“I…I’m not really on the market right now anyway.” Had she voiced those thoughts out loud? “I mean, it’s not like I’m dating anybody, of course, but not many guys are going to want to date a pregnant introvert with a messy backstory. And…and I…I’m not looking.”
Sophie’s brows rose with her widening eyes. “Um…I never said anything about you and romance and Henry. I was talking about me.” Her pink lips spread with Cheshire Cat cunning. “But I don’t see why, if God sends the right guy, it wouldn’t fit perfectly into His plan, messy or not. Circumstances don’t really bother Him.”
Julia’s face heated to baking hot. “It’s just not right, after…everything.”
“Not right? To want romance after having some jerk attack you? Hope is what you need, Julia, and it just so happens I’m your girl.” Sophie nodded. “I’m the most hope-full romantic you’ll ever meet, and I’ve read all of the right books to prove it.”
Julia’s tight lips relaxed into another grin. “I appreciate your optimism, Soph, but—”
“I think you need to talk to Dr. Karen about this thing with Henry.”
“There is no ‘thing’.”
Channeling her inner Wheel of Fortune persona, Sophie raised her palms rose in the air like she’d just guessed the winning phrase. “Oh! You and Henry are actually so perfect for each other.” She blinked. “How did I not see it before? It’s brilliant. Both sweet, quiet, love music, love England.” Her volume increased with each addition to her list. “Is he a Christian? Does he watch rom com?”
How did the latter two follow each other in any way? Julia raised a palm to her sister. “Sophie, don’t get carried away.”
“And of course, you have every right to a happily ever after, just like everybody else. All the best romance stories start with a heroine who has a tragedy to overcome, and you’ve already had yours, so all that’s left is the handsome prince and the magical future.”
“I don’t wish for my type of tragedy on anybody’s happily ever after, Sophie.”
Though God had more than brought her through the pain. He’d shrouded her with such support, and even now, the financial means to actually see the future she’d thought the pregnancy may have altered—or even ended altogether. Oh, He loved her so well.
“Of course you don’t.” Her sister sobered, a calm quiet filling the car for the first time during their ride, until her face brightened in the burst of sunlight shining through the passenger-side window. “But Henry?” She looked up, smile growing. “I can see him as a prince, you know? The quiet sort of hero with a deep-held passion that only surfaces when he meets the woman of his—”
“Sophie, don’t. Okay?” Julia raised her palm to quell the verbal fairytale onslaught. “Can you imagine how horrified poor Henry would be if he even imagined us planning out his life? Oh, and did I mention that I’m not on the market right now. I may never be.”
“Our nevers are just one of God’s ways of making miracles.”
“Sophie!”
Sophie huffed but her eyes still glimmered with her residual smile. “I still think you should talk to Karen about it.”
Julia brought the car to a stop in front of the dealership and turned to her sister. “How about we focus on that cute teal car of yours and allow me to focus on this little person getting ready to join our family, okay?”
Sophie pinched her lips. “Okay. For now. But Julia, sometimes God uses what we least expect to bring us what we need the most.”
Chapter Ten
H enry sat by the breakfast nook window, violin nestled in his hand and chin resting in place as his fingers searched for the notes playing in his mind. The mountains in the distance danced with the golden colors of the sunset, casting amber hues against everything within his view. A valley of molten sunlight.
The crunch of gravel followed by the snap of a closing car door drew him from the phantom melody in his head. As he slowly resurfaced into the present, he glanced down from his perch to see Julia struggling with what looked to be too many bags.
Without further hesitation, he laid his violin on the table and ran down the stairs, rushing toward her with the speed of a soccer player…but none of the grace. He tumbled over a random boot by the back door but recovered his footing before coming face-to-face with her. “Allow me to assist you with those.”
Julia peeked at him as she negotiated an armful of sugar, flour, and other baking items, weariness in those large eyes pulling his steps forward even faster.
Henry gently tugged a few bags from her, his gaze searching hers for answers. “I think you’re carrying quite enough already.”
Her body relaxed against the side of her car. “I’d appreciate the help. I didn’t mean to get so much at the store, but then I…” She held her silence for a moment until rallying with a confident tone. “How about I pay for your kindness in cookies?”
Her pale face belied the steadiness in her voice. Were those tears on her lashes? His heart stuttered through a helpless pang, but he pushed on a smile. “I…I like your cookies, but my kindness is always free.” He collected almost all of the bags, and she reached in for the last one before leading the way into the house.
“Don’t deny me the pleasure of watching you eat some of my famous dark-chocolate pecan-cluster cookies.” The faintest light emerged in her watery eyes. “I love baking, but I like watching other people enjoy what I create even more.”
He caught the door with his foot, holding it ajar until she stepped through.
“Thank you.” Her gaze flickered to his as she moved past him, a single strand of golden hair slipping loose from her clips and falling across her face.
“My pleasure.” He whispered the words but let his eyes freely roam hers for some hint to her sadness.
He followed her and her wisteria scent down the hallway to the kitchen and placed the bags on the counters, handing her items to put away. The silence groaned between them. How could he attempt to comfort her? What could he say? Something. Anything.
