Courting Hope Page 13

  He’d obviously rushed to get here. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Shannon grinned. “You’re lucky we didn’t leave without you.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He turned toward her. “Hello, Hope.”

  “I’ll get the kids on the bus,” Shannon said.

  Hope vaguely heard her friend and coworker. She couldn’t look away from the tired man standing in front of her. “You could have called and canceled tonight.”

  He grinned. “Not a chance. I need some fun.”

  Hope glanced at the busload of noisy teens totaling a baker’s dozen. “Fun?”

  “With you, it will be.” He gently pushed her forward with his hand at the small of her back.

  That small gesture, coupled with his softly spoken words, tumbled her insides. “How’s your cousin?”

  “Touch and go there for a while, but he’s finally stable.”

  Hope stopped. “How are your aunt and uncle holding up?”

  “They’re tough, but I’m glad my folks are there with them just the same.”

  “Have you talked to them?” Hope wondered when Sinclair would have found the time.

  “They call around midnight. It’s seven in the morning the next day there.”

  Then he worked all day in the hot sun and yet still managed to keep up with his obligations for church. He’d even returned a few phone calls, she’d discovered. “You must be beat.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “You two coming?” Shannon poked her head out of a lowered bus window.

  “Yep, we are.” Hope hurried onto the bus.

  The backseats were filled, so she slipped behind the driver’s seat. Leaning against the window, she stretched out her legs on the vinyl bench. It’d been ages since she’d ridden a school bus.

  “Way to hog the whole seat.” Sinclair stopped in the aisle and gave her a look that said scoot over.

  Tempting, but she wasn’t scooting over. Her fingers itched to smooth the worry from his brow and touch that damp hair. A little physical space might be a good thing. “Find your own spot. I can watch the kids and still chat with Shannon.”

  “Fine. I’ll just move along.” He headed for the back of the bus and sat next to Chuck Stillwell’s fourteen-year-old son, Jeremy.

  In less time than it took to pull out of the parking lot, teen boys had surrounded their young pastor. Talking sports and joking about the picnic’s softball game, Sinclair looked completely at ease. Even the girls listened to him, between whispers and giggles.

  Obviously, they thought their pastor was cute. He was. Every single woman at church gave him a second glance, even though he hadn’t gravitated toward anyone.

  Just me. But they were only friends.

  Sinclair still had enough kid in him to be a natural with teenagers. His youth center wasn’t such a bad idea, really; it’s just that the timing was all wrong.

  “You’re glaring.” Shannon’s voice intruded on her thoughts.

  Hope laughed. “I’m thinking about the building project.”

  “And?”

  Hope shrugged. “What if I’m wrong?”

  Shannon fed her daughter with a bottle and rocked her gently. “That’s why there’s a committee to make the right decision. You just keep praying for direction, and God will come through.”

  Hope nodded. She’d been praying specifically for a preschool for so long. Had she lost sight of seeking God’s plan for their church? Hope had her own vision, but did it line up with God’s? Or Sinclair’s, if he had one?

  She glanced back at Sinclair, and his gaze caught hers and held. If only she knew what project he’d get behind. What decision he’d finally make.

  * * *

  Sinclair was more than ready to get off the bus when they reached Traverse City. Between the long ride and the constant chatter, his head throbbed. He’d meant what he’d told Hope. She was the only reason he didn’t call and cancel tonight. He’d missed her.

  Before exiting the bus, Jake went over the ground rules with everyone. He verified that each kid had Shannon’s cell phone number as well as Hope’s. After they agreed on a time and place to meet, they charged down the steps and moved as a group across the parking lot toward the ticket booth of the festival.

  As far as cities went, Traverse City was small, with an undeniable sense of tight community. The Cherry Festival exemplified that with cherry pit spitting, cherry pie eating contests and a festival beauty pageant for local girls. Traverse City held many fairs, but the weeklong Cherry Festival was one of the largest and drew crowds from all over the Midwest.

  Parades, air shows over Grand Traverse Bay, arts and crafts and food were all part of the fun, but their main purpose for coming lay in the amusement rides and carnival games. Jake and Shannon took a few kids who wanted to walk around, while Sinclair and Hope headed for the midway with a group that was anxious to get in line.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve been to one of these. How about you?” Sinclair breathed in the smells of grilled brats and popcorn wafting from the food arena while their charges dashed ahead.

  “I was here last year.”

  “With the youth group?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Sinclair’s interest piqued. “Who, then?”

  “Jake’s brother, Chris.” Hope’s cheeks looked rosy.

  Sinclair didn’t like the idea of her sharing this experience with someone else. Pretty stupid for him to assume she wouldn’t have had boyfriends, but the Hope he remembered hadn’t gone out much. Even in college, he couldn’t recall Hope ever talking about someone special in her life. He put on a neutral face and lightened his tone. “A date, huh?”

  “Shannon set me up when Chris came for a visit.”

  “How’d that go?”

  She laughed. “Not well at all.”

