When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2)

by Pepper Basham

  Laughter surged forward in a rush of welcome, bringing with it an immediate sense of hospitality—boisterous hospitality. So many people spoke at once, all in this new Appalachian dialect, that he barely knew where to affix his attention.

  Oh no, he’d never experienced anything like this.

  “Wes, we’re glad to have you back for another visit.” A petite woman with blond and white shoulder-length hair emerged from the throng scattered throughout the vast living area and equally impressive kitchen. Her blue eyes held a striking resemblance to Julia’s. Dark, rich—an unforgettable hue.

  He gave the room a brief scan for the younger Jenkins. Julia. The name suited her. The blend of consonants and vowels a gentle melody of sound fitting for the ethereal-like beauty. What was it about her? Some balance of everything right merged in their interactions, even the awkward ones, leaving a strange pang in his chest. Like a battle of nerves, only less nauseating.

  “This is my best friend, Henry, whom I’ve told you about. He’s writing the musical score for the movie I’m here to film, and”—Wes shot Henry a grin, which provided a boost of reassurance—“I think he’s hoping for a much-needed holiday from his busy schedule. Henry, this is Kay Jenkins.”

  The matriarch of the Jenkins family offered her hand, her smile as inviting as the salty aroma wafting from the kitchen. She certainly didn’t look old enough to be the mother of children his age, let alone seven of them.

  “It’s real good to have you, Henry.” Her words soaked in her accent with a calming effect. “Welcome to Pleasant Gap.”

  Henry swallowed through his dry throat and attempted to hone his focus on the woman. “A pleasure, Mrs. Jenkins. Thank you.”

  “Please, call me Kay.” She offered a quiet smile, almost in apology. “And things are bound to get a little rowdy ‘round here. We can’t have a whole crew of people in one place like this without some noise.”

  As if in response to Kay’s words, a squeal split through the conversations. “Oh my goodness!” A young woman with soft, honey-colored hair and wide eyes bounded toward him. “Another handsome Englishman!”

  “That’s Sophie. Brace yourself. She hugs,” Wes warned right before the young woman took Wes into a hug, complete with another ear-piercing squeal.

  “You smell just as a good as the first time we met.” She sighed, lingering at Wes’s shoulder before she turned her sparkling hazel eyes in his direction. “And you must be Henry.”

  The embrace transferred from Wes, and Henry steadied himself for the impact. “Mmm, you smell like vanilla.” She closed her eyes, smile wide, and nose sniffing the air near his neck. He stiffened like the Venus de Milo. “That’s such a delightful scent.” Her eyes fairly twinkled. “Like a cupcake.

  “Thank you?” Henry wasn’t quite certain whether the unsettled twist in his stomach meant he needed a laugh or an escape plan.

  “She’s harmless, really,” Eisley whispered on Henry’s other side. “Every family needs a resident Disney princess, you know?”

  And then other people came forward, each adding a new face and name. Henry turned from Eisley to Wes, attempting to interpret the scene but failing to find clarity before the conversation bled into another one. Or more than one. It was difficult to tell when there were four people speaking at the same time…on differing topics.

  “I’m Rachel.” A dark-haired woman offered her hand, then gestured with her chin. “Looks like Dad already got a hold of you. What happened to your eye?”

  Comprehension stuttered. “Pardon?”

  “Julia accidently hit him with the door at the bakery.” Eisley offered an apologetic shrug and lopsided grin. “Henry’s had quite the introduction to our family.”

  “And it’s only just begun,” Wes added, his smile giving Henry no comfort.

  A burly man, his brown hair and matching moustache framing his stern face, walked forward while wiping his thick palms on his hips. Henry needed no introduction. Wes’s description had been perfect, right down to the intimidating stare.

  “Daddy, be nice to Henry, okay?” Sophie linked her arm through her father’s and shot Henry a bedazzled grin. “Julia’s already hit him once.”

