Courting Hope Page 6

  After Sinclair requested information on a couple of different, less expensive models, the salesman created a spiffy brochure to hand out at the building committee meeting.

  “Can you alter the exterior to match an existing structure?” Hope asked.

  The salesman cocked his head. “What kind of structure?”

  “An addition to a clapboard-sided church, for instance?”

  “All our buildings are metal sided for durability.”

  After a few more virtual tours, more quotes and brochures, Sinclair led Hope toward his car. “You don’t like any of them, do you?”

  “Don’t you think parents would prefer their kids in the same building during services?”

  He shrugged, clearly not following her logic. “I guess.”

  “Teenagers heading off to a separate place might be one thing, but little ones? Think of the security issues. How do we monitor who’s coming and going from a separate location?”

  “All things to consider.”

  Hope shook her head. “I’ll check into zoning requirements for prefabricated buildings before the meeting.”

  “Sounds good.” He grinned, obviously relieved to leave the details to her. “Now, what would you like for lunch?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “I know the perfect place then.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were seated at a small café table in a swank Traverse City restaurant. Glancing around at the French provincial decor, she lowered the fancy menu, complete with an extensive wine list. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Eva says the sandwiches are awesome.”

  Looking more closely at the menu, Hope realized that the lunch prices were almost reasonable. At least they were outside, on a patio that overlooked the main street filled with shoppers and traffic. It was far from an intimate setting, and if their conversation lagged they could people watch.

  Once they gave their orders, Sinclair leaned on his elbows toward her. “What did you think of yesterday’s message? No complaint calls?”

  By the worried look on his face, she didn’t think he was fishing for compliments. “No complaints. Actually, it was good. Really good.”

  “Good.” He gave her a satisfied smile. Sinclair had always been so cocky and confident—he’d never needed assurance like this before. She liked this change. It made him seem more humble. And attractive.

  “I’ll work in more of the needs in Haiti a little later. If we can find room in the missions budget, I’d like to support the school there. Maybe even plan a couple trips. The experience changes lives.”

  “Whose lives are impacted? The people in Haiti or those who visit?” Hope believed in missions, but was the cost to send a bunch of people with no plans to become missionaries worth the expense? “Seems to me that sending money instead of people would meet more needs.”

  “Depends on the need and who’s the needy one.” Sinclair looked serious, something she wasn’t quite used to. “Making money stretch is what God does. Multiplying the loaves of bread and fishes wasn’t just for biblical times. God can make a difference in a willing heart, and that’s worth way more than cash.”

  “Haiti changed you, didn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Starting with my name.”

  Hope cocked her head. “Your name?”

  “It didn’t feel right being called Sin, and it was too confusing with translation. Besides, I didn’t want it to fit anymore. Who’d go to a church with a pastor called Sin?”

  Hope laughed. “You’d be surprised.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but using my full name makes my mom happy. She never liked the nickname.”

  Hope streaked her finger down the water glass in front of her before glancing at Sinclair. “Me neither.”

  He gave her another toe-curling smile. “All the better, then.”

  Hope quickly sipped water to calm the flutters in her belly. Sinclair Marsh was not flirting with her, was he? The waitress delivered their order, saving her from having to respond or reflect any further.

  After Sinclair offered up a brief prayer of thanks, they dug into their sandwiches. His sister had been right about the food. Hope stifled a groan of pleasure after her first bite of a turkey club slathered with avocado.

  “Tell me why a preschool should be built.”

  Hope swallowed but didn’t answer right away. “Other than offering Christian education, I think it’s important to support the single moms in our community.”

  “How?”

  Hope shifted. She wasn’t used to Sinclair listening so intently, as if he’d tuned everything out around them to focus on her. “There’s a woman at church who lost her job due to layoffs. She took a lower-paying one and can no longer afford to send her girls to day care during the summer. Her girls are at their grandmother’s for a couple weeks, but when they get home, they’re on their own while Mom’s at work. The oldest is nine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “So how does tuition-based preschool solve that?”

  “The tuition could help offset expenses for a summer day program.” Hope tamped down the excitement bubbling inside.

  Sinclair looked thoughtful and interested, like a lightbulb had just gone off inside his head. “You’ve figured this out?”

  “Yup. I mean, I have estimates.”

  “Let’s look at those before the committee meeting.” Sinclair polished off the rest of his sandwich.

  Hope nodded and took another bite of her turkey club, glad that she’d caved in when Sinclair had asked her to go with him today. It was easier to talk shop here rather than in the office with phone interruptions and folks constantly coming and going for appointments with Sinclair.

  Silence stretched while she finished her food, and Sinclair signaled their waitress for the check. And then Hope felt him looking at her. “Why do you keep looking at me? Do I have mayo on my chin?”

  He laughed. “No. I was wondering when you got rid of your glasses.”

