The Promise of Rainbows (16 page)

She rose and extended her hand to him. He didn’t know what she wanted, so he simply stood. She stepped in and hugged him.

His muscles locked. “
Whoa.
”

“None of your psychiatrists probably hugged you, but like I said, I do things differently.”

Her arms were firm but relaxed. He knew he could step away at any time.

“You’re a good man, Jake, one who experienced a horrible loss. Your friend wants you to forgive yourself and be happy. God does too. I know it’s impossible to understand why God didn’t answer that particular prayer that day, but He still loves you. And I do too.”

He stood in her embrace for a few more awkward moments choking on emotion before patting her on the back. She took it as the sign it was and stepped back. There was a gentle smile on her face.

“I’m glad you came today, Jake. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I hope you come back. And if you do, remember to bring your homework.”

Nodding, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

“There’s no charge,” she said, biting her lip as if she suddenly found him amusing. “It’s my job to help.”

“But I’m not in your church…”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head. “The prisoners I visit aren’t either, and I don’t charge them.”

Dear Lord. “If you visit inmates, you really are a pit bull for God.”

She smoothed back her hair and gave a soft laugh. “Thank you. I hope to see you again soon.”

He walked to the door, trying to think of some way to compensate her since she wouldn’t take money. Surely, her church could use something. His hand was on the doorknob when he heard her say, “Jake, if you want my opinion, one of the ways to move forward with your life is to ask my daughter out on a date. Companionship between people can move mountains.”

He turned around. “You still feel that way after everything I’ve told you today?”

“Absolutely. We heal in community.”

Holy—

“But I’m still messed up,” he protested.

She gave him a killer wink. “We’re all a little messed up, Jake. Have a good day.”

His legs were unsteady as he let himself out of her office and walked through reception.

If you asked him, there was messed up and then there was
messed up.

But her suggestion—heck her blessing—to ask her daughter out on a date echoed in his ears as he drove home.

What if Louisa was right about moving forward by dating Susannah?

Then another thought intruded: what if she wasn’t?

Chapter 12

When Susannah arrived at Jake’s house, she made sure to compose herself. He’d met with her mama yesterday afternoon. Her mama would never say anything about a private meeting, but she wondered if Jake would.

Whatever happens. I just won’t ask after it, is all,
she told herself.

She’d prayed for him this morning upon waking—just like she’d done before going to sleep. He’d been added to the circle of people she prayed for daily.

He had the front door open before she could alight the steps, and there was a smile on his handsome face. Some of the tension in her belly loosened even as she took in the jeans hugging his muscular legs, his signature stag belt, and a hunter green dress shirt. She caught a whiff of his cologne as she neared. The clove and pine scent was almost as alluring as the man.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” he said with a twinkle in his cobalt-blue eyes.

Pretty lady?
Good heavens, this man was going to give her the vapors, as her Aunt Ella would say.

“Hey, yourself,” she answered, taking care not to add the word handsome. She needed to maintain some professional distance. Didn’t she?

“How much time do you have for me today?” he asked, letting her inside and then closing the door behind them.

Since it was only eleven o’clock, she pretty much had all day. “As long as you need,” she answered, scanning the house.

So far they’d bought the main pieces for most of the spaces Jake used, minus the dining room table. Since he was a VIP, the furniture had been delivered promptly.

“Everything is looking great,” she commented. “How does it feel to have real furniture?”

He gestured to the enormous flat screen TV in front of his new caramel-colored leather couch. “I watched an old Clint Eastwood movie last night. Even made myself some popcorn to celebrate.”

“Good for you,” she said, smiling now.

He seemed lighter. Had her mama worked her magic? She sure hoped so.

“I was looking online for towns with good antiquing,” he commented. “Thought that might be the kind of place we could go to find some of the other pieces. Um…if that’s okay. I kinda wish the 123 Sale was going on right now.”

Color her surprised. “Have you been to the 123 Sale?”

“When I first moved to Nashville, I heard about it from a friend. I outfitted my first apartment at the sale. I’d never seen anything like it.”

A woman friend, she expected, but refrained from asking. The 123 Sale had been around for almost thirty years. Held for only four days in August, it covered six hundred and seventy-five miles, stretching from Lookout Mountain Parkway into Tennessee and then winding its way along the Cumberland Plateau into the Bluegrass Region of Kentucky.

“I kinda like flea markets,” he said in a hushed tone. His shoulder shrug was adorable. He was acting like he was confessing a dark secret.

“I like them too,” she said, happy he’d made the suggestion. She’d taken him to all of the furniture places she used in the greater Nashville area.  

“Have you been to the sale?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ve been a couple of times with my mama and sisters. The traffic can drive you crazy with everyone craning their necks to see what people have for sale in their front lawns.”

He laughed. “It was pretty intense when I went too, but I liked hearing people tell stories about how they’d come to own certain things. A few of the pieces I bought are in my studio.”

That explained its homey feel. “Which town do you have in mind?”

“Sweetwater, if that’s not too far.”

“That’s a little over two hours from here.” Now she understood why he’d asked about her plans for the day.

“I’d insist on driving,” he said, clearly biting his lip to keep from smiling.

He still hadn’t let her drive anywhere they’d gone together, and she liked to tease him about it. If she were honest, it was more than simple teasing. They were flirting.

