“Oh, I’m awake, honey.” He took her hand, relief hot inside him. He felt like he’d endured eight overtimes in a play-off game, sweaty, heart thundering, ready for it to end.
They walked down the path toward the fire pit, his mind forming words of defense, apology.
And then he saw, on the edge of the campfire’s glow, Roark St. John, bearing a bottle of wine and looking like he had happened upon a band of rogues.
Just when Max thought he was the family villain.
If he ended up at the bottom of Evergreen Lake tonight, Roark would blame it on Jensen and Claire Atwood.
I see the Christiansens are starting their weekly campfire tradition.
Jensen’s words, spoken as they sat on his deck, finishing off burgers, the sun going down behind the house. Claire, growing more uncomfortable every day, sat on the wicker sofa, her legs stretched out, a hand on her belly, mulling over Roark’s recap of the most recent events.
Seth’s weight room ultimatum.
His walk with Amelia along the beach.
The near kiss, the one he could almost taste.
Seth, again, and the way Roark wanted to have a go at the beach, just to work off some frustration.
And most of all, Amelia’s words. What do you think is going to happen? . . . We sail away and see the world? Live on love? What do you want out of life?
“You can’t really blame her for thinking you’re a pauper,” Claire said finally. “Or like she said, a professional student.”
Roark pushed his plate away; his appetite had died halfway through the burger. “It was right there, on my lips. I wanted to stop her, tell her that we could go anywhere she wanted—eventually. Live on love and about nine zeros more. But of course, that means I also take over the business, which means moving her to Brussels. And I’m not sure she wants that. Me working twelve-hour days, her finding her way in a foreign city alone. She was pretty shaken up in Prague and has no desire to repeat that.”
He peeled the label off his lemonade bottle. “But when I told her about my parents, something changed between us.”
“She saw you,” Claire said. “We all need that—someone to truly see us and not flinch.”
“If Seth hadn’t come along, I might have kissed her, despite my promise not to. I’m simply undone around her.”
And this time he would have made it last, lingering, showing her exactly how much he loved her.
“So what are you going to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to leave Deep Haven?” Jensen said, wiping his french fries through his ketchup.
Maybe I’ll stay. He didn’t voice it, but the thought had rooted around his head all day as he worked the counter at the Cup, greeting the regulars with their orders. Seb Brewster came in and invited him to church on Sunday, and he had even considered going.
With good Internet and occasional trips to Brussels, maybe . . .
He winced. “I don’t know. I just can’t scrape away the feeling that I shouldn’t give up. It’s like she’s got a hold on me, a little more every day.”
Jensen glanced at his wife, smiled. Nodded.
“Then what are you doing sitting here?” Claire ran her hand over her belly. “Amelia invited you to the campfire.”
“Yeah, well, that was before Seth arrived.”
“So. She didn’t revoke her invitation, did she?”
Huh. He hadn’t remembered that part. “Right. Perhaps I’ll pop by—”
“There’s a bottle of Yellow Tail in the fridge. We’ll donate it to the cause.”
Which was how he found himself ten minutes later standing at the edge of the firelight, holding a cold bottle of red wine, facing Amelia’s brute squad.
Her brother Casper got to his feet. The older one, Darek, put down his plate. Roark glanced at her father, who just frowned at him.
Retreat!
“Roark!” Amelia hopped up. “You’re here. I didn’t think you’d remember.” She came over to greet him, catching his hand—nice touch—and pulling him into the circle of light. “You all remember Roark, right?”
For a long moment, their previous altercation played on everyone’s faces. How he’d shown up over a month ago, flowers and gift in hand. How, for a moment, they’d let him in like they’d been expecting him, seeding way too much hope in a weary, desperate man. How Amelia had stopped at the top of the stairs, even more beautiful than he remembered, her green eyes wide with shock. How he’d bumbled the entire thing by asking her to forgive him. To take him back.
He remembered Casper telling him to leave. Then Darek coming alongside as if he needed an assist. Remembered how their father had remained polite, asking Roark to step outside.
