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The world did stop. For just a moment. Janie decided that it was to reset—to let the old die so that the new could have a fighting chance.
“Fantastic!” Gemma spoke into the space with ignorance as to what had just passed. “It’s set then—a groundbreaking party for the Lake Shore Splendor lodge, catered by Miss Janie. I’ll help you with the invitations. I am excellent at PR.”
The round of chuckles from all sides of the table held a tinge of nerves. Or maybe that was just Janie. Either way, this was happening—and it was a good opportunity.
Groundbreaking . . . for more than a lodge. A new beginning. One in which Hunter and Janie could be friends.
Janie felt good about that.
Eleven
HunterhungbackafterBennett and his little instant family clogged down the boardwalk toward the Creekside Inn at the edge of town. He rubbed the back of his neck while a cold breeze came off the peaks to the west, a breath of snow carried on the air. More than likely they’d wake up to a dusting of fresh snow in the morning.
Bennett’s band reached the inn, and Hunter watched his friend wait until the kids passed into their room, then reach for Hazel. When the pair came together for a kiss, Hunter turned away. The stirring in his chest became a mix of twinging ache and yearning.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Hunter turned to peek through the window at his back. A lone figure moved inside, wiping tables, pushing in chairs.
Ah Janie . . .
She confounded him.
Just when he’d resolved to let her go the only way he knew how—to lock up any sort of emotion concerning her—she volunteered to cater an event for him. Why would she do that?
Hunter knew exactly what he wanted to be her motivation. Did he dare believe it possible?
Before he could talk his longing heart out of that hope, Janie looked up from her work, caught him watching her through the window, and smiled.
There was no talking him out of it now. Hunter held her gaze while determination came forth like Lazurus from the tomb.
Janie lifted a wave, and Hunter mirrored the gesture. Then she turned and made her way to the back, shutting off the dining room lights as she went.
The wind grew stronger, but Hunter remained planted. If anyone wondered, he’d claim he was waiting for Hazel, which technically was the truth. His sister had ridden a horse down to town earlier that morning, but it was already dark. She’d need a ride back to the cabin if she didn’t want to spend the night in town.
But the real reason Hunter remained rooted outside of Janie’s Café had very little to do with his sister. New life expanded in his heart and mind as he allowed everything about Janie to sink back into the vacant hole she’d once filled.
Those beautiful blue eyes. That warm-as-melted-sugar smile. The way she made his head swim and his heart soar. He wasn’t done fighting to win Janie back.
He would never be done.
Next morning dawned as he’d expected—with a fresh sheet of brilliant white covering the land. It’d gotten downright cold in his camper, and he felt the snow in the mild buzzing of his body. A strange quirk of his since childhood—he’d always known when it snowed at night. Always. While in town, he’d look at what Mama B had in stock for buddy heaters.
With his old winter coat in place and cup of steaming coffee in hand, Hunter stepped out of his trailer to meet the freshness of the day. Along with the knowledge of the silently falling snow, he’d lain in his cot with the hope of Janie’s smile giving him a mild high.
This morning he’d go down around about after the Saturday morning rush—which should be just before noon. Most fall Saturdays, Janie made chili—at least that was the story in town. Hunter was looking forward to that—if Janie made chili the way her mom made chili, he’d ask for seconds and save one of the portions to take back up to the camp. But before he did that, Hunter planned to be in Janie’s kitchen. Helping her, if she’d let him. Talking plans for the groundbreaking. And making progress in his renewed resolve to win her back.
Kitchen scenarios could play perfectly into that. He’d wash the dishes—proving he wasn’t completely useless when it came to meal prep. And he’d look for a perfect opportunity . . . Maybe she kept a dish she needed on high shelf. Or maybe she’d need help lifting a full pot of soup from the stove . . . He’d find some way to show her that life could be better if they were together.
And if that hypothetical scenario allowed him to touch her . . . He let his imagination linger there. His body warmed as he imagined reaching around her to retrieve that too-high dish. That near, he’d inhale the scent of apples and vanilla from her hair—a crisp but earthy rich aroma that would pull him closer.
His heart stuttered as he let this pretend scene play out further. It might or might not have ended with his lips brushing the warmth of her neck.
If helping her allowed him to touch her, all the better.
Hunter sipped his coffee, not really needing the added caffeine charge that morning. Snow crunched softly under his boots as he wandered toward the edge of the pond. Slowly he pulled his mind away from that intoxicating make-believe kitchen scene and focused on the reality he had. Stillness filled his senses. The quietness. The cleanness.
It felt hopeful that morning, and Hunter turned his thoughts toward the verse that John Brighton had texted him two days before. He pulled out his phone from his coat pocket, tapped until he found that text, and read the verse again.Trust the LORD with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding.
Two days ago Hunter had been in no mood totrustanything. He’d been in a mood to throw things and glare at anyone and everyone, including John when he had FaceTimed for their weekly Bible Study.