  The sudden urge to pound the guy’s face surprised him. “Why? What happened?”

  “I don’t know which was worse, having nothing to talk about or watching him check out every woman under the age of fifty.”

  “He’s an idiot.”

  She patted his arm. “Thanks, but I’ve never been a head turner.”

  “Says who?” Was she nuts? With her smooth skin and gray eyes fringed with dark lashes, she was beautiful.

  “You never looked.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  He studied her closely. Okay, that was true back in the day, but not now. Now, she had the type of beauty that a man only needed a couple of long looks to appreciate before it drove him crazy.

  He cleared his throat. “Good thing, too. I’d coaxed you into enough trouble.”

  “True.” She laughed. “Remember the last time we berged the river?”

  “Floating on that block of ice? Oh, yeah.” He’d never forget that one.

  He’d come home from Bible college for spring break with a few friends, and he’d talked Hope into going with them. Honoring the insane spring tradition, they’d cut a huge section of ice from Lake Leelanau with a chainsaw and then set up lawn chairs and their coolers and stripped off their shirts to catch some sun while they floated. It’d been too warm that year, and partway down river, their “iceberg” had cracked in half. Hope had fallen in.

  “I thought your parents were going to kill me when I brought you home half-frozen.”

  Hope jostled his shoulder. “I’d never seen you so shaken up before.”

  “Your lips were blue.” Sinclair noticed that a group of their kids were walking toward them.

  “Pastor Marsh, we’re headed for the Ferris wheel,” one of the girls said. The rest of the kids had already scattered.

  “We’ll meet you in front of the welcome center at nine.” He turned to Hope. “Do you want to go on any of the rides?”

 
“Nothing too fast.”

  He chuckled. “Then what’s the point?”

  “Not getting sick.”

  He laughed again. “Come on, I’m sure we can find something tame enough, even for you.”

  She stuck out her tongue, but followed him along the midway.

  They rode the Ferris wheel and then the swings, but Hope looked a little pale when they finally got off.

  “How about some games?”

  Hope pressed a hand to her stomach. “Yes, please.”

  Sinclair shook his head. “You’re so weak.”

  “Weak? I’ll show you who’s weak.” She glared at him and then stomped up to a game booth set up for a milk bottle toss. “I’ll take two sets of five balls. One for me, and one for my friend here.”

  “I’m not throwing.” Sinclair stepped back to watch. His shoulders were shot from harvesting cherries. Way too much lifting.

  “Fine.” Hope purchased her own set and then gave him the extra softballs to hold. She stretched her arms and shoulders, and then launched a ball toward the old-style glass milk bottles.

  The first ball missed and hit the canvas tarp behind.

  “Nice form.” He winked at her.

  Her cheeks turned pink, as he’d intended. But then she grabbed another ball and threw. It hit hard, dead center, and knocked down every bottle.

  “We have a winner!” the man in charge announced over a cheesy sound system. “Pick your prize, young lady, or three dollars more gets you the chance for the big bear.”

  “I’ll take the T-shirt.” Hope turned and grinned at Sinclair before picking a white T-shirt with last year’s Cherry Festival logo on it.

  “It’s not even current.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t care. It’ll make a good sleep shirt.”

  He gave her a long look, and then finally muttered, “Must be the practice you got at the picnic.”

  “Must be.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

  Sinclair handed her the prize and their fingers skimmed against each other.

  “When are we going to race?” Hope tipped her head.

  “I don’t know if I can risk it.”

  She laughed then. “Are you really afraid you’ll lose?”

  “Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m afraid you’ll get hurt. Seems like I have that effect on you.” He’d been afraid of a lot of things after she’d fallen hard on her back playing softball—these new feelings for her being one of them.

  The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

  Her eyes widened as if he’d hit a nerve. Or maybe she was thinking of her parents’ reaction. Whatever it was, a weird tension hung in the air between them.

  One step at a time.

  That had become his motto.

  He leaned close to her, close enough to smell the clean scent of her hair. “Now what?”

  She moved away from him. “I’d really like an ice-cream cone.”

  “Let’s go then.” Catching up to her, his fingers brushed hers, so he took her hand. Warmth pooled in his belly when she laced her fingers through his, and he gave them a squeeze.

  There couldn’t be any harm in enjoying the feel of her hand in his, even though this was starting to seem more and more like a date. He still hadn’t talked to her parents about permission to ask out their daughter. After the picnic incident, he feared they’d tell him to get lost.

  At the ice-cream stand, he watched Hope scan the chalkboard that listed the flavors. She wore another pair of long shorts and a fitted peach-colored T-shirt. He’d never seen her look prettier as she studied that board.

  And like a tourist, she ordered a scoop of Traverse City cherry ice cream. He screwed up his face with distaste. “Nice choice,” he said sarcastically.

  “I happen to like cherries.”

  He’d had his fill of them growing up. “Since I forgot my glasses, will you tell me what flavors they have in chocolate?”

  Hope rattled off a few varieties.

  “I’ll take the triple chocolate fudge.”

