by Irene Hannon
Not a chore he relished. He’d had his fill of wimpy mothers . . . though Brenda did seem to care about her son, even if she’d let her husband run her life.
“Will she be there when I take you home?”
“No. She’s working a double shift today. Tomorrow she’s back to nights again.”
Reprieved.
“Next time I see her, I’ll try to bring up the subject. You ready to work on planters?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the door open and got out of the car.
Adam joined him at the trunk. Once the supplies were unloaded, they crossed the street and headed toward the next container slated for repair.
“Stone!”
He stopped as John Nash waved at him from down the street.
“Go ahead and put all the stuff over by that planter.” Adam motioned toward it. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I’m glad I caught you.” John hurried over and extended his hand.
Adam put down his toolbox and returned the man’s hearty clasp. “How’s the father of the groom?”
“Couldn’t be better. They make a handsome couple, don’t they?”
“Yes. It was a great wedding.”
“I noticed you and our police chief were enjoying the orchestra.” He grinned.
“The music was great.” He tried to curb the flush creeping up his neck.
“Yes, it was. Did you enjoy the meal?”
“It was great.”
As the words left his mouth, he stifled a groan.
He sounded like one of those annoying parrots with a limited vocabulary that repeats the same phrase over and over again.
“Well, I won’t keep you from your work—and thank you for taking on this repair project for the town, by the way—but I wanted to pass this on.” He retrieved a business card from his pocket and held it out.
Adam took it and read the type. Rebecca Oliver, owner, Oliver Design—a Portland business specializing in distinctive décor, according to the tag line.
He shot John a puzzled glance.
“She and her husband were at the inn for a few days last week, and she saw the rocking chairs you delivered for BJ and Eric. At breakfast one morning she asked about them, and she was very excited to hear they were handmade in town. Apparently a lot of her clients want commissioned, handcrafted pieces, and she’s always on the lookout for new sources. She asked me to give you that and tell you she’d appreciate a call.”
Adam fingered the fancy, embossed card that communicated class, high-society connections, big bucks—all the things he lacked. “Does she know my background?”
“She asked. I told her about the meticulous work you did on the inn remodel and how you make furniture in your spare time.”
“Did you tell her I’m an ex-con?”
“Why would I tell her that?” He appeared to be genuinely puzzled.
“It might make a difference.”
“Why?”
“Clients of a firm like this”—he lifted the card—“might not want furniture made by someone like me.”
“Stone.” John grasped his upper arm. “There isn’t a person in this town who wouldn’t vouch for you. You may not have sought friends, but everyone knows about the good deeds you do behind the scenes. And they’d like to be your friend. You’re part of Hope Harbor now. If you want to tell this woman your history, that’s your choice. But remember—it is history . . . and I think it bothers you a lot more than it bothers any of us.”
Pressure built in his throat. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. You’ve earned your place here over the past eighteen months. We consider you an asset to the town.” He removed his hand and sniffed the air. “Mmm. Charley’s cooking. My next stop. See you soon.”
With a jaunty wave, he continued down the wharf toward the colorful taco stand.
Adam picked up his toolbox and wandered to the planter where Brian was already hard at work.
Could what John said be true? Did people in town want to be his friend?
It was possible.
From the beginning, Annette and Matt had sought him out at church to offer a pleasant greeting. Luis and BJ had always been kind to him. Eleanor Cooper often sent him fudge cake. Charley had befriended him on day one. John had given him a standing invitation to drop by the inn any time he was in the mood for one of the gourmet breakfasts he’d enjoyed there while working on the remodel project.
And now there was Lexie.
His mouth flexed up. Of all the blessings he’d received during his months in Hope Harbor, she was the best.
“Did you win the lottery or something?”
At Brian’s query, he redirected his attention to the teen. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” The boy studied him. “You look kind of like it’s Christmas morning and you just walked into a room full of presents.”
An apt analogy.
“No gift-wrapped presents, but I’ve had an eventful twenty-four hours—capped off with some unexpected news. I’ll tell you about it while we work.”
Adam followed through on that promise, answering Brian’s many questions about woodworking before they branched out to other topics.
And throughout the day, as they hammered and sawed and nailed and sanded, his mood remained elevated. Buoyant, almost.
It was a new sensation . . . and 180 degrees from how he’d felt the day he’d rolled into this town, fresh out of prison.
That had been a scary moment.
Despite Reverend Baker’s assurances that Hope Harbor would offer him both a haven and a fresh start, he’d been dubious—and nervous. He was tainted merchandise, after all. Why would any decent person want to have anything to do with him?
Yet quite a few had made welcoming overtures, despite his reserved manner.
Now a lovely woman wanted to date him—and his woodworking hobby was on the verge of becoming much more than a pleasant pastime.
Adam drew in a lungful of the fresh sea air and looked past the boats bobbing in the water to the distant horizon, shrouded in fog on this April day.
Kind of like the future.