  “Julia had to hit hi—” Nate Jenkins’s dark brows shot into a furious V, and he targeted his narrowing gaze on Henry. “What did you do to my girl? You good for nothin’ foreigner.” He barreled forward, fists at his sides, and Henry stumbled a step back into the wall. “If you so much as—”

  “Whoa, whoa, Dad.” Julia stepped between them, seemingly out of nowhere, her palms on her father’s chest. “You know the stairway door at the bakery? I opened it and Henry was coming up the stairs. The same thing happened to George Pinkerton last month when he stayed at the apartment, remember? The door hit him in the face…and you never came by to fix it.”

  “The—What?” His furious gaze darted from Julia’s face to Henry’s. “Door?”

  The wall prevented Henry from fleeing the premises altogether. Perhaps accompanying Wes to Appalachia was a bad—possibly life-ending—idea.

  “Really, Dad?” Eisley slapped her father on the shoulder. “Did you think we’d let a jerk hang out in the place Julia runs?”

  “He’s the best of men, I assure you. True as an arrow.”

  Wes placed his hand on Henry’s shoulder, his lips upturned in good-humor, though Henry had difficulty understanding how anything good could come from seeing his life flash before his eyes.

  “You…you didn’t have to hit him?” Nate kept his focus on Henry, though his tone slightly softened.

  “No, Dad, but maybe now you’ll fix that door?” Julia glanced at Henry and mouthed I’m sorry. If he hadn’t understood anything else from the twelve conversations occurring at once around him, those words would’ve been enough. “Like Wes said, Henry is the good sort.”

  Her comment pushed through the growing anxiety in his chest and dispersed a sliver of calm. Belonging. Like when they’d discussed music together.

  The man’s moustache twitched while he drew in a deep breath, measuring Henry from head to toe. As if he’d made up his mind, he sighed. “Well, I reckon we got more important things to do than to stand around and ogle over another sissy boy visitin’ the family. We got supper and some serious basketball goin’ on.” He shot an eyeroll to the ceiling and murmured as he turned to walk away, “Smells like vanilla. Crazy women.”

  Conversations and teasing continued as the family gathered around the table. The liveliness and apparent genuine regard warmed every part of the room, wrapping around Henry and urging him to join the fun. He grinned at the colloquialisms and the welcome addition of the children to the conversations but remained quiet in his place. Abraham Lincoln’s advice, once again, was thoroughly adequate for such situations. Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.

  Henry found it hard enough to speak when put on the spot, so silence remained his modus operandi. As far as the Jenkins family was concerned, their noises lulled into a contented hum around him. He was easily passed over in conversations given the number of people at the table, especially when three or more of them tried to talk at once. They ended up answering each other. It worked out quite well for him.

  The only time the room had grown quiet was when Nate Jenkins had prayed over the meal—a poignant moment for Henry since he’d never held hands with anyone in prayer, except perhaps his paternal grandmother, let alone connected with over twenty people around a table. He’d attended dinners of more than twenty people, of course. His mother was the queen of dinner parties. But prayer? Not a word or action used in his home unless a death seemed imminent.

  The act remained a very private part of his world, as intimate as music, but here the family shared without reserve or ridicule, somehow awakening a longing in him. The intimacy of holding hands in prayer gripped him with a connection to these strangers that he shouldn’t feel. A mutual understanding of a greater plan, an expectation, a Father’s love. This place, the
se people, stirred his senses—his heart—to life in a way words fell short.

  And when words failed to comply, music swelled to the rescue.

  The Jenkins family’s interactions held the same warmth of affection as Wes’s family’s. Though the Jenkins’s brand of warmth came with an increase in volume, chaos, and laughter, the mutual respect and kindness flowed without reserve.

  Julia sat at the far end of the table, the quietest of the seven siblings. She’d twisted her golden hair up into some kind of knot on the back of her head, highlighting her slender neckline. Heat teased a shocking fire through Henry’s middle at the awareness, so he flipped his attention toward Julia’s twin brother, Greg, who was telling some story about rescuing a cow.

  Henry fought the pull of his gaze toward Julia. He had come to Appalachia for the music, not a music-loving beauty.

