”

  Worry furrowed Verna’s brows. “What’s wrong?”

  Hope averted her gaze and took several long strides toward the door. “I’ll get you some Advil.”

  She’d almost reached the door when Verna’s voice sliced the air. “Not one more step, Hope Anne.”

  Her aunt’s use of her middle name had her skidding to a stop. Hope turned and strove for a matter-of-fact tone. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

  “My pain isn’t in my shoulder, it’s in my heart.” Verna’s gaze softened with compassion. “Tell me what’s wrong, honey. We’ve always been able to talk about things that matter. I know John matters to you.”

  Heaving a resigned sigh, Hope crossed to her aunt’s bedside. “I love John, but I don’t see how we can be together.”

  Verna patted a spot on the bed. “Tell me why you feel that way.”

  After grabbing a tissue, Hope sat and did as her aunt requested.

  Verna listened attentively, without commenting, until Hope stopped, not knowing how to make her position any clearer.

  “Did you ask John why he gave the woman twenty dollars?”

  Hope shrugged. “Does the why matter?”

  “Oh, dearest . . .”

  She bristled at the underlying hint of reproach in the words. “Our tab was eight dollars. The service was mediocre at best.”

  “Do you know how John’s mother supported the two of them after his dad took off?”

  “He told me she worked a lot of part-time jobs.”

  “She was primarily a waitress.” Verna’s eyes took on a distant look. “Caroline worked extremely hard to provide for her and her son.”

  A tight band encircled Hope’s chest. “You think John left such a generous tip because his mother once waited tables?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “He should have told me,” she insisted. “He—”

  Hope’s voice trailed off. He had tried to tell her. She’d just been too stubborn to listen. She recalled his words and the accusation in his eyes—You think you have all the answers, but you don’t.

  Though shame flooded her, fear remained, like a pebble in her shoe she couldn’t ignore.

  “I’m scared.” Her laugh held a desperate quality. “I’m terrified of staying with John and building a life with him and then regretting it. I don’t want the kind of life my parents had. I’d rather be alone. I started to make a pros and cons list while you were sleep—”

  “Have you prayed?”

  Hope chuckled. “I’ve prayed so much I’m sure God is sick of hearing my voice.”

  “Have you tried quiet?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “When you’re confronted with a problem, your first impulse is to make a list of pertinent factors so you can arrive at a logical solution. Correct?”

  Hope nodded.

  “I’m suggesting you try a different approach.” Verna met Hope’s confused gaze with a steady one of her own. “Forget the lists. Make room for God’s presence by being still. Trust in Him. He will guide you down the right path.”

  Hope opened her mouth, but shut it without speaking.

  “We listen and wait.” Verna’s bony hand curved around hers in a comforting gesture as they sat in the quiet, the only sound the steady tick-tick-tick of the old clock.

  Hope wasn’t sure how long she sat there, listening in the silence. And it was in the silence she understood that instead of accepting all the ways she and John were so perfectly matched, instead of admiring him for being a generous, thoughtful man, she’d looked for reasons their relationship wouldn’t work.

  He’d given her no reason to fear or doubt him—unless you counted a generous tip—yet
she’d continued to worry. Worse yet, she’d withheld her love. She’d refused to tell him she loved him even though she did . . . totally, completely, desperately.

  Hope looked at her aunt’s sweet face and thought of Verna and her Tommy. They hadn’t been given the opportunity to build a life together. She and John had that chance.

  It was time to commit to her marriage, to John, and to the life they would build together. Full in. No second guesses, just faith. The rightness of the decision brought both joy and peace.

  Hope continued to sit motionless in the silence until she heard Verna’s soft snore. Only then did Hope slip down the hall to her bedroom, to the small drawer in her jewelry box.

  John had made her keep the ring. She’d told him she wouldn’t put it on until she knew she loved him and was ready to be his wife for eternity.

  Hope slipped the band on her finger.

