It's Always Been You (Seasons of Hope Book 4)

by Jessica R. Patch

  It’s Always Been You

  A Novella

  Seasons of Hope series book 4

  Jessica R. Patch

  Are you Patched In?

  Sign up for Jessica’s newsletter and receive notifications of new book releases and price deals. Occasionally, Jessica offers FREE novellas to her subscribers for a limited time. Your email address will never be given out and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  Copyright © 2015 Jessica R. Patch, All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by James, Goonwrite.com 2015

  This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

  Scripture taken from The Message. Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the author, except a reviewer who wishes to use brief passages in connection with a review or article.

  Author is represented by Rachel Kent of Books & Such Literary Management.

  Dedication

  To my Newsletter Subscribers. I adore you. Thank you for all your support!

  And to the Lover of my soul. My faithful Friend. Shepherd of my heart. For you, always.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Chapter ELEVEN

  A note from the author

  About the author

  Acknowledgments

  CHAPTER ONE

  “But who told you Jell-O didn’t melt?” Sierra Bradley frowned as she stared at a dark, metal pan filled with what was now purple liquid but had once been red and blue Jell-O squares dotted with whipped cream.

  “I assumed.” Cassie Woodall, Mrs. Yap-A-lot and Sierra’s good friend, dipped her finger in the pan then licked it. “Still tastes good. Maybe we should just set out bowls and spoons.”

  Sierra slowly shook her head. No one at the Fourth of July town square event would slurp melted Jell-O from bowls when the table was covered with delicious pies and cakes that weren’t disintegrating.

  One long groan and Cassie placed her hands on her hips. “I guess I was thinking they melt in your mouth and not your hands.”

  “That’s M&Ms and even those melt under the sun.”

  Cassie clucked her tongue against her teeth. “Don’t tell Jax. I’ll never live it down, and I have nine hundred things already I’m not living down. The list gets longer every day. I didn’t realize what a great memory he had when I married him.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “I should have pulled the Audrey card and simply said it wasn’t my forte, smiled politely and reminded everyone I decorated most of the square, which is my gift.” Audrey Brookson, now the pastor’s wife—and one of Sierra’s best friends—had finally realized her talents and had opened up her own florist shop in town.

  Cassie scoured the tables. “If I could find a straw and a really big cup I’d—”

  Betsy Davis, also Mrs. Yap-A-lot but in an oh-so-different way, interrupted with a pat to Sierra’s shoulder. “You’ve done such a lovely job with the food tables.” Wow, that was a lot of rhinestones. From her glasses to her flip-flops, Betsy was blinged out. Sierra almost shaded her eyes.

  “Thanks. It wasn’t difficult setting out desserts.” Sierra was comfortable behind the scenes and in the kitchen. She’d been cooking since she was old enough to stir a spoon. Nana had owned and run The Bistro until she passed away five years ago, willing it to Sierra. But Nana and her parents had made it clear from the time Sierra could understand the English language, The Bistro was one day going to be hers. A legacy. One she’d wanted until lately.

  Betsy pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed her forehead. “How you holding up, sweetie?”

  “Better than Cassie’s Jell-O.” She took the needle to the ribs from Cassie, but Sierra knew where this conversation was going, and she didn’t want to talk about the fact that Ezra Alcott would be in town in another month for his youngest sister’s wedding. Why did Jemma Alcott want to be married at the lake? She barely spent time there unless she was trailing after Ezra and Sierra. They’d spent most of their time, especially in the summer, on Pine Lake—at Ezra’s grandfather’s cottage on the outskirts of town.

  Betsy cast her sight on the pan of liquid and grunted. “Well…”

  “But doesn’t the square look pretty?” Cassie asked with a little too much excitement as she tossed her hands out to display the grandeur.

  Tables had been decorated in red, white, and blue. Patriotic paper lanterns hung from the trees that provided some shade—not enough to keep the Jell-O squares from melting. It was definitely a Star Spangled Banner kind of evening.

  Most of the town had shown up to listen to live music, share a meal, watch the children play in the sprinklers, and when the sun set, the town always ended the night with an amazing fireworks show.

  Betsy pushed her sparkly glasses back on her nose. “It does.” She focused on Sierra. “Now, listen, I know you and that Alcott boy were thick as thieves through high school. Half the town thought you’d end up married. And Angie Delgatto said she overheard some talk that you were upset over the possibility of having to see him again.”

  So much for Betsy doing better with the gossiping. But didn’t everyone have slip-ups? Sierra extended some grace—through gritted teeth. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

  “Which is why I’m coming to you.”

  Well, maybe she was doing better. Instead of taking it to the watering hole, she’d come straight to the horse’s mouth. “I’m fine. That was a long time ago. We were just kids.”

  As if satisfied with Sierra’s answer, Betsy gave one solid nod and curled her lip at the pool of Jell-O. “Stick to decorating, Cassie. Leave the food to Sierra. By the way, I’m loving that new turkey Panini. Lunch hour in Mistletoe wouldn’t be the same without The Bistro.”