  Hope shrugged. “A couple of years ago. It’s too hard to run with glasses—they slip off my nose.”

  Surprise spread across his face. “You run?”

  A prickly feeling scurried up her back. She’d rather discuss church or the preschool. He looked at her with a kernel of admiration that she found more disarming than any taste of wine from the fancy menu. “I started in college but wasn’t consistent until a couple years ago.”

  Running quieted her mind. Dismissed the sorrow-filled thoughts of Sara and the what-ifs that plagued her. “What about you? You used to wear contacts.”

  “Not practical in Haiti. I’m used to wearing the spectacles now.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Makes me look older, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know about that.” No way was she going to tell him that his haunted eyes with lines etched at the corners made him look older. He was thinner, too. His clothes sort of hung off him.

  He switched gears on her by turning curious. Those haunted hazel eyes searched hers. “You never made it to Spain, did you?”

  “No.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin and draped it over her plate.

  “Why not? You were stoked for that trip.”

  “I couldn’t leave my parents to grieve alone.”

  Sinclair’s expression of disappointment and regret tugged at her heart. His voice softened. “I’m sorry.”

  Hope shrugged because she didn’t trust herself to speak. She couldn’t tell him it was okay when it wasn’t. Too many things had changed the day he dared her sister to do something stupid.

  The waitress came with the check and Sinclair took care of it.

  She gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Lunch was good.” He smiled back, then rose to pull out her chair.

  Hope turned towar
d him. “So was the conversation.”

  “And your company.” Despite the grin on Sinclair’s face, his eyes looked thoughtful. Serious. He wasn’t teasing her. He wasn’t flirting, either. He meant what he said.

  Hope stepped away from him. Lunch was over. They needed to get back to work and the safety of the office.

  By the time they made it back, Hope was sleepy, full and more confused about Sinclair than ever. Settling into her office chair, she looked up to find Shannon standing near her desk with a handful of pink message slips.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Fine. We gathered a lot of information. Which reminds me, I need to check with zoning because I don’t believe we can attach anything prefabricated to the church. It’s got to mesh with the existing dwelling.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Shan—” Hope stopped when she spotted Sinclair coming toward them.

  “Do either of you need anything before I take off?”

  “Nope, we’re good,” Hope answered.

  His gaze lingered. “Thanks for going with me today. And thank you, Shannon, for covering the office. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  After he’d left, Shannon turned on her with wide eyes and a grin. “So? Tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing happened.” Not quite true. Hope had melted a little more toward Sinclair. “We saw the prefab guy, went to lunch and then we came back. End of story.”

  “Uh-huh.” Shannon wasn’t buying it.

  Hope gave her friend a mock glare. “Now leave me alone. I have work to do.”

  “Where’d he take you?”

  Hope sighed. “To that French restaurant downtown.”

  “Oooh. Nice. So our young pastor has good taste, I see.” Shannon looked smug.

  “I guess.” Hope shrugged. “His sister recommends the sandwiches. And she’s right. They’re awesome.”

  She’d be stupid to think Sinclair took her there for any other reason than because Eva said it was a good place. He wasn’t trying to impress her. Wishing for more than a friendly work relationship invited a barrelful of hurt she was in no mood to experience all over again. But tell that to the butterflies dancing inside her stomach whenever Sinclair looked at her. And today, he’d looked far too often.

  “Well, I’m leaving, too.” Shannon quickly tidied her desk. “By the way, your mom called.”

  Guilt washed through Hope like she’d had her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. “What did you tell her?”

  Shannon shrugged. “That you went to Traverse City with the pastor.”

  Hope’s insides rolled. Great.

  “Was I not supposed to say so?” Shannon looked stricken.

  “No, no. It’s fine.” But Hope knew she’d have some explaining to do when she got home.

  “Is everything okay between your parents and Sinclair?”

  It wasn’t okay, and it might never be okay. “He was helping cut hay the day my sister got killed. Bad memories there.”

  Although she trusted Shannon, Hope didn’t want to chance rumors about Sinclair’s involvement in the accident. Not with him as their new pastor. Not many people knew the details of Sara’s death, and Hope preferred that it stayed that way.

  “Wow. I’m so sorry. No wonder they didn’t attend service yesterday. He must be a reminder of what happened.”

  “Yeah.” Hope had never told Shannon the whole story. She and her husband moved to the area shortly after the accident, and they’d helped Hope through some dark times.

  “Is that what’s keeping you from letting Sinclair know you’re interested?”

  “Who says I’m interested?” Hope didn’t mean to answer so sharply.

  Shannon laughed. “You do. Every time you try not to look at him.”

  Hope was grateful the phone rang. She gave Shannon a cheery wave because the caller ID promised a lengthy call. Mrs. Larson wasn’t ever brief. Still, her friend’s words pestered her.

  Hope couldn’t allow her working relationship with Sinclair to become infected by their past. But feelings long since buried, yet never forgotten, pricked her like an annoying sliver.

