by Deb Kastner
“I think every good father probably goes through this,” she murmured.
“Probably,” he agreed. “But I shudder to imagine how this would have turned out if you hadn’t been there to step in. Thank God you did.”
Phoebe stared up at him, her hazel-eyed gaze so deep he felt like she was digging right into his soul. He wondered what she saw there.
“What?” he asked as his composure thinned. She could not expect to look at him that way and not have him react to it. His heart was thundering, and he found he wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss that speculative look right off her beautiful face.
And he probably would have followed his instinct, too, except that he hesitated a second too long.
She arched a brow. “I’ve never heard you mention God before—at least not when I wasn’t pressuring you to talk about your faith.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, swallowing hard and wishing his heart wasn’t pounding deafeningly in his head, so much so that he couldn’t think straight. “About that…”
His sentence dropped off as he struggled to find words to tell her how God had changed his heart.
She remained silent and reflective while he gathered his thoughts. He was glad she wasn’t trying to rush him, or he’d never get through this.
But Phoebe, of all people, had the right to know. After all, she’d been the one to knock him off his stubborn high horse in the first place.
“I owe you another thank-you,” he said. “Several, probably. If it wasn’t for you strong-arming me, I’d still be walking the same old lonely path I have been for years.”
“Sometimes I don’t know when to keep my big mouth shut,” she admitted, twisting her lips.
“Sometimes,” he agreed with a chuckle.
“I’ll admit I can be a bit cheeky,” she added.
“And it’s a good thing for me that you are. You made me realize I wasn’t looking at the whole picture. I saw what I wanted to see, felt what I wanted to feel. But now things are different.”
“Are you saying you’ve opened your heart to God?” she asked, her voice raw and full of wonder.
“Let’s just say that He and I now have a working relationship,” he said. “That is, He is faithful and I’m working on it.”
Phoebe wrapped her other arm around his waist and squeezed so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of him.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard since I arrived in Serendipity,” she squealed, her voice pitched higher than usual.
“Even better than me telling Lucy she could go out on this date?”
“Even better,” she assured him with a chuckle. “The very best thing you can do for Lucy is to live out your faith in God so she can see it and emulate it.”
“I sure haven’t been doing that very well, now have I? I’m just glad she’s had Aunt Jo to guide her spiritually while I was mucking around in my own grief. I can’t believe I’ve been so selfish.”
“God’s timing is always perfect,” she assured him. “He reached you and blessed you when He was ready to do so.”
Chance’s heart welled with emotion as he stared down at the woman who’d so thoroughly turned his life inside out. From the moment she arrived, his feelings for her had grown with each passing day.
“God did bless me,” Chance agreed, cradling her head against his chest and resting his chin on the top of her head. “He brought me you.”
Chapter Thirteen
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: Praising God for touching a special heart with His love. I’m so happy for him! As for my own heart—well, no comment.
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: Praising God right along with you, Phoebe. Isn’t He gracious? And I’m not worried about your heart at all.
Phoebe was thrilled when Chance once again joined them for church on Sunday. If Aunt Jo or Lucy saw anything odd about it, they gave no indication that it was so.
Chance had happily survived his daughter’s first date. Michael had dropped Lucy off ten minutes before curfew, and had, Chance told Phoebe as he spied on the young couple through the front curtain, behaved like a perfect gentleman, walking her to the door and not trying to sneak in a kiss.
That poor boy was no doubt aware he had an audience—both from his mother waiting in the van and from the way Chance not-so-subtly peeked out from behind the drawn curtain—might have had something to do with such straight-laced behavior—but Phoebe didn’t suggest such a thing to Chance. She merely listened to him ramble in amused silence, glad that he felt he could open up to her.
Letting Lucy go on a date—any date—was about as big a bite as Chance was able to chew at the moment. Hopefully little by little, Lucy would earn more of his trust and the freedom that went along with it.
But for now, it was enough. Everyone was happy. Even nearly a week after the big dance, Lucy was still glowing. She told everyone who would listen how wonderful Michael was, to the point where Chance would disappear from the room when he saw Lucy coming.
Fortunately, on this quiet Wednesday evening, Lucy was nowhere to be seen. Nor, for that matter, was Aunt Jo. Phoebe thought they might have gone out somewhere together, although the entire town of Serendipity closed up at dusk, so she couldn’t imagine where they might be. But she’d recently seen them with their heads together, speaking in low tones about some project or other. Maybe that was it.
In any case, Phoebe was looking forward to putting her feet up and relaxing with a good book. Apparently, it wasn’t meant to be.
Chance and Phoebe had barely arrived home from the café when Chance’s cell phone rang. As soon as he answered, his brow knit in concern.
“Slow down, Luc,” Phoebe heard Chance say. “I can’t understand a word you are saying.”
She moved to his side and put a reassuring hand on his elbow.
“What is it?” she asked softly, her breath catching in her throat. Tension throbbed between her shoulder blades. Something was wrong. Something involving Lucy. Phoebe was already praying.
“You stay right where you are,” Chance instructed, his voice gruff and firm. “Phoebe and I will be right there.”
