J.P. hadn’t signed up for anything. He just didn’t have time. And he didn’t plan to pull one of the folded pieces of paper, but the older, spectacled gentleman on the pew across the aisle that passed him the bucket dished out an expectant glare that left no room for vacillating. J.P. yanked a paper from the bowl and crumpled it in his palm.
“After service, there will be signs set up in the courtyard bearing each activity’s name. Please take a moment to stop by and meet the other volunteer you will partner with. And while it might be tempting to swap out your activity, we ask that you stick with what you’ve got because it just makes things less complicated. We’re hoping to keep it simple. Oh, and most importantly, I forgot to mention there will be iced tea and cookies.”
The congregation cheered.
Didn’t take much to get people excited, J.P. thought. But he had to admit, he was hungry, and a sweet treat was always appreciated.
They all rose for one more closing song and then, pew by pew, the church attendees headed toward the courtyard through the large arched doors flanking the sanctuary.
The cookie line was already twenty people deep by the time J.P. moseyed up. He decided to save that for later and instead get this whole volunteer meet and greet thing out of the way. He’d planned to take the day off from the construction project, but it was easily ten degrees cooler than yesterday and he shouldn’t waste the opportunity to crank things out with weather this nice.
He crammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the paper slip.
Face painting.
Great.
He scanned the area with a hand held up to shade his brow. He could see signs for the lemonade stand, the potato sack races, and the water balloon toss. All were in his wheelhouse. Not painting flowers or unicorns on kids’ cheeks.
Sure, he could paint, but a wall in a single color was the extent of it. He groaned.
Maybe someone would switch with him, even though their pastor had warned against it.
As he looked around the courtyard, J.P.’s gaze pulled up short.
Kenzie and Dylan, hand in hand, stood in front of the sign for the dunk tank.
J.P.’s own hands formed fists at his side. Oh, he wishedtheywere the onesinthe dunk tank, not organizing it. At what point could he find it in his heart to forgive them for what they’d done? He wasn’t sure he’d ever get there, the wound too fresh and the pain too festering. Just looking at them so happy and in love made his insides coil like a snake about to strike.
“Ah, face painting.” Pastor Blakely looked over J.P.’s shoulder to read the piece of paper trembling in his grip. “That’s going to be a fun one. I’m glad you’ll be heading it up. With your construction skills, I’m sure you’ll be able to build a creative and magical face painting booth for the kiddos. They will love it.”
Well, now he really couldn’t switch, not with this recent vote of confidence from the pastor himself.
“Looking forward to it,” J.P. lied. Not a good thing to do in church, or outside of it, for that matter. “Can you point me in the direction of the meet up sign?”
Pastor Blakely swiveled around and located the poster board in question. “There it is. Right on the other side of the fountain.”
Through the haze of water spraying from the terracotta structure, J.P. glimpsed the sign. And there, right beneath it, her body obscured by the delicate—almost ethereal—mist, was Nora.
Yep, that seemed about right.
J.P. frantically looked around to see if any other volunteers were still searching for their partners. It was his last chance to swap out his paper, but each person had settled into place, already chatting away and making plans with their co-volunteer.
Nora rotated on her heel. Her movements were slight as she scanned the area for her counterpart. She almost appeared insecure, a look J.P. hadn’t seen on her before. There was a hint of disappointment, maybe even panic. J.P. could only assume she figured she’d be on her own with this task. And in reality, once she realized who her partner was, she might wish she were.
Guilt took root in his stomach, watching her so distraught like this.
With steady strides, J.P. crossed the courtyard.
Nora’s eyes expanded. “No,” was all she said as a greeting.
“Face painting?” He held up his wrinkled slip of paper.
Her mouth fell into a frown. “They didn’t mix up the papers enough,” she insisted. “We were sitting right next to each other. We shouldn’t have pulled the same tag.”
“I can see if someone will switch with me,” J.P. offered.
She shook her head in a swift arc. “Everyone’s already partnered off.”