  In a roomful of suits and silky dresses, John accepted the Horizon award on behalf of Harmony Creek in jeans and a ski sweater. The Chamber members didn’t seem to mind, especially once he told them of Verna’s fall.

  Every person in the room expressed their concern and urged him to take Verna their wishes for a speedy recovery. John skipped the dinner after the ceremony. He was eager to get home to Verna. To Hope.

  He was out the courthouse door and headed to Verna’s car when Chet fell into step beside him.

  “Bad news about Verna.” Chet’s tone seemed more conversational than concerned. “Be sure and give her my best.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do that.” John picked up his pace. He wanted to call Hope and see how everything was going, but he didn’t want to risk waking Verna.

  “You need to let her go.”

  John realized with a start that Chet had continued to walk across the lot with him.

  “You need to let her go,” Chet repeated.

  “Verna?”

  “Hope.” Chet swiped at the snow dusting his cashmere coat. “You need to go away quietly and not put her through a messy divorce.”

  “What are you talking about?” John frowned, feeling as if he’d suddenly dropped into some alternate reality. “Hope and I aren’t getting a divorce.”

  “She was eighteen, impulsive. She made a mistake,” Chet said, as if that explained everything.

  John ignored him and pulled out his keys, clicked the door unlocked.

  “You know how loyal Hope is.” Chet might have been leaning casually against the Buick, but his eyes glowed with an intensity that was anything but casual. “Because of a sense of duty, she’s honoring something that never should have been. Do the right thing and give her a chance at the life she wants, the one she deserves. Be man enough to walk away.”

  “You don’t know anything about Hope.” John jerked open the car door. “Or about our marriage.”

  He slid behind the wheel and shut the door, almost clipping Chet’s fingers in the process.

  The banker yelped and jumped back.

  “You know I’m right,” Chet yelled.

  John hit the gas and sped from the lot. He drove several blocks before wheeling the car to the curb. He sat there while the engine idled. Was he being selfish? Tying Hope to a vow made when she was only a girl? Would it be better for her if he simply walked away?

  She didn’t trust him. From her lack of response when he left, she might not even love him. Maybe she never had. Maybe she never would . . .

  He could take the car home, pack a few items, and jump on his bike. Hope would be free to start her life with a man who was more what she wanted. Since he would be the one to break it off, the guilt would be all his.

  But even as the plan began to take shape, John thought of the promises he’d made—to God, to Verna, to Hope.

  In his heart John knew if he ran, it wouldn’t be because he thought it’d be best for Hope. Regardless of what Chet seemed to think, Hope was a strong woman who had no trouble making her own decisions. No, if he left it’d be because he was worried Hope would never love him, that she would never feel about him the way he felt about her.

  John realized fear had been the reason he hadn’t stayed and fought for Hope all those years ago. He’d thought he wasn’t someone worth loving. His dad had walked out without a backward glance. His mom had died and left him alone.

  But he wasn’t a scared boy anymore. What had Dan said in last week’s sermon . . . that God doesn’t give us a spirit of fear?

  God never breaks promises, and neither would John. He wouldn’t walk away from the woman he loved. He would stay. He would fight for their marriage and Hope’s love.

  And he would comfort himself with the belief that one day she would love him.

  Hope hurried to the stairwell when she heard the front door open.

  John looked up from where he stood in the foyer as she descended the steps, his expression unreadable.

  “How’d the ceremony go?” It was an inane thing to say but the best she could muster. Seeing him, she felt suddenly shy and unsure.

  John lifted a block of etched glass in the shape of Idaho on a wooden base.

  “It’s a beauty.” His smile flashed briefly. “Everyone sends their best. They were all upset about Verna’s accident. Except for Chet Tuttle. He’s more upset you and I are still together.”

  Hope frowned.

  “Are we still together?”

  The question said in a flat tone sent icy fear slithering up her spine. “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Our argument earlier.”