“I…I enjoy watching people respond to what I create too.”
Her fingers stilled on the bag in her hand, and she quirked her lips into a half grin. “Our secret way of making an impact on others without having to be seen, eh?”
He chuckled. How could he bring out more of her smile? Or lessen the sadness in her eyes? Would she open up to him? He cleared his throat. Probably not but…but perhaps he could try. “It’s a harrowing business, isn’t it? I stand in awe of people like Wes, Eisley, your sister Sophie, my brother Elliott. They jump into those situations with such relative ease, even”—he shuddered— “pleasure.”
Her shoulders gave the slightest shake from her quiet laugh. “It is a marvel. Sophie drinks it in like chocolate.” She slipped off the lid of a white jar and turned to him, cookie in hand. “Speaking of chocolate.”
He accepted the proffered cookie with a nod and bit into the moist dough, its sweet taste pooling over his tongue in soft, rich harmony.
“You know, as strange as it sounds”—her voice drew him closer, her profile thoughtful as she continued putting away groceries— “this bakery was my first step toward my real aspiration. My…heart dream… as Mama calls it.”
“Your heart dream?”
She nodded and turned to face him. “I’ve always wanted to own my own inn or bed-and-breakfast. I love the idea of creating a getaway, a different world.” She lowered her gaze to the counter, a flush darkening her cheeks. “Sophie says I’d be a fairy godmother to my guests—pop into people’s lives to give them something special, watch them delight in it, and leave them with good memories.” She shrugged a shoulder as she placed milk and eggs in the refrigerator. “That probably sounds silly.”
“Not at all.” He waved the uneaten half of his cookie at her. “You have a gift for it. Besides, I understand the pleasure of creating something beautiful, so others can revel in its purpose, absorb its being. Offer something unique and move them without words.”
T
heir gazes locked. “Music,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He watched the sadness wane a little in her expression. “There’s a sense of being a part of those people without the—”
“Pressure of really being a part of them.”
“Exactly.”
Her smile resurfaced. “And then there’s knowing that you’ve used your talents to bring joy to others. That you’ve opened their eyes or hearts in ways they wouldn’t have discovered on their own because they’ve been so busy engaging—”
“Instead of just observing and listening and—”
“Being.” Her gaze flickered back to his. “Yes.”
Quiet swelled around them as his face heated with thoughts of his own unvoiced “heart dream”. For some reason—whether his own assumptions or ideals ingrained from his mother—he had the sense the simplicity of his dream proved too sentimental to ever voice aloud: the desire for a family of his own, one filled with tenderness and laughter and kindness rather than harsh demands and unattainable expectations. One with music and friendship.
But men didn’t speak of such things freely, did they?
Perhaps not, but that didn’t stop his prayers for the real thing.
“I think you’d make an excellent hostess for an inn.” He raised the last bite of his cookie in the air. “And the guests would certainly benefit from your baking. These are delicious. I can only imagine the ease with which you make friends with this excellent fare.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, turning her face from him. “I… I…”
He rushed forward, almost placing his palm on her shoulder, but catching himself. Could his compliment have offended her? “Forgive me. What did I say?”
“It’s…it’s not you.” She shook her head again, her glistening gaze flickering to his. “It’s just that I…saw... I thought…”
His body and thoughts froze in concern at her trembling bottom lip. Think, Henry! “Julia, what is it? What do you need?”
She blinked up at him, a few tears spilling from her eyes. “Excuse me.” She pushed past him and ran from the room, catching a sob as she exited.
He stood cemented to the spot, staring at the way she’d gone. What…what had happened? His shoulders sagged forward, and he leaned his palms against the counter, offering up a prayer for understanding. What had he done wrong?
Silence reigned in the room as he considered his potential errors until, with an echo loud enough to send his heart from Appalachia to England, music began.
The clash of piano chords shook him upright. Furious strains of Chopin’s Revolutionary Étude blasted from down the hallway, almost loud enough to reverberate in his chest. No hesitancy in her skill nor reluctance in her abilities. Only…fury.
He slipped down the hall and peered into the room, palm paused on the doorframe. Julia sat with her head bent toward the keyboard, attention focused on her fingers’ tempestuous assault on the keys and cheeks wet with tears.
Now he understood even better. She wasn’t only sad but outraged and pouring her anger into Chopin’s turbulent piece. Henry stared, transfixed as the melody climbed to another pinnacle over the left hand’s storm and wrath. Should he leave? Stay?
Just as she reached the middle of the piece, a sob wracked her body and her fingers faltered over the notes. She smashed her hands down in a clash so crushing it seized his breath. Oh, the pain! It reverberated through him from the notes still lingering in the air to the thrumming of his pulse.
Let me help you, Julia.
She buried her face into her palms, releasing another pitiful cry, a sign she wanted privacy. He took a step back to the threshold, but another sob stalled his retreat. Perhaps…perhaps she needed a…friend.
“I thought I saw Peyton at the grocery store.” Her muffled admission came from behind her palms. She sniffled and lowered her hands to her lap. “I…I haven’t seen him since the courtroom, and I never want to see him again, but when I turned into a different aisle at the store, I thought he stood at the other end. And I froze.”