“What is it?” she asked again as he ended the call.
“I don’t know. I could barely understand her, she was talking so fast—and her voice was all high and wavery. She was talking about Aunt Jo, I think,” he explained, fishing in his pocket for the keys to his SUV.
“What did she say?”
“Well, as near as I could make out, Aunt Jo needs us for something. I hope she didn’t fall and hurt herself again. Lucy said to hurry.”
“I’m right behind you,” she assured him, swiping her purse from the counter. “Let’s go.”
Chance made the drive from the house to the café in record time. Phoebe thought he probably wasn’t even aware he was speeding. His entire focus was on getting to Lucy and Aunt Jo as quickly as possible.
She wished she could wipe away the worry lines evident across his forehead and the pained look in his dark eyes, but she did all she could do to keep herself from freaking out. She tried to calm her heart and her nerves enough to pray, but both her pulse and her thoughts were racing with adrenaline and it was hard to concentrate.
Had something serious happened again?
Chance pulled the SUV right up to the front door of Cup O’ Jo and shut off the ignition. He was out of the car and unlocking the door of the café before Phoebe had even unbuckled her seat belt. It didn’t take her long to follow.
Together, they burst through the door, both of them scanning the area for signs of life.
“Lucy?” Chance called. “Aunt Jo?”
No answer.
They looked at each other, their concern mounting simultaneously.
“Maybe they’re in the kitchen,” Phoebe suggested, leading the way. But when they reached the kitchen, they found it empty and dark as well.
“Are you sure Lucy said they were at the café?” Phoebe asked tentatively.
Chance nodded, his brow low
over his eyes. “That’s what Lucy said. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t get it,” Phoebe commented. “You don’t suppose—” She didn’t know how to complete that sentence without sending herself—and probably Chance—into a panic, so she let her words drop away.
“The back door is unlocked,” Chance noted, going through it to peer into the back alley. “Aunt Jo’s truck is here, but there’s no sign of either of them.”
“Maybe we missed something,” Phoebe suggested. “You take the kitchen and I’ll go back and take another look at the dining area.”
Chance nodded and flipped on the kitchen light to begin his search.
Phoebe had barely reentered the dining room with the intention of reaching the light switches when she sensed something was different. A shiver of premonition ran up her spine.
It had been completely dark in the dining room when they’d first entered. Now, there was the glowing flicker of… Candles?
Phoebe quickly scanned the room and inhaled sharply when her gaze landed on a single, candlelit table, elegantly set for two with fine China, gleaming silverware and sparkling stem-ware. The table was covered in white linen and even the napkins were cloth.
One thing was for sure—these items were not the property of the country café. And something fishy was definitely going on here.
On a separate table, Phoebe found several courses of dinner set out on china platters. Everything smelled delicious, from the appetizer to the dessert.
In that instant, Phoebe knew for certain.
They’d been had.
“Chance?” she called hesitantly, her voice cracking under the strain of how to delicately bring him in on her discovery. “I think you should come look at this.”
Heat streamed to her cheeks, and she was glad he wouldn’t be able to clearly make out her features in the relative darkness.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said, punctuating his statement with a low whistle. “What do you suppose this is supposed to be?”
“Seriously?” Phoebe asked, feeling as if she were choking. “I would think that would be obvious.”
“We’ve been set up,” he said in a low, raspy voice that turned her heart over. “The mangy rascals.”
“I’ll say,” Phoebe mumbled under her breath. Her face felt like it was on fire. She wondered how she could possibly get out of this predicament without completely losing her dignity, not to mention her heart.
If it was possible, which didn’t seem likely.
If she wanted it to be possible.
It occurred to her only now that a private, candlelit dinner for two with Chance wasn’t exactly something she might altogether avoid—were it not for the fact that it wasn’t Chance’s idea in the first place. Lucy and Aunt Jo had set them up—and they were probably still hanging around to see the results of their labor.
Crazy matchmakers. What had they been thinking?
While it seemed exactly the kind of thing Aunt Jo might do, Lucy’s involvement didn’t make sense. Setting Phoebe up with her father?
She couldn’t comprehend how this major turn of events had happened, but she knew it was true just the same.
“So?” Chance asked, his breath warm on her ear. She hadn’t realized he was so close to her. Near enough for him to wrap her in his arms and…
“S-so, what?” she stammered.
“Do you want to let all this good food go to waste, or shall we accept the unspoken offer and dine together?”
There was humor lining his voice. She was sure of it.
He thought this was funny?
This situation was many things, but in Phoebe’s opinion, funny wasn’t one of them.
“What’s so amusing?” she snipped.
He broke into a full-blown belly laugh, something Phoebe had rarely heard from him, at least beyond his occasional wry chuckle.
She liked it.
She turned halfway, trying to read the expression on his face. Though it wasn’t easy to see in the dark, it was clear the worry lines were gone, replaced by a real smile and the reflection of the flickering candlelight making the amusement glow in his eyes.
“Apparently I’m not the only one you’ve managed to impress since you’ve been here,” he remarked.