And Amelia, confused, crying, following them out to the parking lot, where the shouting really began.
You have a lot of nerve, pal. He could hear the words, see the fury on Casper’s face even now. Amelia is over you.
Yeah, well, if he’d felt that was true, he wouldn’t have stuck around town, shown up again, faced down Darek, who refused to let him even knock on the door.
He’d heard sirens in the back of his head, stopping him from pushing his way past big brother and his gang of thugs—the in-law brothers—knowing that some things, to Amelia, might be unforgivable.
The sirens roared to life again now. He glanced at Darek, seeing the way the man regarded him with a cool look.
Roark felt a little like Cornwallis at Yorktown.
“Nice to see you again, Roark.” Amelia’s mother came over, holding out her hand. Ah, the family diplomat.
“This is Casper’s fiancée, Raina,” Amelia said. She gestured to a woman with dark hair, holding a baby. Roark nodded.
“And, uh, Grace and Max.” She motioned and he turned, finding the couple standing in the path. The ambush from behind.
He offered a smile.
“Okay, everyone, just breathe. Roark isn’t here to entice me to elope.”
On the contrary, the thought didn’t sound so terrible at the moment.
“I invited him so we could start over. All of us. So be nice, and I promise you’ll like him.”
He smiled at Amelia, and she met his gaze, smiled back. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
“I brought wine,” he said, looking at Ingrid. “It’s not a 1961 Château Palmer Margaux, but it’s an okay pairing with a burger and chips.”
He expected a burst of laughter at the ludicrous thought of pairing a burger with a Bordeaux instead of a frothy pint, but no one seemed to get it.
“Oh. Uh, why, thank you.” Ingrid set the wine on the table. “I will put it away for . . . a special occasion.”
“Would you like a hot dog?” Amelia asked.
“I ate at . . . I ate already.” He didn’t know why, but he thought exposing Jensen might come back to haunt him. “Thank you.”
John handed him a can of Coke. “Amelia says you’re working at the Java Cup?”
He opened the can. “I’ve never been a barista before, but I’m enjoying it. I took the flat above the shop and it looks out over the bay. The most glorious sunrises. Reminds me of the sunrises over Pilot Bay in New Zealand.”
Crickets.
Why did he say that? Nerves. He mustered up a smile. “I’m also acquiring a taste for World’s Best Donuts.”
John nodded. “They’re addictive. Have you traveled a lot?”
He longed to hold Amelia’s hand, but she’d taken a seat, now finishing her potato salad.
“Yes. Some. I . . .” He glanced at Amelia, and she gave him a smile, a nudge. “I grew up as a missionary kid in Russia. But I went to secondary school in Great Britain. I worked for a bit in the hotel industry before traveling.”
“You lived in Russia?” Grace seemed to come alive as she sat down next to a little girl who looked somewhat familiar. “Could you . . . ? Do you speak Ukrainian?”
“It’s different from Russian, but some is the same. Why?”
Grace tucked her arm around the girl. “This is Yuli
a and she doesn’t speak much English.”
The girl smiled at him, and for a moment, his youth caught up to him, the memory of the children in the orphanage. She had the big, wide eyes, the wary smile. Hope. He knew exactly how she felt, and knelt in front of her.
“Zdrastvootya,” he said. “Menya zavoot Roark.”
There was the smile. “Yulia” came a tiny voice in return, and in that moment, he felt the postures around the fire ease.
Never would he dream that his past might actually come in handy.
“Can you tell her that she’s safe here and that we’ll take good care of her?” Grace said.
He translated and got a small, hesitant reply in return. “She says her other mama died? I don’t know what she’s referring to.”
“You pulled her mother from the river,” Amelia said softly and knelt beside him.
He felt a little sick, thinking of it now. “The woman. Did she lose her entire family?”
Amelia nodded, and strangely, his chest filled with the oddest urge to pull the child into his arms.
Amelia’s touch on his arm brought him back. She caught his gaze in hers. “But she’s not alone.”
