by Irene Hannon
It seemed selfish to want more.
Yet as he wandered toward his house, he did want more.
He wanted a chance with Katherine.
But could a man who ran a coffee shop in a tiny town on the Oregon coast possibly offer enough incentive for her to stay . . . or return?
God alone knew.
And as the last lingering taste of blackberries and chocolate on his tongue faded, he could only hope that if Katherine chose to make the movie, her memories of her stay in Hope Harbor—and of him—wouldn’t do the same.
25
Give it up, Katherine. You’re done sleeping for the night.
As if to verify that, her cell on the nightstand beside the bed began to vibrate.
Expelling a breath, she pushed herself into a sitting position and pulled the phone out of the charger.
Simon’s name flashed on the screen.
She groaned—but pressed the talk button. No sense avoiding the inevitable.
“What are you doing up at”—she angled her watch toward the pale light seeping in around the drapes—“six forty-five? You never get out of bed in LA until after nine.”
“I’m not in LA, and there’s nothing to do in this town on a Wednesday night. I went to bed at ten. Let’s have breakfast.”
“I’m still in bed.”
“Get up and get dressed. I left you alone yesterday, but—”
“No, you didn’t. You called three times.”
“But I didn’t show up on your doorstep. I gave you space. Today, we’re going to talk. In person. Either you meet me for breakfast, or I’ll pick up coffee and bagels and come there.”
She swung her legs to the floor and pushed her hair back. “I don’t have anything to talk about yet. It’s only Thursday.”
“What time should I be there?”
He wasn’t backing down.
Fine. She’d talk to him.
But not here. This was her haven, and his frenzied presence always disrupted the calm vibe.
She stood and began to pace. “I’ll meet you in town—but not for breakfast. I didn’t sleep well last night, and it will take me a while to get in gear. Let’s have lunch at the Myrtle Café in town.”
“When?”
“Eleven thirty.”
“I’ll see you there.”
He ended the call without a good-bye.
Typical bad-mood Simon.
She set the phone on the nightstand and glanced at the bed.
That little inner voice had been right. There would be no more sleep for her this morning. Not after Simon’s brusque phone call—and the conversation with Zach last evening that had kept replaying in her mind through the long, dark hours while she’d tossed and turned.
Shoulders drooping, she scrubbed a hand down her face.
God, where can I find the answer to my dilemma?
As she sent that silent, angst-ridden question heavenward, a sunbeam infiltrated a crack in the blinds and cast a thin line of bright light on the hardwood floor. It traversed the room, climbed the opposite wall—and illuminated the simple cross that had been there when she arrived.
Odd timing—though not all that helpful.
After bending the Almighty’s ear about her predicament for weeks, she was no closer to knowing what she wanted to do with the rest of her life than she’d been the day she arrived.
While her priorities had clarified, she was still at a loss how to juggle them.
And meeting Zach had complicated the situation.
Big-time.
She studied the cross again.
Should she give prayer one more shot? Perhaps somewhere different? It was possible a new setting could offer her a fresh perspective.
All at once, the perfect place came to mind. A spot designed for the very kind of communion with God she was seeking.
The meditation garden at St. Francis church.
Reverend Baker had sung its praises last week as they’d chatted after the Sunday service, and she’d been meaning to stop in. With several hours to fill until her lunch with Simon, this was an ideal opportunity.
Picking up her pace, she showered, dressed, ate a piece of toast—and within forty-five minutes was pulling into St. Francis.
At this early hour, a few cars were parked near the main entrance to the church, but back by the garden, the lot was empty.
She swung into a spot close to a rose-covered arbor, where a sign proclaimed “All are welcome.” Leaving the car behind, she passed beneath the arch of fragrant pink flowers and strolled down the circular stone path. It wound through a garden as lovingly tended as Reverend Baker had promised, silent except for the soft tinkle of a water fountain in the center.
As she drank in the soothing ambiance and beautiful flowers interspersed with greenery, the tight knot of tension in her shoulders began to dissipate. Perhaps here, in the serene solitude of this tiny, tucked-away sanctuary, the elusive answers she’d been seeking—
She came to an abrupt halt as she rounded a rhododendron.
Well, shoot.
She wasn’t alone.
Reverend Baker was seated on a wooden bench up ahead—and she wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
Could she retrace her steps and—
As if sensing her presence, he turned toward her, smiled, and raised a hand in greeting.
So much for escaping.
Resigned to a brief, polite exchange, she continued down the path.
He rose as she approached. “Good morning, Kat. I must have done an excellent sell job on this place last Sunday when we chatted.”
“You did paint an appealing picture.”
“Was I exaggerating?”
“No. It’s beautiful.”
“I always come early for my Thursday golf game with Kevin—Father Murphy—to sit here and absorb the peace.” His eyes began to twinkle. “You’d understand why if you’d ever played golf with Hope Harbor’s padre. He has a right hook that brings him no end of grief, and his putting is a constant source of frustration—which he isn’t shy about expressing.”
