by Irene Hannon
“That’s my take.”
Ben pursed his lips. “I wonder if he’d have any interest in managing the site once it’s up and running?”
Smiling, she propped her elbows on the table and wrapped her fingers around her mug. “That notion did cross my mind. It’s obvious he has an aptitude for this kind of venture, and if he’s involved from the ground floor, he’ll know all the background, gain useful experience, and grow along with the business.”
“Have you broached this with him yet?”
“No. If everyone agrees with the crowdfunding idea tonight, and all the other pieces align, I’ll talk to him afterward. I can’t imagine anyone on the committee would have any qualms about offering him the slot.”
The landline on her desk began to ring, and Ben rose. “I should let you get back to work.”
Much as she hated to see him go, she did have a long to-do list—and the top item was gearing up for the crowdfunding campaign.
She stood too, and walked with him to the door, letting the phone roll to voicemail. “I’ll let you know the outcome of tonight’s meeting.”
“Why don’t you fill me in over tacos at lunch tomorrow? I could meet you on the wharf at Charley’s truck.”
A bevy of butterflies took flight in her stomach.
He was asking her for a date!
“What time?”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “That wasn’t a hard sell.”
“I never pass up a taco from Charley’s.”
He winced. “Ouch. That puts me in my place.”
“Or a date with a handsome man who owns a lighthouse.”
“Better.” He glanced out the front window . . . checked both directions . . . and bent down to give her another one of those tantalizing forehead lip-brushes that made her yearn for more.
Much more.
“Don’t work too hard.” He straightened up.
“I’m not sure I . . .” Her voice came out in a squeak, and she tried again. “I’m not sure I can promise that when I’m on a quest to save a lighthouse.”
“Understood. But save the noon hour for me tomorrow.”
“I’m writing it in ink on my calendar.”
“Much better than pencil.” He grinned, then gestured out the window. “Looks like I should have brought an umbrella.”
She inspected the gray sky and the steady rain that had begun to fall.
Odd.
Usually she noticed if the sun went in and the weather changed.
However . . . it wasn’t every day a hot guy like Ben stopped in her office bearing sweets—and bestowing kisses.
“You want to borrow mine? I always keep one here.”
“No. I’ll run for it. I’m parked just down the block.” He pushed open the door. “Enjoy the rest of your cinnamon roll.”
“Count on it.”
He exited into the rain and began to jog down the sidewalk.
She watched until the wind blew a curtain of moisture her direction and drove her inside.
Closing the door against nature’s onslaught, she scanned the gray sky through the window—and a tiny shiver rippled through her.
Odd.
The changeable weather in her adopted town was nothing new. She ought to be used to it after two years. This was Oregon. Warm and sunny one minute, with clear skies and views to the horizon. Cool and foggy the next, visibility reduced to a few feet.
Yet the sudden deterioration in the weather today felt like a metaphor for life.
After all, who knew what tomorrow held—let alone the next hour?
Everything in her life seemed to be on track at the moment. Her PR business was growing. The Herald was beginning to turn a profit. The lighthouse project was going well. Memories of her bad experience in Atlanta were receding.
And the icing on the cake?
She’d met a very eligible, very appealing army doctor who was as interested in her as she was in him.
Life was good.
Not perfect, but good.
Perfect would be if she and Ben could figure out how to deal with the geographic hindrances to their relationship.
But they were both intelligent people. If they were meant to be together, they’d find a way to make this work.
And she, for one, intended to put a lot of thought—and prayer—into that very challenge.
A rumble of thunder rattled the window, and she took a step back, suppressing another inexplicable shiver.
She wasn’t afraid of storms—and while her clothes were a tad damp from standing at the door, she wasn’t chilled.
The shiver felt more . . . ominous . . . than that. Almost like a premonition—if one believed in such things.
Huffing, she turned her back on the gloomy gray skies and marched over to the conference table.
She’d finish the rest of her cinnamon roll, warm up her coffee, and get to work on the crowdfunding campaign.
And she would not let a silly storm spook her.
All the pieces of her life were moving along fine—and there was no reason to worry any of them were about to go south.
18
Apparently he’d been stood up.
Fists on hips, Ben surveyed the wharf, then frowned at Marci’s office down the block.
No sign of her.
Yet she hadn’t called to cancel.
Strange.
She might be a woman of strong emotions, but she had a first-class mind and appeared to be buttoned up and organized. If he’d ever doubted that, their discussion yesterday about the lighthouse campaign and her crowdfunding idea had been convincing evidence of her business acumen.
So where was she?
He checked his watch again. Five after twelve. Should he walk over to her office, or give her another few . . .
“Can I interest you in an order of tacos? It’s a beautiful day to sit and enjoy the view.”
As Charley called out to him from behind the counter of the food truck a dozen yards away, Ben strolled over. “That was my plan—but I don’t think my date is going to show.” He aimed another glance toward Marci’s office.
“You wouldn’t be talking about our Herald editor, would you?”