  “Nice choice.” Hope copied his tone. “The only thing more boring than chocolate is vanilla.”

  “You calling me boring?”

  She laughed, then tipped her head as if considering. “That’s one thing you’ve never been.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Oh, no, that’s good.” Hope looked away because their order was ready. The way her cheeks flushed confirmed her compliment, making him feel as if she’d given him a badge of honor.

  With cones in hand, they found a wooden bench seat under a large maple tree, away from the heavy foot traffic. Sinclair waited for Hope to sit down before he scooted in next to her. She settled her tiny purse and T-shirt prize between them like drawing a line in the sand. He didn’t appreciate the boundary, even if it was there for his own good.

  A comfortable silence settled over them as they ate their ice cream and watched the people go by. And then Hope sat up straighter, as if suddenly remembering something. “You never told me what happened with the house.”

  “After a couple counteroffers, I got it.”

  “Really? When will you move in?”

  He shrugged. “I’m supposed to close in three weeks, but we’ll see how it goes.”

  “We’ll be neighbors.”

  “Yeah.” He wanted way more than that, but obviously God was teaching him patience. Like now, waiting for Hope to finish her ice cream. He’d polished off his in no time, and Hope’s cone was dripping all over.

  “You need help.” He scooted closer and took a bite of her ice cream.

  “Hey!” she protested.

  “It’s melting.” He took another bite at the same time she licked the other side, and their noses touched.

  Looking into her surprised eyes, Sinclair recalled his latest vow not to rush.

  Breathe and count to ten.

  But Hope quickly sat back and wiped her mouth with a napkin. She looked so flustered and pretty. Sinclair leaned forward. “You missed a spot right...here.” He touched his lips to hers.

  When she didn’t respond, Sinclair pulled back and searched her face. Hope looked madder than a honeybee taken off its blossom. “Sorry, but I thought—”

  “Did you know that you were my very first kiss?” No, she wasn’t mad, but her expression warned him not to mess with her. She had shadows in her pretty gray eyes—shadows that said remembering that first kiss was painful.

  Snipe hunting!

  He’d hurt her with that stunt. All those years ago, when he’d joked about the way she’d kissed him, he’d done a number on her. But he’d been blind to her then. Now he could see.

  “Let me be your last,” he whispered.

  Her eyes widened.

  She didn’t believe him...so he kissed her again.

  * * *

  Through a hazy, dreamy kind of fog, Hope heard giggles and then a whistle. She quickly broke away from Sinclair.

  “Way to go, Pastor Marsh!” Jeremy Stillwell gave them a mischievous grin. And that led to more ribbing from the four boys standing in front of them.

  Hope slid a little farther down the bench, wishing she could disappear.

  “Okay, guys, that’ll do. That’ll do.” Sinclair checked his watch. “It’s almost nine. Let’s head for the welcome center.”

  Hope gathered her purse and T-shirt in an effort to calm her insides. Her ice-cream cone, or what was left of it anyway, lay on the ground. She’d dropped it when he’d kissed her. And then she’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back.

  “I’m sorry.” Sinclair offered her his hand.

  Hope ignored it and stood on her own. She didn’t want him to feel how much she was shaking inside. “Don’t worry about it. No big deal.”<
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  That was the lie of the century. She briefly closed her eyes. She’d been so close to admitting her feelings. So very, very close.

  His hand slipped to the small of her back. That point of contact radiated heat through her now frozen body.

  Her breath caught. Had she heard him right?

  “You okay?” He whispered close to her ear.

  She nodded vigorously, but any minute her knees might give way or she’d break down in tears. Neither was acceptable, so she kept walking forward.

  “Wait ’till I tell the rest of the guys,” Jeremy Stillwell taunted. He rushed ahead, eager to spread the news of what he’d interrupted.

  Hope cringed. It was only a couple of kisses. Deep, drawn out, reach-the-depths-of-one’s-soul kind of kisses, but still. How bad could it have looked?

  Her face flushed. It couldn’t have looked good. She and Sinclair had been caught kissing in public. On a youth group outing, no less. Her stomach turned over, as though she’d been on those swings a few too many times.

  When they reached the welcome center to meet up with the rest of the group, the kids wouldn’t let it go. The boys whistled again, and the girls giggled and then launched into that K-I-S-S-I-N-G song from elementary school.

  “That’s enough!” Shannon scolded.

  Hope’s ears burned, and her face flushed hot. But her lips still felt deliciously swollen. She glanced at Sinclair. The back of his neck looked red.

  Shannon gave her a wide-eyed look that begged for details.

  Hope shrugged. Did everything between her and Sinclair have to be rolled up in regret?

  Jake clapped a hand on Sinclair’s shoulder, stalling him. “Everyone, load up.”

  They headed for the bus, which was parked nearby. The kids ran ahead. Fighting the desire to turn and run in the opposite direction, Hope trudged alongside Shannon, whose daughter lay zonked out in the stroller. Jake and Sinclair lagged behind.

  “I think Jake’s giving him an earful.”