  Eisley’s three children provided background noise for the adults’ conversations. Wes had shown Henry photos of the kids, and Henry had even joined in a few video chats with them over the past two months, giving him more familiarity with the three. Two-year-old Emily’s with her antics brought out protective instincts. He’d already rescued her twice from diving off a chair, and once from trying to scale the refrigerator. Talking with Pete gave Henry the urge to listen to the Spiderman soundtrack with a clever, web-wielding five-year-old in mind—complete with attached web-blaster. But it was Nathan who Henry understood best of all. The seven-year-old’s quiet observation of the room, his quick mind, and readiness to exit the crowded room at the right moment mirrored Henry’s childhood.

  Yes, he understood that very well.

  “Wes, you been studyin’ your basketball the past few months since we saw you last?” Nate raised a brow to Wes in challenge.

  “I’ve studied some of your favorite teams, Nate.”

  “Aha!” Nate smacked his hand against the table. “And which one are you rootin’ for, boy?”

  “The Tarheels, right, Wes?” Greg shouted from beside Henry, shocking him with the sudden explosion of sound. “The smartest folks know it’s a wasted vote to pick any other North Carolina team.”

  “You’ll be eatin’ your words, Greg Jenkins. My Blue Devils are gonna make it to the final four, at least, and then you’ll be the one payin’ for my dinner at Lincoln’s.”

  Henry looked to Wes for clarification, but Wes only shook his head with a chuckle.

  “Lincoln’s is Dad’s favorite restaurant,” Rachel whispered from across the table, clearly noticing his confusion. “Seafood and hushpuppies. The best.”

  Hushpuppies? Wasn’t that a shoe store?

  “The devil plays basketball?” Pete looked up from his plate, his furrowed brow demonstrating a bewilderment that matched Henry’s. “I thought Papa said the devil played golf.”

  What on earth? Henry almost spat out his water.

  “Why would anybody want to cheer for a blue devil?” Sophie crinkled her nose in disgust and waved her fingers in the air, showing off dark blue nails. “I’m rooting for the University of Connecticut this year.”

  Nate released a combination of a cough and growl. “I ain’t raised you right, girl.”

  Julia’s gaze found Henry’s, and her lips tipped with humor...and another apology. He’d already memorized that look, but every time she sent it his way, he liked it more.

  “Don’t trust anything Sophie says about basketball, Henry.” Greg rolled his eyes and raised a fork in Sophie’s direction. “She picks teams based on the cutest mascot.”

  Rachel groaned. “Or worse, the cutest legs.”

  “It’s a sin, really,” Nate added, shaking his head as he shoveled in another bite of food.

  “You make it sound like a bad idea, but if I’m going to sit through watching these displays of mass sweatiness, I’m at least going to find something fun to watch.” She turned to Henry, her expression so animated she did resemble a Disney princess. “Did you know there are Fighting Irishmen too? I almost voted for them because I love everything from the UK.”

  Her nose crinkled with her grin, and Henry stiffened from whatever fascination sparkled in those eyes. Sophie’s admiration combined with the constant pandemonium and the strange conversation about the devil playing golf clashed inside his head like a toddler let loose on a set of drums and cymbals.

  “I think these may be the best mashed taters you’ve ever made, Mama.”

  “How can the devil hold a golf club and a pitch fork at the same time?” Pete’s voice made a piccolo-appearance into the conversation.

  “We need to have hotdogs tomorrow, Kay. It’s one of the big games, and hot dogs just make it better.”

  Greg. Pete. Nate. Henry’s mind swirled from the attempt to focus.

  Julia stood from her place at the table and walked to Kay’s side. Oh, no, no. She couldn’t leave him alone with all these extroverts, surely.

  “Why hotdogs?” Wes’s question broke into Henry’s fuzzy thinking.

  Nate shrugged. “It always makes me feel like I’m at a baseball game, and I love baseball.”

  Henry attempted to sort out the logic but failed, and a sudden shot of pain snaked over his forehead. His people limit was approaching at lightning speed.