“Bingo.” No reason to hide the fact. For all Charley knew, this could be a business discussion about the lighthouse rather than a social date.
“In that case, I can guarantee she’s not going to show. She left early this morning to fly down to Florida. Her mom had a health emergency.”
Ben’s pulse picked up. “What kind of emergency?”
“Sounded like it could be a stroke.”
Ben bit back the word that sprang to his lips.
After everything that had happened to her in the past—and all she had going on in Hope Harbor right now—a family medical crisis was the last thing she needed.
“How did you find out about this?”
“After the lighthouse meeting at Grace Christian last night, I took a walk on the beach, then sat here on the wharf for a while. The light was on at the Herald, so I assumed Marci had come back to put in another hour or two.”
“That sounds like her.”
“I agree. Anyway, she dashed out the door, and I went over to see if everything was okay. She’d just gotten the call from her dad and was running home to pack a bag and catch a red-eye out of Portland. I’m surprised she didn’t call or text you to cancel your lunch.”
“I’m sure she was distracted.” But truth be told, he was surprised too—and disappointed. Friends shared that kind of important news with each other. And he’d have been happy to take her to the airport. It was a long, dark drive north late at night.
“You certain she didn’t try to get in touch?” Charley brushed a few crumbs off the pristine serving counter.
“I always have my phone with me, and I check messages regularly.”
Or he used to—until the low-key Hope Harbor vibe seeped into his soul and he’d fallen out of the habit.
Maybe she had left a message.
He
pulled out his cell and pressed the power button.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
“You think the battery might be dead?” Charley leaned across the counter and perused the blank screen.
Ben closed his eyes and exhaled.
Yeah, it was dead, all right.
And no wonder. He hadn’t recharged his cell in a few days. Why bother, as little as he used it?
“I need to go home and plug this in.”
“Let me get you an order of tacos to take with you.”
“I don’t want to wait for . . .”
Charley reached off to the side, pulled out a brown bag, and set it on the counter. “A pre-order. But I have time to put together another one before my customer gets here.”
As the savory aroma wafted toward him, Ben hesitated. He was hungry—and it was slim pickings at the house.
“Are you certain?” Even as he asked, he was digging out his wallet.
“Yep.” Charley opened the cooler, retrieved some more fish, and set the fillets on the grill. “Tacos don’t take long to make. I’ll have another order ready pronto.”
Ben counted out the bills and handed them over. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure. I know you won’t enjoy them as much as if you were sharing them with Marci over there”—he gestured toward a bench beside a planter overflowing with flowers—“but you can always reschedule after she gets back.”
“I intend to.” He picked up the bag.
“Glad to hear it.” His expression didn’t change, but the sudden intensity in his dark brown irises was out of sync with his smile. “Sometimes we can let the curves life throws us mess with our internal guidance system. As your grandfather used to say, if you keep your eye on the horizon and focus on your destination, no storm can push you too far off course.”
It almost sounded like Charley was issuing a . . . warning?
Then again, the resident sage was known for his enigmatic comments. No reason to read too much into it.
“That sounds like Skip.” He lifted the bag of tacos. “Thanks again.”
“Not a problem.”
Lunch in hand, Ben strode back toward his car. He needed to charge up his phone ASAP. Because unless he’d misjudged Marci—and her feelings for him—he’d find a message or two from her waiting for him.
And while he couldn’t offer much more than moral support from thousands of miles away, that might be enough to let her know he was beginning to seriously think they were destined to be more than friends.
What on earth was vibrating against her ear?
Pulling herself back from the oblivion of deep sleep, Marci shifted and . . .
Ouch!
Why did her neck hurt?
Squinting against a beam of light lasering through a gap in the blinds on the window, she gingerly rotated her head.
The vibration continued.
Ah.
It was her phone.
Somehow, while she’d slept, she’d slipped sideways in the utilitarian recliner beside her mother’s bed, and her ear had landed on top of her purse.
Shoving her hair out of her face, she straightened up, groped for the cell, and surveyed her mom.
“I’m wide awake, dear. Don’t worry about disturbing me if you need to take a call. You should have gone to the house hours ago and gotten some decent sleep.”
Other than a few fine lines of strain at the corners of her eyes, her mom looked like her usual self.
Thank you, God!
“I wanted to stay here. And I’m fine.” Her fingers closed over the phone, and she pulled it out.
Ben.
Finally.
While she hadn’t expected him to check his messages late last night, the silence from his end this morning had been disconcerting. If the situation were reversed, she’d have been on the phone the instant she got the first message.
Her cell buzzed again.
One more ring and it was going to roll to voicemail.
“I’ll take this out in the hall, Mom.” She pressed the talk button and scrambled to her feet.
“You can chat in here if you like. You won’t disturb me.”
“Hi.” She kept walking as she spoke into the phone. “Can you hold a second?”
“Sure. Take your time.”
Just hearing Ben’s warm, caring voice chased away some of the doubts that had begun to creep into her mind.
