by Irene Hannon
Blake had been attracted to other women. More than a few, in fact. Something about each of them had caught his fancy, made his pulse accelerate. The difference with A.J. was that everything about her was beginning to make his pulse race. He liked her spunk. He liked her spirit. He liked her kindness and compassion and intellect. He liked that she challenged him to think differently, to take some risks, to reevaluate long-held opinions. She kept him on his toes. She made him smile. On top of everything else, she was beautiful. And he was having a harder and harder time imagining his life without her.
That scared him. But not enough to suppress the yearning that sprang to life as he stared into her eyes. Only the faint crackle of the fire broke the stillness in the room, and he felt a warmth that didn’t come from the dying embers in the fireplace a few feet away. Suddenly he longed to run his fingers through her soft hair. To hold her close, so close that she forgot the past and the future and became lost in the moment.
But this wasn’t the time. She was too vulnerable. And things could get out of hand. He already had enough regrets in his life. He didn’t want to add one more.
With a supreme effort, he released her arms, stepped back and shoved his fists into his pockets. “Sleep well,” he said huskily. “I’ll lock the door behind me when I go next door.”
Her only response was a jerky nod. And then she fled.
Blake watched her go. And when he reached for their mugs a moment later, he discovered that his own hands were trembling.
He stared at them and frowned. There could be a number of explanations for his reaction. But in his heart, he knew that fear was the primary culprit. Because Jack’s words in Colorado now seemed prophetic. Maybe he was a goner. Which was not good. Because despite all her good qualities, logic told him that A.J. wasn’t his type at all.
But his heart wasn’t listening.
The fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted Blake when he stepped inside the front door of his house the next morning, and he made a beeline for the kitchen. Obviously A.J. was up already. He certainly hoped she’d slept better than he had. By the time he’d finally drifted off, after tossing and turning for hours on his neighbor’s uncomfortable couch, it had been close to three o’clock in the morning. Right now he needed a shot of caffeine.
He saw she wasn’t in the kitchen, so Blake poured himself a cup of strong, black coffee and headed for the bathroom to shower. Normally he slept in on Sunday, then ran or biked for a couple of hours, followed by a swim at the nearby gym. However, given the storm, he doubted he’d be going anywhere today. Except to take A.J. back to the shop to get her car. And he was in no hurry to do that. He was looking forward to a leisurely morning with his unexpected houseguest.
When he emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he sniffed appreciatively and followed his nose to the kitchen. A.J. was at the stove now, intent on turning what appeared to be a fluffy omelet, her lower lip caught in her teeth, a slight frown marring her brow. Her focus was absolute, her concentration intense. Blake’s gaze flickered to the table. Two places were set—a first for him at breakfast. He was used to grabbing an energy bar or stopping to pick up a bagel somewhere. He definitely preferred this.
He waited until she’d successfully flipped the omelet before he spoke, in a voice that was still slightly roughened by sleep. “Good morning.”
She turned abruptly, then felt her face grow warm. She’d never seen Blake in such casual attire. Worn jeans outlined his muscular legs, and a T-shirt hugged his broad chest and revealed impressive biceps. His damp hair was slicked back, and as he stood there, one shoulder propped against the door frame, his hands in his pockets, her pulse began to race. She’d struggled late into the night trying to get her emotions under control. And thought she’d succeeded. But one look at Blake disproved that theory.
She turned back to the stove and made a pretense of checking the omelet. “Yes, it is. The road crews have been through, and the sun is shining. We’re no longer marooned,” she said brightly.
Blake didn’t think that was particularly good news, but he’d come to the same conclusion himself as he walked home from his neighbor’s house. Driving would be manageable today, except on secondary roads.
“Breakfast is ready,” A.J. said over her shoulder.
He waited until she’d deposited their plates on the table, then held her chair for her. When she looked surprised, he gave her an endearing grin. “Mr. Conventional. Sorry,” he said.
She smiled. “You don’t have to apologize. A lot of conventions are nice.”
“This looks great, A.J. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” He helped himself to some toast.
“It wasn’t any trouble. I don’t bother much with breakfast during the week, but I try to do something a little nicer on Sundays. I usually eat it alone, though, so I have to admit the conversation is much better today.”
He chuckled, a pleasing sound that rumbled deep in his chest. “So what else do you do on Sundays?”
“Go to church.” She glanced regretfully at her watch. “But I don’t see how I can make it today. The last service is at ten. By the time you drop me at the shop to pick up my car, timing will be pretty tight.”
“Would you like me to take you?”
A.J.’s hand froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, astonishment written on her face. But she didn’t look any more surprised than he felt. Where in the world had that come from? He hadn’t been inside a church in years.
“You mean drop me off? Or stay?” she asked cautiously.
She’d given him an out. He could just leave her at the door and come back for her later. But for some reason, he hated this interlude with A.J. to end. If going to church would buy him another hour or two with her, it would be worth the sacrifice. Besides, he still needed to sort through his feelings about his houseguest, and maybe a visit to church would help him do that. Churches were supposed to be good places to think, weren’t they?