Maybe someday that truth would finally sink in. “I’ll be glad to translate if you need me to,” he said as he got up.
Grace mouthed a thank-you.
“You really worked in a hotel?” This from Darek.
“Yeah. I was the . . .” Well, why not? “Assistant manager.”
“Wow,” Casper said. “So why the urge to travel?”
This was harder than he thought. “I found the industry to be more challenging than I expected and was given the opportunity to spread my wings a bit, so I launched out on an extended holiday. It’s lasted a bit longer than I supposed, but I have discovered a few beautiful surprises along the way.” His gaze again fell on Amelia, who gave him such a sweet smile, it made the interrogation worth it.
“And now? What’s next for you?” John asked. “Pulling espresso shots in Deep Haven?”
He didn’t hear indictment but still nearly rose with a retort, defensive words ready on his tongue. He dismissed them fast with a sliver of shame. So his family’s company owned hotels from one end of the planet to the next. It didn’t mean that they were any more successful than the Christiansens.
In fact, maybe the Christiansens simply defined success differently. Better, perhaps.
“Hey, I’d trade a day of managing rates and keeping guests happy for pulling shots any day,” Darek said, oddly coming to his rescue. Roark didn’t exactly net a smile, but the man seemed less likely to wrap his hands around his throat. Darek even added, “If I’d known what I was getting into . . .”
“You grew up in the hotel industry, Darek. The hard work can hardly be a surprise,” Amelia said. Dressed in a sweatshirt, baseball hat, and jeans, she seemed so . . . American. Friendly. Willing to laugh and sink into the camaraderie of her family.
For a second, the easy humor, the acceptance—though maybe not of him—and the community they shared touched a familiar, long-buried memory. And a dream he longed for but couldn’t put his fingers around.
“Yeah, well, maybe I’m just not quite as good as Mom and Dad yet,” Darek said.
“You will be, Son.” John winked, and the pride in the gesture hit Roark full on the chest. He drew in a breath.
Amelia’s hand was on his arm. “You okay?” she said quietly as Darek listed off the projects they still had to complete.
He nodded but pressed his hand against hers on his arm.
“The biggest issue is we’re triple booked for day trips next weekend. I thought Casper would be around, but with him leaving to find Owen, we’re a man short. I’d ask Grace, but she was never one for canoe trips.”
“I can carry a canoe with the best of them,” Grace said, and for some reason this elicited laughter.
Darek glanced at Max. “I don’t suppose you’re sticking around?”
“Not yet. I have a final meeting with the team next week; then I’m free for the summer. Grace will be here, but . . .”
“Which gives us Dad to guide one fishing trip, and me on the other, but leaves the group of Boy Scouts who want to go canoeing without a guide.”
“I could take them,” Roark said. Oh, blast. He glanced at Amelia. “Sorry.”
“Why? That’s a good idea.”
Apparently not a soul agreed with her. More silence.
Then Darek offered, “Thanks, Roark, but—”
“He climbed Mount Kilimanjaro, for pete’s sake. He is capable of taking a few boys paddling for an afternoon,” Amelia said.
“Seriously? You climbed a mountain?” Casper said.
“Took the Lemosho route, from the west. Eight days to the summit.”
Casper made noises of approval.
“Spectacular views. I’m also a first responder and am accredited with the ISAF.”
The fire spit into the sky, a log falling.
No one? “The International Sailing Federation.”
“That’s not a canoe,” Darek said.
“I rowed for two seasons at Eton. Perhaps that will do.” There it was again, the defense. He blew out a breath, hating himself a little for trying so hard.
Amelia’s hand tightened, and he glanced at her. She was grinning.
“Listen, I know you don’t know me and probably think I’m off my rocker, but if you need help, I’d like to give it a go. Amelia could come along, take photos for that contest she should enter.”
When he felt her go still beside him, he asked, “You saw the link I posted, right?”
She bit her lip. Nodded. “I wasn’t sure it was you.”