Putting the phone on mute, she turned to her mom. “I want to visit the ladies’ room anyway. Where’s Dad?”
“He went to get us some real coffee.”
“Will you be okay for a few minutes while I’m gone?”
“Of course.” She gave an annoyed flip of her hand. “This whole episode was scary, but I’m fine. I feel terrible you made a cross-country trip for nothing.”
“I’m glad it was nothing. Or not much.” She continued toward the hall. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
As soon as she left the room, she put the phone back to her ear and ambled toward the lounge near the bathrooms. “Sorry. I was in with my mom.”
“How is she?”
“Doing fine. It wasn’t a stroke.”
“That’s good news. What happened?”
“The doctors called it a complex migraine, even though she’s never had a problem with headaches.”
“Ah. I saw a couple of those on my ER rotation in med school. A very strange phenomenon. The symptoms can simulate a stroke.”
“So the doctors said. Mom told us she hadn’t been feeling well all day. Then her cheek and hand went numb, her vision got blurry, and her speech suddenly became incomprehensible. I’m glad I wasn’t here for that part.” A quiver rippled through her.
“On an optimistic note, in general the prognosis is very positive for those kinds of episodes. In most cases there aren’t any residual effects.”
“That’s what we’ve been told.” She crossed the lounge and tucked herself into a quiet corner. Asking outright why he hadn’t called sooner might be pushy . . . but she should be able to get the answer without posing a direct question. “I’m sorry about missing our lunch. I was looking forward to it.”
“No worries. We’ll reschedule after you get back. Now it’s my turn to apologize. I only got your text and voicemail fifteen minutes ago. When you didn’t show at Charley’s, I pulled out my cell to see if you’d called and discovered the battery was dead.”
Propping a shoulder against the wall, she let out a long, slow breath.
Thank you again, God.
“I suppose I could play this coy, but the truth is that makes me feel better.”
“As long as we’re being candid, I’ll reciprocate by telling you that I’m glad it makes you feel better.”
Her dad passed by the lounge . . . stopped . . . and lifted a tray with three venti Starbucks cups.
She waved at him and held up a single finger to buy herself another minute.
“That also makes me feel better.” She pushed off from the wall. “My dad just passed by with a Starbucks infusion for all of us—and I need some caffeine.”
“Have you gotten any sleep?”
“An hour or two. My mom is hoping they’ll let her go by the end of the day, so we should all be able to sleep in real beds tonight.”
“How long are you staying?”
“To be determined. I can work on most of my projects from here—including the crowdfunding campaign—but I’d rather be in Hope Harbor to keep my finger on the pulse of everything.”
“If you need me to step in and help in any way while you’re gone, I’d be happy to.”
She slouched against the wall again. The lack of sleep was beginning to take a toll. “I’m not certain your bidder would appreciate you undercutting his efforts to buy the lighthouse.”
“What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.”
She gave a soft laugh. “I’ll keep your offer in mind, but I’ve already been in touch with Greg and som
e of the other committee members. I think we’ve got it covered for the next two or three days.”
“You’ll be back that fast?”
“Unless there’s a change here—but I don’t expect that, based on Mom’s prognosis. I don’t want to miss an issue of the Herald. Rachel’s capable and willing, but she’s still learning the ropes.”
“Let me know your travel plans—and we’ll have that lunch as soon as you get back. Now I better let you go join your parents for coffee.”
Oh yeah.
They were probably wondering what was keeping her.
“Thanks for calling. Talking to you gave me the lift I needed.”
“That goes both ways. Take care, and see you soon.” The line went dead.
For a few moments, Marci stayed where she was, replaying the conversation in her mind. Funny how that brief connection with Ben had revived her energy.
Too bad he wasn’t here to give her one of those adrenaline-producing forehead kisses of his.
That would be far preferable to a dose of high-octane coffee.
But since java was the only energy booster available, better join her parents and claim her cup.
When she appeared on the threshold of her mom’s room, her father smiled.
“We wondered if you’d gotten lost.” He plucked the third cup out of the cardboard tray as she entered. “Sweet and diluted—the way you like it.”
She reached for it and took a long, slow sip. “Mmm. Perfect.”
“Why don’t you take the car and go to the house, get some shut-eye?” He pulled out his keys and jingled them in front of her. “It could be hours before your mom gets sprung, and you have to be exhausted.”
“To be honest, I think I’m catching my second wind.”
“It can’t be from the coffee. The caffeine wouldn’t kick in that fast.”
“Maybe the phone call gets the credit for the boost.” Her mom gave her a speculative perusal.
Sheesh.
Her mother’s migraine episode might have disturbed the blood flow in her brain, but it hadn’t done one bit of damage to her mental processes—or her legendary intuition.
Marci hid behind another sip of coffee, dragging it out as long as she could.
“Did you get some good news?” As usual, her teddy bear of a dad was oblivious to the subtleties his wife homed in on like a divining rod to water.
