Hunkering down, she cleared her mind to pray and prayed to clear her mind.
“Lord, seriously, I need to get over it. The past is the past. Please help me put it back where it belongs—behind me for good. But, if I may pick a bone with you here for a minute, Lord, why does he have to be so—so—irresistibly cute? Those dimples! My goodness, they’re a bigger treat than Tex-Mex cheddar cheese. And those eyes? Way more delish than awesome Native American fry bread. And that deep voice of his could charm the rattles right off a New Mexico snake.”
Fingers webbed together, she fanned her face.
A throat cleared behind her.
She jerked upright. Couldn’t bring herself to turn around.
“Just came to let you know the oven timer’s beeping. I don’t know how to stop it.”
She realized he probably didn’t know his oven automatically shut off at the end of the cycle, even though the timer continued to beep. She nearly giggled at the endearing quirk that he had no clue how to work his own oven. Getting to it was going to be tricky.
Her face felt hotter than jalapenos over the likelihood he’d heard her honest confession. Mission: zip past him without getting caught in his gaze.
He didn’t move aside, though, which made entry awkward. In fact, she very nearly had to brush against him to get to that screeching oven. It’d help if her heart would stop thumping like a mixer with a crooked beater.
She’d almost cleared him when his arm hooked out, caging her between his chest, his minty breath, and the door frame. Caught. In every sense of the word. She dropped her chin. A strong fingertip slid beneath it.
“Please look at me?”
She twisted away. “No.”
His thumb swept soft, wispy circles along her jawline. “Meadow, it’s okay,” he whispered. “There’s no need to look down. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed. I’m mad. I don’t want to be feeling this way.”
With gentle pressure, he lifted her face. “Not even if I feel it too?”
Now her gaze collided with his. “Not especially in that case.” Breaking the hold of his arm, she went to stab the oven display until it stopped whining.
He was behind her in four steps flat. “What’s this about, Meadow?”
She whirled. “Remember the lake? You led me on, let me believe you were my friend. Then you let them leave me, and you never once looked back.”
His jaw hardened. Emotion, swift and fierce, swirled over his face. “You’re right. All except the part about never looking back. I’ve been doing that for ten years straight. And every single second since seeing you again, I’ve looked back to that lake and drowned in its sorrow. I’ll never stop regretting what we did to you. By the way, I did go back for you.”
She blinked. “You did?”
“Yes, but not soon enough. I couldn’t find you, so I went to the police so they could look for you. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“Of getting in trouble?”
“No. Of something happening to you. ‘Sorry’ seems lame, but it’s all I have, Meadow. I can’t rewind time and erase my actions. I can do my best to make it up to you, but it’s ultimately up to you to choose to forgive me. Us.”
Though rationally she knew he was right and forgiveness was biblical, emotionally she bristled at his sudden solidarity with his high school friends by his use of the word us.
“I can’t hand you the power to hurt me again.”
“Sorry you feel that way, especially after . . .” He shut his mouth.
His words, spoken and unspoken, carved through her as he turned toward the door.
She stood silent and wholly haunted by the flash of hurt he hadn’t been quick enough to hide. The look of a person left reeling by another’s words.
She didn’t know from where all this mouth venom of hers was coming, but it was vicious. She’d hate herself for it, except she knew doing so would break the Lord’s heart. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Jesus.
Then to Colin’s retreating back, she breathed, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
How could she so easily wound with words after being so wounded by them?
And hadn’t Colin apologized a zillion times in words, looks, and actions?
Even in her angst-ridden state, Meadow felt God’s peace breaking through, his assurance that the thorns she sliced with originated from a place of deep pain.
She thought she’d been fine with Colin’s confession that Meadow was who he’d thought about dating. But then terror set in. It seemed the closer he got, the more she fought. No more. She ran after him.
On the porch, her courage faltered. What could she say?
Pacing, he tromped back up the steps, whisking past her without a word. The air chilled. Courage regrouped, she prayed for grace and traced his steps.