  Slivers needed to be pulled out before they became inflamed and too sore to touch.

  Chapter Five

  The building committee meeting held after Wednesday night’s service came quickly, and Sinclair wasn’t looking forward to it. Hope had updated quotes for the addition from a couple local builders they’d used the first time around, and it was no surprise they were more costly than the prefab.

  What had surprised him was the state requirement for room sizes of a new preschool center. Those requirements would force the committee, and then ultimately the board, to choose—youth center or preschool. There was no mixing the two when it came to their budget.

  “You look worried.” Judy Graves refilled her water bottle from the church’s kitchen sink.

  “We’ve got some hard choices ahead of us.”

  “Doing the right thing isn’t usually the easy route.”

  Sinclair knew that truth on several levels. “Tell me about it.”

  Judy smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

  She had more confidence in him than he did. Get behind the youth center, and Sinclair crushed Hope’s dream. Push for the preschool, and he risked the possibility of losing the church’s largest financial contributor.

  Could he stay neutral and pray the board came to their own decision? He wasn’t one to take the coward’s way out, but he wasn’t ready to make his decision. Not yet.

  He slipped into a chair as Hope called the meeting to order. She passed out the information they’d gathered the past couple of days, and then looked at him to take over.

  Might as well get this thing started. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Sinclair stood. “What Hope gave you are estimates for a preschool addition and a small prefabricated building for a youth center—”

  “Why can’t we do both in the prefab?” Chuck Stillwell interrupted.

  “The state doesn’t allow for a new preschool that small. Licensing standards require certain dimensions for classroom sizes, so that knocks out the multipurpose plan.”

  “But the addition isn’t that much larger,” one of the elders, who was also a board member, added.

  “We can use our existing basement to meet some of those requirements, namely the kitchen and quiet time space. There’s some leeway with an addition to an existing structure, namely a church,” Sinclair explained.

  “And a preschool will charge tuition that can help offset some initial costs,” Hope offered.

  “But there are overhead costs, such as staff, to consider. We wouldn’t have those, other than a youth pastor, with a youth center,” Chuck pointed out.

  And that’s when the debate picked up steam and charged out of control. Chuck championed the youth center. He campaigned that it’d be a good place to also foster a men’s fellowship group because of indoor basketball. Judy stood firm for the preschool, arguing that early education was more important than men and their sports.

  After the arguments blew their course, the group looked to their pastor for his opinion. Sinclair couldn’t give it. Not when he agreed with both sides of the issue. He wanted to make Hope happy, but that was not a good enough motive to vote for the preschool. He didn’t want to be swayed by Chuck, either.

  “I suggest we table a decision until next week’s meeting. In the interim, I think we should list the pros and cons for each and tackle the subject from a more analytical perspective.” Sinclair glanced at Hope, knowing she’d been waiting a long time for this.

  She didn’t look pleased, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d made her wait yet again.

  * * *

&nb
sp; By the end of the week, Hope was strung out. Sinclair had run her ragged following up on estimates for a larger prefabricated building and zoning restrictions. A flurry of lunch dates and appointments with parishioners kept Sinclair busy, too, as well as taking over for Walt, their maintenance guy who’d called out for the rest of the week with a sprained ankle.

  She had to hand it to Sinclair. He was settling in like a real pastor, mowing the lawn and helping clean the restrooms without complaint. The only nit she could pick was that he didn’t have a vision. Not for the building project or the church, other than what he’d told her that day at lunch about missions support for the school in Haiti. That wasn’t enough to inspire a congregation.

  The sound of tromping feet caught her attention as two blonde little girls raced into the office. They sidled up to her desk.

  “Hi, Miss Hope.” Nine-year-old Hannah slipped into a chair.

  “How was your visit with your grandmother?” Hope asked.

  “Boring.” Grace, the recently turned seven-year-old missing her front teeth, slouched against the wall.

  Hope chuckled. “Why boring?”

  “Grandma wouldn’t take us swimming. All she had was a silly little pool.”

  Hope imagined that a plastic kiddie pool was no match for Lake Leelanau, where the girls were used to going with their mom. “Ah, I see. What are you up to now? Does your mom know you’re over here?”

  “I called her.” Hannah stood a little taller. As the big sister in charge, she took her role seriously. “After work, we’re going to the building site for our house. Mom says we can help.”

  “That’ll be fun,” Hope said.

  Dorrie had applied for and received a grant toward a newly built home for low-income families. It had been a long process, and they’d finally broken ground this spring. Dorrie said she had a better appreciation for what Hope was up against with the red tape of a preschool.

  “Sometimes we have pizza there.” Grace loved pizza.

  “That makes it extra special then. Would you girls like to help me fold and stuff bulletins while you’re here? I can’t offer pizza, but we have some milk and homemade cookies in the fridge.”