nutcase.”
“Well, I joined your little inner circle, so what does that make me?” He poured milk into the bowl and whisked. He remembered vaguely recognizing her when she’d approached him that day. They’d both grown up in Maple Valley, after all, she a couple years ahead of him in school.
She smiled around a bite. “A friend. That’s what it makes you.”
It took every ounce of self-control in him not to wince. To keep whisking the globby mix of eggs and milk and pretend that one little word—friend—didn’t feel so ill-fitting.
“A mysterious friend, but a friend all the same.”
“I’m not mysterious, Jen.”
“You are. You never talk about yourself. But I don’t mind. I’m good at cracking mysteries. One day I will discover all your secrets.”
Well, that was the most disconcerting thing anyone had ever said to him. He pointed his whisk at her. “Just eat, Belville.”
Although if ever there was a person he might wish to let in, it was Jen. Something told him that if he someday spilled everything to her—told her about the explosion and Tashfeen and the decisions he’d made after—she’d understand.
But then he’d have to tell her the rest. About Tashfeen’s mother. About Flagg and Bridgewell. About how long he’d been lying to them all. And that might be enough to ruin his chances—
He cut the thought off before it could go any further. What chances? Anything more than friendship with Jen had always been out of the question. Because of his secrets. Because he spent half the year or more overseas doing things he’d never be able to talk about.
Because Jenessa Belville deserved someone more whole than he could ever hope to be.
He rubbed a palm over his arm, felt the ridges of his scars through the cotton. Then, realizing what he was doing, he stopped, picked up the bowl of eggs, and carried it to the griddle. “Why don’t you take your plate into the sunroom? It’ll be more comfortable there. I’ll bring the eggs in when they’re done.”
Jen nodded and stood, lifting her plate. But she paused halfway across the kitchen. “You know what the odd thing is?” She glanced around the room. “Ever since I put that sign in the ground, I’ve had this strange feeling that as much as I might want to be done with this house, maybe it’s not done with me. And then . . . those kids. What if there’s a reason they’re here?” She shrugged, a chunk of dark hair falling free from her ponytail. “I sound silly. I must be overly tired.”
No, she sounded like the Jenessa Belville he knew. She always saw the potential in things. Like the way she’d seen something in him, later Mara and Marshall—sensed the possibility of deep friendship when they’d been little more than strangers.
It inspired him. Made him think of Noah, of the mission Flagg had assigned him. He should take a cue from Jen. Look for the potential and possibility in this assignment. Cling to the promise of securing his future with Bridgewell.
If only that future didn’t mean once again saying goodbye to the woman currently disappearing into the sunroom. He dragged a fork through sizzling eggs. At least he still had another month in Maple Valley.
He’d make it count. Spend as much time as possible with his friends, with Kit and Beckett. He’d mentor Noah as best he could. He’d enjoy each and every encounter with Jen even though he knew they didn’t belong together.
And maybe somehow, he’d convince his stubborn heart to let go.
5
Jenessa woke up to the warmth of the sun on her face and the welcome weight of her quilt tucked up to her chin, the lull of a fan or some other whirring sound gently coaxing her to consciousness. And something else . . .
A sense of calm and comfort. As if she wasn’t alone in her bedroom.
She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, bleary gaze coming into focus, and she felt her forehead wrinkle in confusion. She’d slept in the sunroom?
She flopped back against a nest of throw pillows, trying to make her morning brain function. There was a plate on the end table and—oh! Lucas had been here last night. Had made her pancakes—and eggs, too, although she didn’t remember eating them. She must’ve fallen asleep . . .
A flurry of whispered voices passed the room.
The kids!
How could she have forgotten? She jumped from the loveseat, gaze zooming to the small antique clock on a wall shelf. 8:02. For all