“I could stay.”
A.J. stared at him. “Why?”
He felt his neck grow warm. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that…well, you told me you didn’t really practice any religion. I’m just…surprised. But of course, you’re welcome to come with me. Our minister is great. You might even enjoy it.”
He doubted that. But he had to admit he was a little intrigued. First his parents had told him they were attending church. They were the two most unlikely candidates he could think of to practice organized religion. Yet when they’d spoken about it briefly during dinner at A.J.’s, he’d seen a look in their eyes that told him they’d found something special. And there was no question that A.J.’s faith was the foundation of her life. It had seen her through some tough times, given her stability and security when everything else in her world had fallen apart.
If Christianity was powerful enough to win over his parents, and to sustain A.J. through all of her trials and tribulations, maybe it was worth exploring.
Brad Matthews was a great speaker. No question about it.
Blake hadn’t really planned to listen to the sermon during the service. He’d figured that would be a good time to mull over the situation with A.J. But the minister at her church had grabbed him with his opening line and never let him go. The man spoke in simple, but compelling, terms. And oddly enough, his message seemed to be directed at Blake. He’d used the story of the prodigal son as the basis for his sermon, and talked about the difficulties—and importance—of reconciliation. And his concluding words really struck home.
“As we leave this place of worship and return to our daily lives, it’s easy to leave the Lord’s message behind, too. But that’s not what He wants us to do. He wants us to take His words and apply them to our lives. To live the words He spoke, not just read them on Sunday.
“The story of the prodigal son is about a young man who made mistakes. Who left his family behind, cut off all contact, and isolated himself from the people who loved him the most. Yet
his father welcomed him back. The parallel between this story and our relationship with God is obvious. But there are lessons we can apply in our own human relationships as well. It doesn’t matter who the wronged party is. It doesn’t matter who left and who stayed behind. It doesn’t matter if it’s a parent, a spouse, a child or a friend who is estranged. All that matters is that someone take the first step to mend the rift. And that the other person be receptive.
“If there are relationships in your life that need mending, remember the lessons of the prodigal son. It requires courage to take the first step, to initiate a reconciliation. Because it usually means we have to admit we’ve been wrong. Or that we have to forgive someone. Pride is a fault we all share, and it often gets in the way of reconciliation, whether we’re the wronged party or the one who did wrong. On our own, we may not be able to overcome the hurdles that stand in the way of mending fences with those we love. But God can help. Call on Him. He’s waiting for you. And with Him by your side, all things are possible.
“Now, let us pray…”
The congregation rose, and Blake followed suit. As he did so, he saw Nancy and Eileen a few rows away. His gaze connected with Nancy’s as she turned to say something to her daughter, and the look of surprise on her face was almost comical. Her mouth actually dropped open. Blake nodded, but even after he looked back to the minister, he knew she was still staring at him.
He couldn’t blame her. She’d tried a number of times to convince him to attend services with her. He’d always adamantly refused. So he knew he’d have some explaining to do tomorrow.
Of course, his presence at church would be easy enough to justify in light of the snowstorm. He could just say that A.J. seemed disturbed about missing the service, and he’d volunteered to take her. Nancy would probably buy that.
But it would be harder to explain if he came again.
And that’s exactly what he was thinking about doing.
Strange. His attendance today had been prompted by a desire to spend more time with A.J. But that wasn’t why he was considering returning. It was more fundamental than that.
The fact was, for some odd reason, sitting in the church today, listening to the music and hearing the word of God spoken and discussed, he felt almost as if he’d come home. And for the first time in a long while, he’d felt at peace.
Blake didn’t understand why he’d experienced those feelings. But he wanted to.
And he figured this was the place to find the answers.
Chapter Nine
The bell jangled over the front door of the bookshop, and A.J. and Blake simultaneously looked up. George was bearing down on them, still wearing his white apron. And he looked upset. A.J. glanced at Blake, then turned toward the older man.
“What’s wrong, George?” she asked.
“I hear something today that is not good,” he said, huffing as he tried to catch his breath.
“Let’s go in the back,” Blake suggested. He signaled to Nancy, and she relieved them at the front desk.
George followed them, and Blake waved him to a chair. “What’s up?”
George wiped his hands nervously on his apron. “I hear a patron talking about MacKenzie and the development. So I stayed close by and listened. He said that the city is going to use the TIF after all.”
Blake frowned. “Do you know who this man is, George?”
“No. I never see him before. But he had on what you call a…power suit. Expensive. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about.”
A.J. gave Blake a worried look. “What do you think?”
“I think I better talk to my neighbor and see what I can find out.”
“You will do that soon?” George asked.
“Tonight.”
“And you will let us know what you find?”
“Of course. Let’s not panic until we get some solid information. Maybe the man you heard was just speculating and nothing has actually happened.”