“Oh,” she groaned. Surely he didn’t think she had tried to influence Lucy or Aunt Jo to throw the two of them together as a couple. “I didn’t—”
“I’m just teasing,” he cut in, his grin widening.
Obviously, Chance wanted to get the full mileage from this situation, although Phoebe wasn’t sure why.
“Shall we?” he asked, moving forward and pulling out a chair for her.
“I feel like we should have dressed up,” Phoebe admitted, feeling suddenly unsure of herself. “I have grease on my jeans.”
Chance laughed. “Honey, you are forgetting this is Serendipity. Wearing greasy jeans is dressing up.”
Reluctantly, she allowed him to seat her. “In that case, I accept.”
“As do I,” said Chance, sotto voce. He glanced around the area, presumably wondering, just as Phoebe was, where Lucy and Aunt Jo might be hiding. Clearly his loud, emphatic statement was for their benefit.
Phoebe had no doubt the two devious matchmakers were still around—somewhere. Probably observing the situation with glee and patting themselves on the back for their unmitigated success.
But in Phoebe’s mind, the journey had only just begun. Success was a long way down the road, farther than she could see right now. Exploring, out in the open, the possibility of a relationship with Chance beyond what they shared in the kitchen was terrifying to her.
It might fail.
And she suddenly realized she cared very much about the outcome. There were so many obstacles yet in their way, including the fact that she was supposed to leave in a week, not to mention the fact that Chance was still grieving over Lindsay.
But right here, right now, with their gazes meeting over the muted, dreamy glow of the candlelight, none of that seemed to matter.
They were just a man and a woman, sharing a wonderfully romantic dinner.
Apparently Chance was having the same thought.
“So, Ms. Yates,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows and flashing her a sly grin, “this wasn’t exactly how I’d planned for it, but it appears we are now on our first official date.”
Did that mean he’d thought about planning a date on his own? Did it even matter now?
Though it was empty, he lifted his glass and toasted her. “To a beautiful woman and a wonderful evening.”
STATUS UPDATE: PHOEBE YATES: Oh, dear.
JOSEPHINE HAWKINS MURPHY: ;-)
Chance might never have gotten there on his own. Asking Phoebe on a date, that is.
It had been fifteen-plus years since he’d been on the dating scene, and at that time he’d been a cocky, arrogant teenage boy with the world at his feet. And once he’d started going out with Lindsay, he’d dropped right out of the dating pool altogether.
So to say he was rusty on his courting skills would be an understatement. A gross understatement.
Yet here they were, he and Phoebe, sitting across from each other enjoying a romantic dinner for two, thanks to his sneaky daughter and interfering aunt.
The both of whom, now that he thought about it, had to be lurking somewhere close, watching them. He hadn’t heard Aunt Jo’s truck revving up, and he knew he would have, if they had left. Aunt Jo’s Ol’ Bessie roared like a monster when the ignition was turned, and it was too quiet here in the café for him not to have noticed.
Which meant they were still hanging around, the little spies.
“Shall I get us something to drink from the kitchen?” he asked Phoebe, thinking that would give him the opportunity to do a little snooping of his own.
Phoebe apparently didn’t realize his intentions. “We’ve got a carafe of tea and a bucket of ice right here.”
“Oh, good,” he said, settling back into his seat. He didn’t kn
ow how to communicate his intentions to Phoebe, so he moved on to plan B.
He’d purposefully seated himself facing the kitchen, knowing it was unlikely that the matchmaking duo would be able to restrain themselves from glancing in to see the result of their handiwork.
He wasn’t mistaken.
He and Phoebe were halfway through their salads when he spotted two scheming sets of eyes peeking out from behind the service counter. He would have laughed if it wouldn’t have given him away. He wasn’t sure he wanted to let Lucy and Aunt Jo know he was on to them. Not just yet.
In fact, come to think of it, he could really have some fun with this situation.
Oh, yes. Two could play at this game. Or four, as the case may be.
Chance dropped his fork and reached for Phoebe’s hand across the table, giving her his best totally-infatuated-with-a-beautiful-woman stare. For Lucy and Aunt Jo’s benefit, of course—although admittedly it was not a difficult role for Chance to play.
He had always been aware of Phoebe’s outer beauty—her sparkling hazel eyes and genuine smile were hard to miss. But now that he knew her better, he was equally—if not more—attracted to the inner beauty of her spirit. She was strong and independent, a woman who lived her faith every moment of every day, a habit Chance could only aspire to.
“Don’t look now,” he said, his voice low enough not to be heard across the room—or in the kitchen, to be precise, “but we have an audience.”
Phoebe tensed and the pressure of her hands in his increased. It was hard to be sure in the muted candlelight but he thought she might be blushing. Most certainly, she dropped her gaze to the table and wouldn’t look up. It was the first time he’d ever seen Phoebe so disconcerted about anything, and it gave him pause for thought.
Was it bothering her this much to be sharing an intimate dinner with him? Or was it simply that she was uncomfortable being watched?
There was one way to find out—by turning the tables on their silent spectators and observing how Phoebe reacted.
“It occurs to me that maybe we could give them something to watch, seeing as they went to all this effort for us. What do you say?”