No one knew what tomorrow held—even those who had it all planned out. Lexie was proof of that.
But for the first time, he was beginning to believe that, barring any unforeseen glitches, his life was finally, truly, on a permanent upswing.
“Hey, Brian. What’s up?”
Stomach knotting, Brian watched Lucas Fisher stroll toward him and prop a shoulder against the wall next to his locker. The high school football hero hadn’t talked to him since . . . the incident . . . and whatever the reason for this contact, he had a feeling his Tuesday was about to go downhill.
“I got your note.” He shoved his geometry book onto a shelf and pulled out his lunch. “I thought you said it would be better if we weren’t seen together until the cops got off my back.”
“Yeah . . . but that’s dying down.” Scanning the hall, he winked at a passing cheerleader. She moved on with a giggle, and he dropped his volume. “You haven’t mentioned my name to anyone, have you?”
“No. We made a pledge. I keep my word.”
“Good, good. Listen . . .” He leaned closer. “I had an idea for some . . . entertainment. I could do it alone, but it’s more fun with two people. You in?”
The ball of nerves in his stomach tightened. “I can’t. I’m already in trouble. If I get caught again, they’re gonna put me in front of a judge. I could end up in jail.”
“Oh, give me a break. The jails are already too crowded with real criminals. Nobody cares about this kind of stuff.”
“That’s not what the police chief said . . . or that juvenile counselor.”
“They’re just trying to scare you.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s working.”
Lucas narrowed his eyes. “I’m beginning to think you’re a wimp.”
“No. I’m not.” His fingers crimped the lunch bag.
“Prove it.”
“I
can’t.” His throat tightened. “Not how you want me to.”
“You know”—Lucas’s features hardened—“you wouldn’t have any friends in this place if it wasn’t for me. Nobody talked to you until I did.”
“I can find friends somewhere else if I have to.” The assertion was brave, but the crack in his voice betrayed him.
“I wouldn’t count on that. This is a small town. Everyone goes to school here. If you want . . .” He smiled and straightened up. “Hey, Coach.”
“Fisher.” As Brian shifted his weight, the man spared him a disinterested glace. Like he was nobody. Brian mashed his lips together to keep them from trembling while the coach refocused on Lucas. “Stop by my office later. I want to talk to you about some ideas for next season.”
“Sure thing.”
A bell rang, and the coach strode away. The noise level in the hallway rose immediately as classrooms disgorged antsy students.
Lucas turned his back on the surging throng. “One last chance, Brian. Are you in or out?”
“Look . . . I don’t want any more trouble. We almost got caught the first time.” Hard as he tried to contain it, a thread of desperation slipped in.
“That’s because the planters were too public. We don’t pick those kinds of places anymore. If it hadn’t been for that stupid dog at the cove, we wouldn’t have had any trouble there, either. Think about it and let me know by the end of the day. But remember . . .” He tapped the lunch bag. “You’ll be eating alone from now on if you don’t come through. I don’t hang with losers.”
He pivoted away and joined a passing group of students.
Brian sagged against the locker, gut churning. If he hooked back up with Lucas, he’d never have to worry about sitting by himself in the cafeteria again. He’d have friends and a social life.
But there was a risk.
A big one.
He’d used up his second chance, and if he got caught again, it would be bad. Real bad.
Muttering a word his mother wouldn’t approve of, he threw his lunch back in the locker and slammed the door shut.
Why wasn’t anything ever easy?
Why couldn’t they have stayed in Medford, where he’d had friends?
Why did his father have to be such a jerk?
Why was he the one who’d gotten caught instead of Lucas?
Why did some kids live in homes with real foundations and have fathers who hung around?
His whole life sucked.
And it wasn’t like he could talk to his mom about this stuff. She’d tell him to stick with the program and keep his nose clean.
But she didn’t know how hard it had been in the beginning, until Lucas came to his rescue.
He couldn’t go back to that lonely place.
Another bell rang, prompting him into action. Since he wasn’t eating lunch, he’d find a quiet spot in the library, pretend to study . . . and try to figure out what he was going to do to avoid making a bigger mess of his life.
Adam hadn’t called.
Maybe he wasn’t going to.
Spirits sinking, Lexie scrolled through her messages again in case she’d missed a call while she helped Matt with his bath and read him a bedtime story.
Nothing.
But it was only eight thirty. It was possible her phone might ring any minute. He had promised to call, and unless her instincts were failing, Adam would honor that promise. Tuesday wasn’t too late to set up a weekend date. Tomorrow wouldn’t be, either.
Waiting, however, was hard.
She wandered out to the screened porch, where her mom was ensconced with an afghan and a suspense novel, wicker rocking chair pulled up beside the flickering flames in the chiminea.
“Matt down for the count?” Her mom glanced at her over the top of her reading glasses.
“I hope so. He’s a little fidgety tonight.”