  Without The Bistro. A sick sensation gnawed Sierra’s stomach. “Thank you. That’s sweet.”

  “It’s the truth.” Betsy shuffled toward a gaggle of women drinking lemonade and fanning themselves. No doubt to let them know she’d heard it straight up, there was no discomfort over the fact Ezra Alcott was coming back to Mistletoe after years of being away.

  After leaving her for France. After accusing her of not loving him enough or even at all.

  Those biting words had left their stinger embedded in her heart.

  On the east side of the square, Eden Everhart—another good friend of Sierra’s—straggled from her father’s construction office, with her little one on her hip. She waved and headed towards her and Cassie. “It’s too hot out here for Rachel. I’m taking her over to Dad’s house. What did Betsy want? And have you seen Knox?”

  “Last I saw your husband he was over by the adult watermelon contest table talking summer baseball scrimmage trash with Gabe, and yes, our dear pastor was equally trash-talking.” Cassie wiped her brow with the back of her han
d. “Now, return the favor. Have you seen my husband?”

  Eden pointed down the sidewalk. “He’s in his store. I parked in front of the place.”

  Cassie left for WoodAll’s furniture store, which she now helped run with her new husband. She paused and turned. “Have a Jell-O square while you’re over here.”

  Eden scanned the table. “I don’t see any.”

  “Of course you don’t.” Cassie trucked on through the square.

  With a questioning face, Eden eyed Sierra.

  “Just let it go,” Sierra said and watched Cassie enter the store.

  Everyone was married or getting married.

  Like Jemma Alcott. Barely out of the cradle and Sierra was pushing mid-thirties. So unfair.

  “So Betsy? What did she want?” Eden asked and helped herself to a sugar cookie, breaking off a small bite and giving it to Rachel, whose little chubby cheeks were pink. Her dark hair matted to her forehead.

  “Oh you know, to get the scoop on how I’m feeling over this whole wedding.” Eden had told her she was going to be planning Jemma’s wedding to some wealthy guy from Chicago. Audrey was doing the flowers and Cassie had agreed to decorate. They’d been hustling and bustling since May. Not much time to plan a wedding but if Sierra remembered right, Jemma had always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of kid. All the Alcott’s were. Including Ezra.

  Not Sierra. She’d rarely if ever been impulsive.

  Eden took a bite and gave Rachel another. “Well, everyone thought you two would end up married, and what else is there to talk about around here anyway?”

  As if on cue, a commotion broke out around the watermelon contest table. A crowd of puckered faces spread. Several women were spitting mouthfuls out on the ground. Eeew. Voices rose over one another.

  “What in the world?”

  “How…?”

  “Is that liquor? I just gave my teenager some of that!” A wide-eyed woman frantically charged after her son.

  “Well, it’s not for children!” another woman hollered back and shook her head.

  Knox grabbed a piece of watermelon and bit into it. No puckered face. Just a nod.

  “What’s going on over there?” Sierra asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Eden stalked to the watermelon table.

  The frenzy of ranting and outrage continued.

  “Ugh! Who did this?”

  “Blasted senior classmen!”

  Knox dropped the remaining piece of watermelon in a huge trashcan Gabe had brought over. “Definitely Vodka. But not the good stuff.” He cleared his throat. “I mean the expensive stuff.”

  “You’d know,” someone muttered.

  “This is a church-sponsored event!” Betsy Davis howled.

  Guess instead of taking the church to the bar, someone was bringing the bar to the church. Sierra clamped her hand over her mouth. This wasn’t funny.

  A few laughs broke out.

  Well, it might be a tad funny.

  Knox scowled.

  “What if someone was an alcoholic?” someone asked.

  That would not have been good. No, it was not funny.

  Eden stepped up to Knox. “I’m taking Rachel to my dad’s. Eli is staying. If you see him with a slice of watermelon, grab it.” She kissed his cheek and left Sierra to the debacle.

  And so it began.

  Every summer from July till school started back, kids going into their senior year played pranks on the town. Some of them were cute but some were downright malicious and crossed the line. Like Vodka in the watermelons. What if a child had gotten an alcohol-filled slice? Granted, they were watermelons for the adult contest but…

  The crowd buzzed with a mixture of laughter, amusement, whispers, and anger.

  Knox rummaged through the ones left on the table. “I can tell some of them have been doctored, but to be safe we should throw them all out.”

  “I’ll take them home,” someone called and a group of college guys laughed.

  “Or we can toss them out,” Knox stressed and gave them the eye. “Use the back of my truck, and I’ll haul them to the dump. They’re too heavy for garbage bags.”

  Following his orders, the crowd gathered the pranked melons and laid them in Knox’s truck bed. After asking someone to keep an eye on Eli, he drove off and the scene died down—after much speculation on whom the culprits were. Sierra hoped her newest part-time employee, Greta Cannery, wasn’t in on it. Vodka might end up in some of her customers’ food.