Her watery gaze found his, so pained, so wounded. This time he stepped closer to her. Peyton. The cad who’d attacked Julia, no doubt. Henry’s fist tightened at his side. “He’s not in prison?”
She shook her head and wiped a hand beneath her eyes, her smile too hesitant to be sincere. “The court found him not guilty because of a lack of evidence…” A flush crawled up her cheeks, and she pushed the short pieces of blond hair that had fallen away from her braid behind her ears. “That it wasn’t consensual.” Her gaze shot to his. “It wasn’t consensual. He drugged me, but by the time I reported what had happened, the police couldn’t find a trace of whatever it was in my system, and then…”
“Scoundrel.” Henry’s word choice was an unsatisfactory slur, not strong enough to describe the unconscionable deed done to this gentle and beautiful woman. His chest squeezed with the effort to maintain his composure. What he really wanted to do was punch something, particularly the villain who’d attacked her.
Julia’s expression softened at his response. “Everyone in the court room knew the truth, but no one could prove it beyond doubt. Thankfully, the outcry from the community did what the court couldn’t. He’d gained such a reputation that he moved away, but his family all still live here, and then…in that moment, in the store, I thought it was him.” Her bottom lip quivered again. “And I didn’t know what to do. How…how to fight.”
He desperately wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but they weren’t well enough acquainted for such a gesture. But how could he show her he treasured the fact that she’d entrusted him with her wounds? Offer her some solace? “I am so sorry, Julia.”
His words appeared to unlock some barrier. Tears rushed down her reddened cheeks while her fingers reached for the chain around her neck. “Everything in my life has changed because of that one night. New fears. Horrible nightmares. I’ve postponed my senior year of college so that I can be available for the baby.” She sniffled, placing her hand on her protruding abdomen. “I’m thankful for him. Of course, he’s not to blame. But everyone outside my family…well…they see me as broken in some way now. Even though it wasn’t my fault. It’s impossible to go back to the way things were. To who I was.” Her palm rose. “Tonight, I went to the pizza place my friends and I used to go to every Tuesday evening during the semester. They’d told me they weren’t meeting anymore.”
His stomach dropped at the intimation. No.
“But there they were.”
He closed his eyes, the ache for her loss and frustration over her “friends” shallowness branching through him.
Her joyless laugh sliced into the silence. “I should have known, you know? Almost all of them stopped calling months ago and came up with the most ridiculous excuses not to see me when I’d try to get together.” She wiped another hand beneath her eyes. “And…and it takes a lot of courage to try.” A deep breath sighed out of her, the weight of her sorrows drifting toward him like the echoes of Chopin’s étude. “I’m still me, you know? It’s a new me in some ways, but I’m still here and want to be seen…to feel I matter.”
I see you. You matter. He fumbled for his back jeans pocket, tugged out his handkerchief, and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She smiled and took the offering. “You know, Eisley talked about Wes having a handkerchief at the ready, but I didn’t actually believe how…how valiant it would feel to have a man offer you one when you’re sobbing like a baby.”
“You have every right to cry, to grieve.”
She wiped at her face again, sniffling and shaking her head. “I’m sorry to dump all this on you, Henry. You’re so kind to listen, but here I’ve been pouring out my horrible story—”
“No, please don’t apologize. I count it an honor you feel safe sharing your thoughts with me…” He raised a brow. “As a true friend…”
Her attention flickered between his face and the floor as if she were uncertain whether or not to trust his words. O
n the last rise upward, her gaze held his, she lowered the handkerchief, and a small smile crossed her face. “Thank you.”
“I hope you never see the cad who hurt you ever again, but if you do, I’m certain you’re strong enough to face him.” His jaw clenched before his last words forced their way out. “And I’ll stand with you, ready to dispose of the body, should you need me to.”
She blinked at him, and then seemed to catch on to his semi-teasing, because her smile widened a little more, inspiring his confidence to continue talking—even for an idea to take shape. “The best of friends, I see.”
“Of course.” He sobered. “And, I’m sorry to say, those friends of yours aren’t friends at all if this is how they behave.” Heat swirled from his chest into his face as he stepped out on a hunch. “In fact, I’m furious for you and think the only proper thing to do is…” He searched the room, hoping to lighten the mood again. “Have you a four-hands piece—perhaps a Chopin polonaise or one of Liszt’s Hungarian rhapsodies?”
“Or the four-hands Pirates of the Caribbean main theme?” The beautiful twinkle in her eyes doused some of the sadness that had lingered there only moments before.
His smile joined hers. He’d guessed right. “An excellent choice.”
“Played with a great deal of fury?” She pulled a book from the nearby shelf and placed it onto the piano, her brow raised in challenge.
He slid beside her onto the bench, cracking his knuckles in a dramatic flourish. “With all the fury this piano can stand.” He tilted his chin in her direction. “Saavy?”
Her shoulder touched his, and her sweet smile somehow made him feel like the hero he’d always wanted to be. “Saavy.”
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 9
