“Nice Dad?” His forehead grooved. “I haven’t had a child living under my roof for a long time. My daughter is nowmarriedto a Nice Dad. How can I still be Nice Dad?”
“That’s what you were when I met you, so you’ll always be that in my eyes.”
“I don’t want to be that in your eyes anymore.”
“I notice you’re not arguing thehunkyadjective.” She smiled. Genuinely, she cared about him.
“Hunky’s fine. I only wish you found me hunky enough to date.”
“I do find you hunky enough to date. It’s just that you’re cut from committed cloth. You’re very . . .good. Certainly, much better than me.”
“Fiona.” He waited until he had her full attention. “I’m crazy about you, just the way you are.”
The words impacted her with surprising force. They both struck at her emotions and caused tingles to cascade down her body. “Thank you. It’s nice to be valued for being me.”
“But you won’t date me?”
“I’m sorry, no. I love our friendship, though. Until you came along, I didn’t realize how much I needed another friend.”
“I love our friendship, too.” He surveyed her. “But I want you to know that with patience and time . . . I think I’ll be able to win your heart.”
“One foot massage at a time?” she teased.
“Yes.”
Not going to happen, buddy. She was in the driver’s seat of this relationship, and she was far too smart to steer this car in that direction.
The following day, Remy hiked to a spot that rewarded her with a panoramic vista of Groomsport’s harbor, the hills that protected it, and the coastline. She sat alone on the wooden bench at the outlook.
Today’s sun and forty-something temps had melted the snow, turning it into drips and glimmering rivulets. The woods and the little town, which had been concealed with white when she’d arrived in Groomsport, were now not only unconcealed but also washed bright and clean.
What was that old song they’d sung at church when she’d been growing up?It is well . . . something?
In a flash, she recalled the lyric and melody.It is well with my soul.
The internal battles she’d been waging since Jeremiah left—sleeplessness, heartsickness, doubt, hurt—had left her staggering and weary. She was still catching her breath after all of that. But since Wendell and Marisol’s reunion, she could say that it was well with her soul.
“God has a soft spot for those of us who feel like we’ve been thrown onto the garage sale pile. A giant soft spot for us,” Wendell had said to her that day at his kitchen table. “He’s never closer to us than when we’re beaten up, unloved, betrayed.”
As bad as things had been since she’d last seen Jeremiah, she was experiencing the truth of that. God was with her. She’d been too hurt or maybe too young to sense Him during the last storm. But incredibly, after all her years of rejecting Him, Godwaswith her still. Loving her. She knew it with deep intuition.
She also knew that she needed to talk with Jeremiah. What she didn’t know was when. Or what, exactly, to say. She didn’t want to blunder in unprepared.
It was Wednesday. She was here until Sunday. She’d let Thanksgiving pass tomorrow, then she’d speak with him. And somehow . . . put her heart on the line? And apologize for hurting him?
You’re a creative person, Remy.Think of something grand and imaginative.Or maybe that wasn’t the way to go. Probably heartfelt and real was better.
SOS! Why was this so tricky?
Because it meant so much.
“Thanks for inviting me to stop by,” Jeremiah said to Alexis’s friend Skye on Thanksgiving night.
“Of course. Thanks for coming.” She held the door and he stepped from the dark porch into a well-lit formal living room. He could hear conversation and the sound of a TV coming from another downstairs room, a room where people lived. Unlike this one.
He’d called Skye yesterday to touch base following Fiona's unproductive interview with her. Skye was the only person on the spreadsheet that Jude had recommended Jeremiah talk with once his memory returned. Skye had told him over the phone that she’d be free Thanksgiving night after her family’s afternoon feast, if he was willing to stop by her parents’ house. So here he was.
Jeremiah’s day had been exhausting—filled with lots of people at both the O’Sullivan meal and the Camden meal. The whole time, he’d felt lonely in the midst of the crowds. Like a fraud for talking and pretending to enjoy the food when he was desolate on the inside over Remy.