  Food that people relied on each day. Betsy said it herself. Would the town be disappointed in her if she closed? Should she care? Maybe not, but she did. Not only because they depended on her—not many restaurants in Mistletoe—but it was her legacy. Could she honestly close the doors on that?

  The idea to sell dwindled. Her parents would come undone if she even mentioned it. Not that Sierra didn’t love to be in the kitchen, but lately she’d toyed with the idea of buying the Monteith’s old home just a block over and turning it into a bed-and-breakfast. Paul’s mom had passed away six months earlier and he lived in Chicago. Surely, he’d thought about selling it.

  The big question was: Should she purchase it if he did sell?

  What if she failed? What if no one came? What if…what if…what if…too many of them. Too many uncertainties.

  “Sierra Bradley!” A high-pitched voice drew her away from the fear and anxious thoughts.

  Jemma Alcott stood before her, long dark hair flowing down her back. Same hazel eyes that bordered more green than brown—just like Ezra’s—and a squared chin like his as well. “I’ve been dying to see you.”

  Jemma had been in Mistletoe twice since she’d asked Eden to plan her wedding. Neither time did she come by Sierra’s bistro. Wasn’t like she was flying in and out of town, or trapped by a job—she didn’t have one, and she was staying in Chicago.

  “Have you seen Audrey? She said we could talk shop.”

  Sierra hadn’t seen Audrey. Hopefully, she hadn’t eaten too much watermelon and passed out somewhere. The pastor's wife toasted and laid out in the middle of a street. Wouldn't that be a scene? She stifled a giggle and scratched her head. “I—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Jemma waved her perfectly manicured hand. Her huge diamond glittered in the sun that was finally starting to set. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Okaaaay.” Please not about Ezra.

  Jemma clasped her hands together, tucking them under her chin. “I want you to cater the wedding reception. My guy fell through.”

  Sierra was planning on being in Iceland or Timbuktu or Canada during the week of the wedding. Okay, not really but it had crossed her mind. Out of town meant out of Ezra’s sight. Could she handle seeing him after all these years?

  Truth was it wasn’t puppy love. At least not for her.

  “Oh…I don’t know.” She shook her head and felt the thump in her chest at Jemma’s grand display of disappointment.

  Jemma threw herself into Sierra’s arms. “Please, Sierra. You know how much I looked up to you. I wanted to be you when I was little. And I want you to be a part of my wedding. Please, say you will.”

  Sierra was the worst at saying no. No hurt people’s feelings. No let people down.

  No was so…final.

  She’d said it once.

  Look where that got her.

  Always the bridesmaid and never the bride.

  She exhaled and cupped Jemma’s cheeks. “Okay. I’ll do it.” Behind the scenes where she excelled and could stay hidden from Ezra. But they didn’t have much time to run down a menu. She needed to coordinate with Eden to discuss the theme and other details.

  Jemma squealed again and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best. My brother should have married you.”

  Well, it wasn’t like he hadn’t asked.

  ***

  Over a decade and not much about Mistletoe had changed. Ezra had strolled through the town square earlier looking for Jemma, but she h
adn’t turned up. Typical. He’d spent most of the evening unpacking his things and airing out Gramps’s old lakeside cottage. He’d planned to lease an apartment in Chicago while he opened and ran the gallery, but then plans changed. So until Jemma’s wedding was over, Gramps’s cottage was his new residence. Mom couldn’t seem to sell it after they moved him to Vegas to be closer to her.

  Now that the sun was almost set, he meandered toward the lake where spectators had gathered with friends and family to watch the fireworks show. Perched on lawn chairs, tail gates, and blankets, people chatted and laughed. Kids ran wild. It was a scene waiting to be captured in paint.

  He’d captured more than enough on his canvases here.

  Captured Sierra.

  It’d been so long since he’d seen her in person. But her face—well, that he’d memorized long ago. Couldn’t erase it if he tried. And he had. On several occasions.

  He could have watched from his private dock, but something about the unity tugged him out of the dusty house. With such a crowd, maybe he wouldn’t even see her. Eventually, he’d have to.

  Music cued and a medley of patriotic songs played as he edged closer to the water. Jemma should be around here somewhere with her fiancé, Ansel.

  Hair the shade of autumn with streaks of gold and rust, like wild flames, caught his attention. That shade always did. Always reminded him of Sierra. It had taken him months to perfect the colors on canvas. But he had. Though it had been a long time since he’d painted anything, he’d know exactly how much of each color it would take to blend and reproduce the silky curtain that framed her face. Venetian Red, Light Yellow Ochre, Cadmium Red Orange…

  The swinging pony tail turned and the porcelain canvas housing eyes the color of burnt sienna, canopied by raven lashes, locked on his. Heart-shaped lips opened and a small gasp escaped. Man, he loved her face. High angular cheek bones tinted with a natural blush. The clean line of her nose that tipped ever so slightly.

  His heart itched to paint her once again. His throat turned dry and his heart thrummed double-time in his chest.