  Perhaps logic had nothing to do with any of it.

  “Henry, speakin’ of food…” Kay’s voice drew his attention like a lifeline. “Would you mind runnin’ downstairs and collecting the cheesecake I’ve saved in the extra refrigerator?”

  Henry’s focus shifted from Kay to Julia, who sent a knowing smile over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Pardon me?”

  “As our guest, you can choose between the three kinds. The fridge is just at the bottom of the stairs on the right,” Kay added, standing.

  He followed suit and caught Julia watching from the kitchen doorway, brows raised in playful camaraderie. What was happening? And where were they sending him?

  Once Henry rounded the corner of the room, Kay stopped and placed a hand on his arm. “We forget the whole world ain’t like us sometimes. I suppose we can be a bit overwhelming for visitors. If Julia hadn’t been paying attention, we’d have run you off for sure.”

  Julia? Attention? What was she talking about?

  “She can see you need a little break because she’s one to understand.” Kay patted his arm and nodded to the stairs. “Take your time comin’ back with dessert.”

  He raised a brow, comprehension dawning with his smile. They were giving him a people break, encouraged by mutual introvert Julia Jenkins. He smiled at Kay then glanced back over his shoulder, but she was nowhere to be seen. As if he needed any other reason, Julia had just become one of his favorite people.

  Chapter Four

  T he delicious aroma of ham and sweet bread drew Henry from his room into the living area between the two apartments on the top floor of the bakery. As Julia had promised, the small table near the window stood laden with an abundant breakfast. Morning sunlight spilled in, displaying an amazing view of the azure-brushed horizon. Pleasant Gap crested a knoll overlooking the countryside, so even on Main Street the blue-tinted mountains framed the distance like stationary ocean waves.

  Wes had mentioned the draw and beauty of those mountains particularly as they related to the historical movie he was filming about a WWI-era teacher’s love for and impact on the community he moved to in deep Appalachia. Those mountains held an artistic appeal, a watercolor skyline of fog and ridges and morning sky.

  What music did they make?

  Henry checked his watch, then turned his gaze to the buffet before him. Steam rose from the pot in the center of the round table, bringing the familiar scent of tea. On the window seat nearby, a worn book lay open. He stepped closer and peered at the pages. A Bible opened to—he leaned closer—Isaiah 43?

  “It’s a good morning reminder.”

  Henry turned to see Julia at the top of the stairs with a plate of muffins in her hands. The vision of her with her hair in two braids, o
ne falling over each shoulder caught him completely off guard. She was a chameleon of different forms of beauty. Today she wore country girl charm with a slight tint of embarrassment on her cheeks—from his discovery of her open Bible, he supposed.

  His smile spread in welcome. He hadn’t been able to keep her far from his thoughts since she’d rescued him from ‘peopling’ at her parents’ home. He liked her—more than he should and certainly more than he’d admit.

  He looked back at the Bible and skimmed the first few verses.

  Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine…

  “A very good reminder.”

  She walked past him and placed the muffins on the table. “It’s one of my go-to chapters when I need to remember how to be brave.”

  His gaze lifted to hers, his brow rising in question.

  “Or rather, a reminder of Who I need to rely on to find my courage.”

  He looked down at her abdomen then to her face. He couldn’t imagine the weight of her wounds. “You are afraid?”

  She placed one palm over her stomach and adjusted the napkins. “Sometimes.”

  “About the past?”

  She kept her attention on the table as she set various plates into position. “Yes…and the future. I have a wonderful family, but the single parenting is rather daunting especially when the background story isn’t the least bit sweet.”

  Henry contemplated her words—all authentic fears—and his gaze dropped back to the window seat. He tapped the Bible. “I heard a choral performance of these verses once. Excellent musical setting for such beautiful words.” The sentence worked through his tightening throat, but there was nothing for it. He wanted to encourage her. “You are precious in his sight. And…and He is not prone to leave His children to face their fears alone, is He?”