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“There was that…thing…I walked in on between you two when you were packing cinnamon rolls. And now you’re planning this huge trail ride together.”
“Huh.”
“Come on. Give me something.” Robin picked up the baking tray and slid it into the oven. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re blushing, and you don’t blush, which means something is going on with you.”
“Did you need me to change anything on the daily specials board?”
“That wasn’t even a little smooth. No, the board is already updated for tomorrow. Spill.” She plopped another ball of dough onto the work surface and rolled it out.
“It’s nothing.”
She kept rolling out a large rectangle of dough, shaping and thinning it with each stroke. “Nothing? Will it be nothing if I ask Beth about it later?” She looked up from her work.
Man, the kitchen was warm. “Why do you think it has anything to do with Beth?” He held his hands up, palms out, signaling his innocence.
“Because you turned the color of maraschino cherries when I said her name. She’s sweet, kind, loyal. You should ask her out.” She stepped aside so he could cut the dough. “You know, besides stuff you can try to classify as work.”
Now he could feel the heat flood his face. That kiss had most certainly not been work. He swallowed. Rolled the croissants. Plunked them onto the next tray. “I’m supposed to be leaving at the end of summer.”
“It’s a date, not a marriage proposal. Besides, no one is forcing you to go back to Oregon.”
“Hello? I live there.”
“People move all the time.” She shrugged. “I left Paris and moved back to Deep Haven—and Paris used to be my dream.”
“I’ll never have another opportunity like buying Vincent Tucker’s place. There isn’t a youth camp in the area—and it’s a huge need.” He cleaned the scraps from the work surface and balled them up with the others, then handed them to her to add to her next batch. “I’ve met kids through church who needed a camp like Trinity, but there isn’t one. And truly, I like it in Oregon—the winters aren’t as long and cold as here. We have four full seasons.” He did like it there. As much as he’d landed there by chance, it was home.
“Ask her to go with you.” Robin slid another tray into the oven.
“You know how well that worked with the last guy.” He wasn’t ready to trust God like Anne and Noah had. Like Grandpa.
“True. But he wasn’t you.”
“No. I couldn’t do that to her. I could never ask her to leave everything she loves—everyone she loves.” He shoved the mixing bowl away.
Robin’s timer went off, and she pulled a tray of croissants from the oven.
The buttery smell made his stomach rumble. “Those look and smell delicious.”
She held out a hand. “Not yet—they’re too hot. And you can’t eat all my profits.” She pulled off her oven mitts. “You could stay. You haven’t closed on the lot.”
“Robin—”
“I’m still okay with you selling it—I’m just saying, it’s there. It’s still an option.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t make sense of what the future could possibly be. The camp in Oregon—I feelcalledto that.”
Called.It was the first time the full meaning of the camp connected in his soul. Called to minister to youth, especially the hurting. Called to start something new. In Oregon.
Instead of anchoring him, the realization released him.
“Tragedies like ours—they happen everywhere, including Sisters.”
“Of course they do.” Robin’s voice softened.
