“Maybe I’ll see you again,” she said, her gaze burning into his.
“Maybe.” He didn’t encourage her one way or the other. He wasn’t sure being anywhere close to her was a good idea, especially in light of what he was feeling. At the same time, he worried he wouldn’t be able to stay away.
“You know,” she continued, “sometimes at night if I’m awake…I could meet you on the porch.”
Not a good idea. Not a good idea at all. The two of them alone, sitting in the dark. All he could think about was holding her in his arms, kissing her, loving her, burying his body in hers.
“Nick?”
He shook the thought of her body wrapped around his from his mind. “Wouldn’t count on it,” he said, unsure if it was possible to ever return to the inn while she was there.
“Oh, I hoped—”
He cut her off. “I appreciate the thought. That’s private property and I shouldn’t be there in the first place.”
Right away she smiled, as if discounting his concerns. “I mentioned seeing you and Elvis to Jo Marie this morning and she said she had no problem with it. You’re welcome at any time.”
“It’s a bad idea.” In more ways than she knew.
She blinked as if his words had wounded her. “Okay…”
They stood only a few feet apart, staring at each other.
“I should probably go.”
He nodded. Nick needed her gone before he did something stupid like pull her into his arms and hold her, let her absorb his pain, free him of the agony he had brought into his life and into his family.
“Yeah, I’m busy.”
She nodded and her eyes grew sad. Without him saying a word, she noted the shift in his mood. “Would you rather I not run on your land?”
“No, go ahead. It isn’t a problem.” He reached for a hammer in order to give the impression he had work to do and her chitchat had delayed him.
She grinned then. “Good thing, or I’d ask for my cookies back.”
He smiled, having completely forgotten she’d brought him cookies.
“I appreciate you letting me see the inside of the house. It’s really beautiful.”
“Thanks.” Not wanting to continue the conversation, he returned to the kitchen. When he glanced out the window, he saw Emily bending down and talking to Elvis. She looked up then, as if feeling his gaze on her. Their eyes met and she waved.
He didn’t wave back.
My first date with Greg couldn’t have gone better. The Saturday following the Fourth of July we drove up to Paradise on Mount Rainier in the national park and had lunch at the rustic lodge. The ride took more than two hours as we stopped at a winery along the way. It also gave us a chance to talk and become comfortable with each other.
I liked Greg. In fact, I liked him a lot and his dry wit had me laughing out loud. I don’t remember the last time I actually laughed the deep belly kind that makes it hard to breathe. In addition, we seemed to share a lot of common life experiences. We were the same age, born in the same month.
We’d both lost our spouses, Greg’s wife to brain cancer. Unless someone has suffered through the death of a spouse, they can’t know the depth of that pain. No matter how sympathetic or compassionate one might be, only those who’ve walked that rut-filled path fully understand. It’s like every morning you relive that loss. It never goes away completely. Yes, the world continues on, but it’s not the same. Never the same.
Other than a brief conversation about his wife, Julie, and my Paul, we didn’t linger over our losses. Neither of us had children, but it was understood that we were both family oriented. God willing, I would have children one day.
Greg worked for Microsoft in their educational division and had been involved in a large project with World Vision, bringing computers into schools in Kenya. The year before, he’d traveled there to deliver and set up the systems. He spoke enthusiastically about his African experiences. He’d gone believing he was helping these kids by bringing them into the twenty-first century. Instead he came away feeling they had blessed him. Working with World Vision, he told me, had helped him deal with his wife’s death.
For the first time in a year, since Mark had left Cedar Cove—left me—I felt completely at ease, completely relaxed. It was as if the worries I’d carried with me all these months vanished