“I thought golf was supposed to be fun.”
“It is. And it gives us both the opportunity to practice patience and humility. To tell you the truth, I could improve my game in a few areas too.” He winked. “What brings you here at such an early hour?”
“It seemed like an ideal place to sort through the jumbled thoughts I’m wrestling with. But I can come back later. I don’t want to disturb your peace—or contemplation.”
He waved her comment aside. “I’ve transitioned from contemplation to vegging. Would you like to sit with me, talk through those thoughts you’re trying to sort out? Kevin always gets waylaid by a parishioner or two after Mass. I doubt he’ll be out for another twenty minutes.”
Katherine hesitated, mulling over the pastor’s offer.
Would it help to talk to a third party about her issues? Someone who had no vested interest in the outcome? All Simon did was push her to take the role and stick with her career, and while Zach’s approach had been less selfish, there was no doubt about where he hoped she’d end up.
Maybe the minister could offer a few insights.
“If you’re sure you don’t mind, I am dealing with sort of a thorny—and confidential—problem.”
“Discretion is part of ministry. Whatever we talk about here will stay between us.” He motioned to the bench. “Please . . . join me.”
She closed the distance between them and sank onto the bench.
His expression open and kindly, he retook his seat and gave her his full attention.
Katherine knitted her fingers in her lap. Reverend Baker couldn’t offer her his best guidance unless he knew her whole story—so she told him the condensed version, ending with her current dilemma.
“Now I’m faced with a very short deadline, and to be honest, I’m more confused than ever.”
“Why do you think that is?”
After all the brainpower she’d invested in he
r quandary, that was the one question she could answer with absolute assurance.
“Because I don’t know what I’d do if I left that life behind—and because I’ve met someone here.”
“Ah. Romance.” He nodded. “That can affect your priorities. I know. I’ve been there.”
She raised her eyebrows at that unexpected revelation, and he aimed a rueful smile her direction.
“My experience in that department was long ago, but I remember it as if it happened yesterday. You see, my late wife wasn’t a Christian when we met—and for a man who’d had his sights set on a career in ministry since he was a teenager, that was a challenge after we fell in love.”
Speaking of thorny problems . . .
“I can see how that would be an issue.”
“To put it mildly. It’s not an exact parallel to your situation, but it gives me an inkling of what you’re going through. I had to think long and hard about my career plans. Thankfully, my wife chose to embrace Christianity, solving my dilemma. The difference in our situations is that you were already having second thoughts about your career choice when you met this person. That should make your decision a bit easier.”
“It would—if I could figure out what to do instead.” She watched a chickadee land on the feeder and help itself to a morning snack as she voiced the vague but tempting idea that was beginning to gel in her mind. “I’ve toyed with the idea of being a chocolatier, but my agent says I’m crazy.”
Interest sparked in his eyes. “Did you make those truffles that were in the kitchen at Hope House a couple of weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“I sampled one . . . or two. They were amazing.” He leaned back and regarded her. “I don’t suppose that sort of business pays like a Hollywood career, but if you can earn a living from it and the work gives you satisfaction—along with the privacy you’re after—why would that be crazy? Not every decision has to be predicated on whether it will bring fame or wealth.”
More or less the same conclusion she’d come to—until Simon had undermined her conviction.
“That’s what I’ve been thinking.”
“But will you miss being in front of the camera?”
It was the same question Zach had raised—and one she’d wrestled with mightily as she’d battled insomnia last night . . . until the answer had clicked into place.
“No. I enjoy acting—but I prefer stage work to film. And I’m also getting more interested in the directing side of the business.”
“Could you somehow combine your love of theater with candy making?”
That was an interesting suggestion.
“How would I do that?”
“I don’t know—but if you think about it, and pray about it, you may find a solution in God’s time.”
She sighed as the bell in the church tower chimed the hour. “Unfortunately, God’s time isn’t Simon’s time.”
“Then maybe for now you should focus on the movie role and let the larger issue percolate in your mind.”
Also what Zach had suggested—and he’d promised to wait while she sorted through her options.
But what if another woman came along who appealed to him—and who knew Hope Harbor was where she belonged without any of the angst that had plagued his temporary neighbor? Would it be fair to hold him to his promise if that happened?
“You don’t like that idea?”
At the minister’s gentle prompt, she reined in her wayward thoughts.
“You aren’t the first to suggest it—and it does have merit. I’d kill two birds with one stone—achieve my goal of proving to the world and myself that I have the acting chops to play a starring role in a major feature film and buy myself breathing space to think about my longer-term plans.”
“I hear a but in there.” The Grace Christian pastor’s gentle demeanor encouraged confidences.
She brushed a stray leaf off the seat beside her. “But . . . I’m afraid that if I leave, the man I’m interested in will find someone else. He says he’ll wait—but what if he doesn’t? What if I look back and regret putting this movie role ahead of him? What if I’m sorry later that I didn’t turn the part down and stay here while I decide what to do with the rest of my life?”