But later that night, after talking with his neighbor, Blake found out otherwise. Apparently the city had been swayed by dollar signs after all and was preparing to side with MacKenzie. Blake punched in A.J.’s number and waited impatiently for her to pick up. When she did, he dispensed with the formalities and got right to the heart of the issue.
“A.J.? Blake. Looks like what George overheard is correct. My neighbor tells me that the board is prepared to proceed with TIF and give MacKenzie the green light to develop.”
“Oh, Blake! We can’t let that happen!”
He heard the dismay in her voice. “I’m not sure we can do much more,” he said, his own voice tinged with discouragement.
“Well, at least we can have another meeting to discuss options. I’ll call everyone tonight and see if we can get together tomorrow after we close. Aunt Jo wouldn’t want us to give up without doing everything we can. And I feel the same way.”
So did Blake. But he was beginning to think it was a lost cause.
“But how can they do that? Everyone was on our side!”
Somehow Blake had found himself up front with A.J. at the meeting, and he turned to respond to Rose. “Unfortunately, it’s not being put to a vote. The alderman for this ward supports our cause, but the others apparently don’t.”
“I think it’s time to call my nephew at the TV station,” Joe said emphatically.
A.J. recalled the advice Blake’s parents had given them at dinner. “But they won’t come unless there’s an event of some kind to cover.”
“Then we make an event!” George declared.
“I think we should organize a protest,” Alene said.
A.J. glanced at Blake. His jaw had tightened, and he was frowning. Which didn’t surprise her. This had to be like a flashback from his parents’ hippie days. The days he had hated.
“That’s a good idea,” Steve chimed in. “I know we could get a lot of the area residents to join us.”
“The sooner the better,” Carlos added.
“So, is everyone agreed on this course of action?” A.J. asked. Everyone nodded except Blake. “Okay, it looks like we have a consensus. Let’s try to set this up for next Saturday. Can we pull it off that fast?”
“I think we have to,” Rose said.
“Then Saturday it is. Now let’s work out the details and the assignments.”
By the time the meeting broke up half an hour later, they had a solid plan of action in place. As everyone filed out and A.J. locked the door, she turned around to find Blake watching her, a troubled expression on his face. Slowly she walked toward him. “I’m sorry, Blake. I know this isn’t your thing.”
He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I’m not sure I can do this, A.J. I want to save Turning Leaves as much as you do, but this…it’s just not me.”
“I know.”
He shoved his fists into his pockets and gave a frustrated sigh. “I want to support what the group is doing. But the idea of marching around with a sign and having a TV news camera shoved in my face…I just don’t know.”
A.J. moved behind the desk and perched on the stool. She rested her elbows on the counter and propped her chin in her hands. Her eyes were sympathetic when she spoke. “You have to do what’s right for you, Blake.”
He looked at her. “Do you want to do this?”
“Not particularly. But this will certainly get the board’s attention. I don’t see any other way to convince them.”
“I don’t, either.”
“You shouldn’t do this if you don’t want to.”
“Jo would have.”
“I know. But she didn’t have your issues.”
Blake studied A.J. for a moment. “How will you feel if I don’t go?”
She was surprised by the question. “Does that matter?”
Like it or not, Blake realized he cared what A.J. thought. And he didn’t want to disappoint her. “Yeah, it does.”
A.J. considered the question. “I’ll understand,” she said finally.
“The others won’t.”
She shrugged. “We’re all products of our past, Blake. So we shouldn’t be too quick to judge what others do, or their motivations. You’ve worked hard on this cause, and you already left your comfort zone once—when you took my place at the meeting. Maybe that’s enough.”
As A.J. stood and began to turn out the lights in the shop, Blake considered her comment. Maybe she was right. Maybe he had done enough.
But deep in his heart, he didn’t think that was true. Because this was the real test of his convictions. If you believed in something strongly enough, you had to take a stand. No matter the cost.
Just like A.J. had done on her trip to Washington.
The turnout on Saturday was better than anyone predicted, aided by remarkably fine weather for late March. Several hundred people milled about in front of city hall, and dozens carried signs protesting the new development.
Including Blake.
He’d spent several restless nights debating whether to participate. But in the end, he couldn’t sit this one out. He’d poured the last three years of his life into Turning Leaves. The other merchants had invested many more in their businesses. Jo had believed in this area, and had worked hard to preserve its unique character and integrity. Now A.J. had taken on her cause. He had to do his part.
And oddly enough, it wasn’t so bad. A number of people recognized him from the board meeting and had stopped to compliment him and offer their support. Even the presence of the news media didn’t bother him. He let the other merchants do the talking on camera, but he really didn’t care if his face was on the five o’clock news. Because he felt part of something important. Something bigger than himself. Something that linked all of these diverse people in a joint purpose. And it was a heartwarming feeling, one he’d never before experienced. He still had no confidence that city hall would ultimately put civic integrity above hard cash. But at least they would be able to say they’d tried their best to do the right thing. And that felt good.