  Though his posture remained relaxed, Hope noticed a flicker of something that looked like fear hidden deep in his eyes. She forced a light tone. “Oh, you’re referring to our discussion.”

  He leveled a long look at her.

  “I’m pretty sure I was being unreasonable,” she admitted, offering a rueful smile. “In fact, I’m certain of it.”

  “My mom used to be a waitress,” he told her as if their earlier conversation had never been interrupted. “Sometimes, after my dad left, the extra money she earned from tips bought our food.”

  While she considered a response that would convey she truly did understand, Hope lifted the award from his hand and placed it on the side table. This brought her close to him, which was right where she wanted to be.

  “When I see someone waiting tables who appears to be struggling, I like to help them out.” He met her gaze. “That’s not going to change.”

  “I don’t want you to change.” Hope rested her hand on his arm, her gaze remaining on his.

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “And you should know I’m not going to do taxes anymore,” Hope announced and saw surprise skitter across his face. “You were right. Financially, there’s no need and I don’t enjoy it. What I do enjoy is spending time with you and Verna. I like having the option of going for pizza at three in the afternoon if the mood strikes me or my husband.”

  A light flared in his eyes. Though he hadn’t yet noticed she was wearing her wedding ring, she knew he hadn’t missed the significance of her use of the word husband.

  “Chet stopped me when I was leaving the courthouse. He said I was holding you back, that I needed to let you go. But I won’t just walk away from you. You have to tell me to go and mean it.”

  “Chet Tuttle doesn’t have a clue how I feel about you.” Hope closed the last few inches that separated them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gazed into those amazing blue eyes. “If he did, he’d know I’m hopelessly in love with my husband. I’m only sorry it took me this long to say it.”

  John drew her to him and held her close, not saying a word.

  “I love you.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I never stopped.”

  His lips brushed her cheek. “It’s the same for me.”

  “Look.” She stepped back and lifted her ring hand. “It’s on and it’s staying there.”

  His smile flashed as bright as a bolt of sunshine. He bent to kiss her, but as she melted against him her
foot hit something on the floor. John’s arms tightened around her as she stumbled.

  “What in the—” Hope glanced at her feet. She narrowed her eyes. “How did that end up on the floor?”

  Always the gentleman, John retrieved the box and handed it to her.

  She smiled at the return address. “I bet these are Luke and Laura’s wedding invitations. I wonder which ones Verna ended up ordering.”

  John nuzzled her neck. “If you’re curious, open it.”

  She giggled as he continued to scatter kisses against her throat. Grasping the front of his coat, Hope pressed a hard kiss against his mouth before releasing him and focusing on the box.

  Lifting out one of the invitations, she read for a second, then gasped.

  John’s fingers, which had been toying with a strand of her hair, stilled. “Surely they can’t be that bad.”

  Words failed her. Hope could only gesture mutely at the invitation in her hand.

  John took the embossed paper from her. As he read aloud, his lips curved.

  From every valley to every summit, faithfully yours forever

  Miss Verna Prentiss

  Asks you to join her in honoring

  Hope Anne Prentiss

  fnd

  John William Burke

  As they celebrate the beginning of their lives together

  and exchange vows of commitment

  December twentieth at five o’clock

  Mistletoe Inn at Harmony Creek

  Two lives, two hearts united forever in love

  Hope glanced at John. “You know what this means?”

  “We’re Luke and Laura.” He grinned. “And we’re about to have a proper wedding.”

  Hope stood outside the parlor of Mistletoe Inn, which had been transformed into a Christmas bridal chapel. Garlands of evergreen, pinecones, and white lights adorned the window ledges. Chairs covered with sheer red fabric and ruffles added a festive air, as did the large urns filled with red roses, white calla lilies, and eucalyptus decorating the small platform at the front where they’d soon repeat their vows. Every chair in the room was filled. Despite all the holiday festivities and the lateness of the invitations, every guest had showed up.