“Those are all valid concerns.”
She waited, but he didn’t offer anything more.
Where were the words of wisdom clerics were supposed to dispense to floundering souls?
“You don’t have any advice?” She tried for a neutral tone, but a thread of disappointment wove through it.
“Only you can answer those questions, Kat—sorry, Katherine. But if you want my take, it seems to me the root of the problem is trust—in your friend and his promise, and in God.”
Katherine filled her lungs with the spruce-scented air. Lifted her face to the heavens, where fluffy white clouds scuttled across the deep blue dome of sky.
In one fell swoop, Reverend Baker had nailed the cause of her ambiguity about whether to accept the movie role.
It was all about trust.
About having faith in the man who lived next door—and in God’s promise that he had plans for her welfare, not her woe.
But trust had never come easy for her—and working in Hollywood hadn’t bolstered it.
Yet deep inside, she knew God would never fail her . . . and unless her instincts were malfunctioning, neither would Zach. The man reeked of integrity, honor, courage—and dedication to the people he loved. New as their friendship was, every scrap of evidence she’d seen about her neighbor pointed to a man who was noble, principled, and trustworthy.
Doubting his promise did a major disservice to him.
Both God and Zach deserved her trust.
Maybe it was time to follow the advice she’d given Zach days ago—if the clock is ticking on a decision, listen to your heart and take a leap of faith.
She refocused on the minister, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “I think you helped me find the answer I’ve been searching for. I appreciate—”
“Paul! You ready to go?”
At the interruption, they turned in unison toward the entrance to the garden.
A late-fiftyish man, wearing a sport shirt and carrying a few extra pounds, trotted around the large rhododendron, a golf bag slung over his shoulder.
He came to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of them. “Whoops. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Katherine rose.
“No worries.” The minister stood too. “We were just chatting. I did such a great sell job on your garden, one of my new congregants stopped by to visit while I was waiting for you.”
Reverend Baker introduced them as the priest continued down the path.
Father Murphy gave her hand a vigorous pump. “Wonderful to meet you. You’re welcome anytime—in the garden, or in St. Francis, if someone’s sermons get too boring . . . not to mention any names.” He nudged his fellow cleric.
“Very funny.” Reverend Baker shot him a disgruntled look, but the twitch in his lips suggested the two of them had been through this amicable routine before. “At least my sermons include Bible quotes.”
“We have three Bible readings every Sunday, in case you’ve forgotten—and I always reference them in my homily.” The padre directed his next comment to her. “I hope if you’re in town for a while you’ll stop by on a Sunday. Do a little comparison shopping, find the best value.”
The minister rolled his eyes. “You sound like a used car salesman.”
“Nothing wrong with putting marketing principles to work for faith. I’m willing to try anything that could bolster church attendance and get people more invested in their relationship with the Lord.” He turned back to her. “If it’s any incentive, we also serve tastier donuts.”
“Not true . . . but I’m not going to debate that point.” Reverend Baker motioned toward the entrance to the garden. “Do you want to play golf or not? If we stand around here talking, we’re going to miss our tee time.”
“Perish the thought.” The priest hoisted his bag of clubs higher and shook her hand again. “Stay as long as you like. At this hour of the morning, you should have this little piece of paradise all to yourself. Paul, I’ll meet you at the car.”
With that, he retraced his steps down the path.
“Kevin’s giving us a minute to wrap up.” The minister followed his progress, an affectionate smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes my wisecracking Catholic colleague has more discernment than I give him credit for. To tell the truth, he’s an all-around good guy—not that I’d say that to his face. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for giving him an inflated ego.” He shifted his attention back to her. “If you’d like to continue this conversation later, I’m available.”
“Thank you for that—and for your insights this morning. I think I’ll be okay now.”
He extended his hand. “I’m glad I was of help. And the offer stands if you decide you want to bounce more ideas off someone.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Enjoy your game.”
“Goes without saying. It’s one of the highlights of my week.” Grinning, he took off down the path.
After he disappeared around the rhododendron, the muffled conversation of the two clergymen drifted back as they continued their banter.
Katherine gave them a few minutes’ head start, then meandered back toward the entrance. Much as she’d like to linger in this peaceful spot, she had a stop to make before her lunch with Simon.
It wasn’t one she relished, but now that she’d settled on a course of action, it was only fair to share her decision with the man who had a personal stake in the outcome.
26
As Katherine came through the door of The Perfect Blend, the cranberry scone Zach had pilfered from the display case for breakfast turned to a rock in his stomach.
She’d come to a decision. He could see it in her eyes.
The movie was a go.
Meaning her days in Hope Harbor were coming to an end.
“Watch the foam.”
At Frank’s warning, he jerked his attention back to the cappuccino he was finishing.
His signature swirl looked more like a deformed question mark than an artistic flourish.