“Of course it was me. Your photos are brilliant. You could win, Amelia.” He caught both her hands, the rest of the crowd dropping away. “You’re such a gifted photographer. Remember that shot you got of the Eiffel Tower?”
He turned to the group. “She set up her camera at the Trocadéro just before sunset with her f-stop on the lowest setting for the widest aperture. Then she adjusted the bulb function for the longest shutter speed and set the camera on a tripod and timer for the steadiest shot. The tower at night displays a glorious spectacle of light, and after a few tries, she caught the most incredible shot of the lights blurring against the velvet background of the sky. Ingenious.”
He hadn’t meant to wax on, but the memory seemed to snapshot in his mind. Now he faced her. “Please say you’ll enter the contest.”
She swallowed, glanced past him, and he hadn’t realized how he’d put her on the spot. He looked at her mother, searching for reinforcement.
Ingrid wore a soft, enigmatic smile as she met his gaze.
“Yes, she’ll enter,” Grace said from her perch on the picnic table. “I agree, Roark. She’s a rare talent. And who knows but she might win.”
Amelia made a face. “I don’t know.”
“It’s five thousand dollars toward your dream. You don’t have to spend it today, but give yourself the opportunity to choose,” her mother said. “I agree with Grace. Enter. And I cast my vote for letting Roark and Amelia take the Boy Scouts into the wild. It’s only a day trip—what could go wrong? Amelia’s paddled that lake with her brothers dozens of times. Besides, they’ll have their leader with them.”
Her smile was warm as it fell on Roark. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to merit the sudden favor of Ingrid Christiansen, but he returned it.
“It’s usually the den leaders who are the most trouble,” Darek said. “But, okay. Please promise you’ll bring everyone back in one piece.”
“Scout’s honor,” Roark said.
“Very good,” Ingrid said. “Now, Roark, have you ever, in all your travels, eaten a s’more?”
A GIRL SURROUNDED by her family, spilling over into a second church pew, the sun gleaming through the sanctuary windows as if in divine approval as the praise band rousted any sleepers with the Celtic version of “Be Thou My Vision,” shouldn’t have this much tur
moil in her heart.
Especially after the way her family seemed to relax their guard around Roark the moment he spoke to Yulia. She couldn’t believe Darek would really let him—them—take out a group of tourists.
She had to admire the sheer courage it had taken for him to show up at Friday night’s campfire. She should have put up a bigger fight for him at the beginning.
It brought back the words he’d spoken at the coffee shop that first day. Extreme doesn’t begin to describe what I’d do to win you back.
And when he’d told the story of that night under the Eiffel Tower—how they’d together captured the perfect shot—he had no idea that she would have never been in that place, never had the courage to venture out, if he hadn’t pushed her.
Apparently, however, he was also serious about not kissing her until she knew he meant it because when she walked him out to his car, he hadn’t leaned in, hadn’t pulled her to himself. He’d pressed a gentlemanly kiss to her hand that left her heating from the inside and wanting him to stay. To watch the stars together, wrapped in an embrace at the end of the dock.
But right then she vowed not to kiss either of them—Seth or Roark—until she knew in her heart what she wanted.
“‘Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart; naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.’”
Next to Amelia, Max raised his voice with the rest of her family—Casper down the row and Darek in front of her with his growing tribe, Tiger standing next to him, singing his seven-year-old lungs out. Her father stood next to them, his arm casually around her mother, and the sound of their tenors raised together stirred a longing in her she couldn’t name.
Or maybe she could. . . . I do know that I want a man who loves God. Her words to her mother, on the deck, rose inside her. Somehow the cry of her heart had faded in the heady mix of attention from Roark and Seth.
But if she stayed quiet, she could still hear it, a whisper inside. She did want a man who wanted to love God, serve God. Be His man.
“‘Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word; I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord.’”
She felt a hand on her arm and looked over to see Vivie, in a pretty yellow sundress, her lips painted red, looking like a throwback from the sixties. “Scoot in,” she said.
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