“Save us a couple of bowls of that, would ya?” Colin said to Meadow.
“Glad to. I always make extra for my veteran buddies.” She recalled his pleasure at discovering she hadn’t forgotten his wounded friends, that she hadn’t waited to fulfill that part of their bargain. He’d thanked her profusely and offered to deliver meals she cooked. That it meant so much to Colin touched her.
“I’m gonna gain ten pounds a year if you keep feeding me like this.”
His statement seasoned her confidence but also stunned because his phrasing made it sound like he thought they’d be in one another’s lives for the long haul.
He’d made similar statements all week. Was he trying to hint at something? Fish for feelings? She couldn’t manage to bring it—or her hopes—up. She wasn’t that brave. Yet. Every day around Colin grew her courage.
Except he’d said he hadn’t convinced the right one yet.
A thought materialized that he could’ve meant her. Impossible, right?
That would almost be tragic. Their past and her inability to let go of it was too big a barrier between them. Plus, he’d made clear his aversion to romance in light of his last relationship. Yet sometimes it seemed he liked and treated her as more than a friend.
Should she step over fear and into faith that God may have goodness cooking for her? She’d avoided getting serious with anyone because she’d been career building and waiting for the right guy.
Is this you? Dare I hope, Lord?
Her mind swayed in constant contrast, not knowing which image to grasp. Was Colin really the man he portrayed standing here? Or was he the heartbreaker she remembered from yesteryear?
The teens had been working since shortly after noon and, thanks to Colin, Meadow felt on top of things enough to excuse them until they had to be at the rehearsal dinner venue, dressed in uniform.
After the teens left, Colin gestured to loaf pans. “We stuff chili in the soapy things?” Yeast scents permeated the air, mingled with hearty cheese, meat, and Mexican spices.
Mouth watering, Meadow giggled. “Not soap. Sopapillas. It’s like Native American fry bread, and we’re going to make it from scratch.”
“We?”
“Since I don’t have a mouse in my pocket, yes.”
“Gimme a miter saw—I’m in my element. Gimme an oven mitt—I’m a misfit.”
She’d started giggling, but his last word killed it. She tried to shake it off.
He was beside her in a heartbeat. “Hey, what’d I say that upset you?”
She sprinkled wax paper with flour. “It’s stupid, really. Just that Blythe called me Little Miss Misfit all through school.”
“And my saying the word misfit induced bad memories you’d forgotten.”
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him lowering the bread basket he’d been holding before he curled his hand over her shoulder. “It is a big deal.”
His words froze her frame but thawed her heart. He drew close. So close. His gentle breath ruffled hairs on her neck.
“Words wound worse than bullets or blades. But you’ll ultimately be okay.” His voice resonated deep. To barren places she’d thought too fragile, too far out of reach. Yet he managed to get there, to seep words in like water through a microscopic breach, wicking through her window frame, reversing the drought that had become her soul. A tiny bead, then a trickle, then a flood. Tears. Now.
Silent, she let them flow.
Courageously not blinking the moisture away this time, she hoped like crazy what he said was true, right, and maybe even could be a promise from God. That knowledge alone would make her—and everything—okay.
“God himself will make you okay,” he repeated with penetrating conviction.
That made it sound like the promise from God she’d hoped for. Dare she believe?
“What makes you say that?” she whispered, tattered soul truly needing to know.
“Because I know it’s true, I know it’s for you, and I know you need to hear it.”
“I hope you’re right, Colin, because I feel far from okay,” she whispered with such frailty from a raw-honest place, unsure he’d even hear or if she was ready for him to. “This is embarrassing. I haven’t cried since high school.” Her famed walk of shame, actually.
“It’s time then.” She turned her head to look at him. He smiled, appearing to want to encourage her. “What triggered your tears?”
“The frustrating fact that I still feel like I have ‘loser’ tattooed on my soul.”
His gorgeous emerald greens tracked every tear as though sacred jewels slipped down her cheeks. The strength of his hand multiplied into her shoulder as care magnified in his Irish eyes. “Feelings can lie to us.”
Could be good or bad, Meadow decided. Especially since she was having unsettling feelings of warmth beyond friendship, care for Colin that was scary.