“He’s not alone.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve been jittery and distracted yourself for the past two days.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Shall I present the evidence?” Her mother closed her book and removed her glasses. “You knocked over a glass of juice yesterday morning. Almost left the house without your gun this morning. Completely lost the thread of conversation at dinner tonight. Are there issues at work?”
“No.” If only it were that simple.
“Are you coming down with some kind of bug?”
“No.” There were cures for most of those.
“Then it must be man trouble.”
She folded her arms. “That’s a leap, isn’t it?”
“Nope. A logical conclusion.” Her mother motioned to the wicker chair beside her. “I put that in front of the fire in case you wanted to join me. Dug out your sweater and slippers too.”
Lexie checked the seat of the chair. Everything was there, inviting her to sit . . . and continue the conversation she’d been trying to avoid.
Talking to her mom might not be such a bad idea, though. She was going to find out about the coming date soon—assuming Adam followed through. It might be helpful to get her mother’s take on this new, unsettling complication in her placid life.
“I’ll sit for a few minutes.” She crossed to the chair, pushed her arms through the sleeves of the sweater, and pulled on the slippers.
Like she’d done the night Adam had shared this cozy spot with her.
But she felt alone tonight, even though her mom was sitting four feet away.
“It’s not the same as sitting here with Adam, is it?”
Was her mother a mind reader or what?
Then again, since her days of high school crushes and fleeting college romances, her mom had always had uncanny intuition—and she’d been a great sounding board on matters of the heart.
“No.” She buttoned the sweater, giving the task more attention than it deserved.
“He’s a fine man.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He likes you, Lexie.”
“I like him too. As a matter of fact . . . he said he was going to call me about a date for this weekend.”
“And you’re not certain you want to go?”
“No! I definitely want to go. But . . . he hasn’t called yet.”
“The week is young.”
“I suppose so, but . . .” She pulled the sweater tighter around her.
“You’d like to at least hear his voice.”
“Yes. Silly, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. While we were dating, the day seemed incomplete if your dad didn’t call. I felt like that almost from the moment we met—a strong indication he was the one. You probably had the same experience with Joe.”
“No. That was different. I saw him every day—often more than once. I never had a chance to miss him. But I’m sure I would have if I hadn’t seen him as much. I felt most alive when I was with him.”
“Is that how you feel around Adam?”
“Yes—and it’s kind of . . . unnerving.” She picked at some lint on the sweater. “I wasn’t in the market for another romance.”
“That’s how God often works. He sends possibilities our way—often in unexpected forms.”
“Charley offered a similar opinion not long ago.”
“He’s a very wise man.” Her mother began a slow, gentle rock. “You know, I’m wondering if Adam is struggling to come up with somewhere to take you.”
Huh.
Now her mom was calling him Adam too.
Interesting.
“Why would it be hard to pick a date spot?”
“I assume he doesn’t have a lot of cash. That leaves out a first-class restaurant—often a man’s strategy to impress a woman on a first date. He might also be wondering how comfortable a police chief would feel being seen in public with an ex-con. And other than dancing, he may not have a sense yet for activities you enjoy.”
“I’ve already told him I’m comfortable dating him, I don’t need a fancy dinner and
he could ask if he wants to know my other interests.”
“Or you could tell him.”
“You think I should initiate the call?”
“It’s an option. Last I heard, women were a lot more liberated about such matters these days.”
“Yes . . . but he said he’d call—and I’m used to guys doing the pursuing. Like Joe did.”
“Adam’s not Joe. Rules change with different players.” The phone in the kitchen trilled. “That will be Rose to talk about the next garden club meeting. Will you turn off the chiminea when you come in?”
“Sure.”
Her mother disappeared through the door, and Lexie leaned back in her chair, watching the flames that warmed and brightened the room.
The same things Adam was doing for her life.
Her mom could be right about his foot-dragging. It might have more to do with self-esteem issues, which her super-confident husband had never dealt with, than a change of heart.
Why not come up with a few date options that took into account his limited financial resources and give him a call? He might be grateful for her input . . . and it would be better than sitting around waiting—and hoping—for him to make the first move.
She rose and flipped off the gas logs, the tension that had plagued her shoulders for the past forty-eight hours easing as her plan firmed in her mind. She’d give him another day or so to initiate contact. If he didn’t, she would.
Because no way was she letting a possible case of cold feet derail what she hoped would be the first of many dates with the nicest guy she’d met in a long, long time.
16
Adam pressed the off button on his cell, weighed the phone in his hand, and looked over at Clyde, who was nosing through some wood scraps in the corner of the workshop.
“Well . . . how about that, my friend?”
The pup turned toward him and wagged his tail.
“You think I should go into the furniture-making business?”
He gave a little woof that was hard to interpret and went back to foraging.
“Thanks. That helps a lot.” Grinning, he patted the pooch and wandered outside. Through the trees, the sun was beginning to dip toward the sea on this Wednesday night. Too early for the sunset show on the beach, which was fine. He needed some time to think through his surreal conversation with Rebecca Oliver.