“We can’t have you break your driving record now. I’ll just use the bathroom before we go.” It still felt awkward to mention when she needed to use the facilities, but she just had to get over that.

“Good idea. I’ll see you in a jiffy.”

When they met again in the entryway, she was juiced. Somehow taking a road trip with him was exciting. Even though she kept reminding herself this wasn’t a date or a social outing, it certainly felt different from her shopping trips with other clients.

They settled into his truck, and Jake made sure she was buckled-in and comfortable before heading off.

“I’ve heard Sweetwater is lovely,” she said, stretching out and taking in the fallow fields as he turned onto Interstate 40. “I’ve only been to Athens.”

“How was Athens?” he asked.

There was rain coming in, she decided, eyeing the puffy gray and white clouds billowing in the direction they were headed. “It was nice. The downtown is historic and filled with antique shops. I found an antebellum sterling silver serving spoon with a flower engraved on the handle once.”

He looked over and waggled his brows. “Maybe we should go to Athens too. Tammy and Annabelle might like a spoon with a flower on it.”

Well, wasn’t that sweet? “Let’s see how things go.”

By her recollection, the two towns were about twenty-five miles apart. They’d likely arrive in Sweetwater sometime after one o’clock if the traffic cooperated. She expected they would have a spot of lunch and then hit the shops. Depending on how much Jake liked to hear the owners’ stories, they might be in Sweetwater for a while.

“All right,” he said, his voice octaves lower than usual. “But I insist on buying you lunch…and dinner…if we stay late.”

The husky way he said the words made her think of smoke, and as they said, where there’s smoke, there’s fire. She wanted to fan herself.

“Okay.”

“Now, what kind of music do you want to hear?” he asked.

“Anything you’d like since you’re the one doing the driving. That’s how it works in my family.”

He fiddled with the radio, and they both laughed when they heard one of Rye’s songs.

“He’s everywhere,” Jake commented. “I couldn’t be happier for him. And now with the baby coming… He’s a changed man.”

J.P. and Rye had been friends for years, so she’d seen Rye in his wilder days. “It’s good to see him settling down. Tory’s an angel.”

“She seems to be. How about we not listen to country music for once?”

Turning in her seat, she scanned his face. His jaw was clean-shaven, and her fingers itched to caress his skin. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly a fan of rap?”

He laughed as he selected Nashville Public Radio. “Is the news okay? I like to keep up with what’s happening in the world.”

Of course he would. He’d fought in wars that were headline news. “Sure.”

“To answer your question, though, I do enjoy quite a few rap artists. I have a real respect for their lyrics, although they’re a tad spicier than my own.”

Spicer was being kind. Some of them were downright vulgar, if you asked her, especially the ones that talked about women in a derogatory way.

“Do you get embarrassed when your songs come on the radio?” she asked, knowing some singers did.

“Actually, no. I usually crank up the volume and sing my heart out, marveling that I’m on the radio…and that I even created the song in the first place.”

His gratitude was as sweet as could be. “Do you find the fame part difficult?”

“Sometimes. At first, I had a hard time with everyone staring at me when I was doing mundane things like going to the grocery store or the gym. But it’s part of what I love, so I’ve accepted it.”

“That seems wise. J.P. could never make his peace with those aspects of fame.”

“He seems pretty content with his choice,” Jake answered, turning on the blinker as he changed lanes.

She’d noticed that he never drove more than five miles per hour over the speed limit. Whenever they went out together, he obeyed pretty much every traffic sign.

“Are you being a good driver for me or is it your norm?” she asked him.

“I’m never in a hurry to get anywhere, so it’s pretty much my normal.” He rolled his shoulders like he was tense again.

“Well, if you want me to take over at any point, I’m happy to help.”

“I’ve got it. I’m pretty used to being on the road..”

“Yeah, but normally you aren’t the one driving the bus,” she mused, fussing with her nails.

“I…ah…wanted to tell you that my appointment with your mama went real well yesterday,” he said, ending his sentence by clearing his throat.

When she looked over, his hands were clutching the steering wheel so hard they were almost white. Now she understood his tension.

“I’m happy to hear that,” she responded, waiting to hear what else he planned to say. “I hope you know Mama would never breathe a word to me.”

His laugh was harsh. “I do.”

Rain began to spit on the windshield, and Jake turned on the wipers. The clouds in the west turned a menacing gray, but there was still a splash of sunlight coming through—almost like the heavens wouldn’t let everything go dark.

They continued to talk about the music she liked—he was very curious about the artists she enjoyed—and she made sure to ask him what his favorite cities were to tour.

By the time they reached Sweetwater, she was thirsty and needed to use a bathroom again. They agreed to have lunch at a little place called Hunter’s Bakery and Café, nestled in the corner of a large brick building.

“I’m a sucker for places like this,” she said as he parked in front of it. When they reached the black and glass door, he opened it for her to enter.

The chandelier gave the red interior a warm glow. The hostess did a double take when she looked up from the seating chart to greet them. Her strawberry blond hair bounced when she jumped in place.

“Holy heavens! Jake Lassiter! Oh, my God.” She took a couple of deep breaths, staring. “Oh, my
God!
Are you eating here?”

The restaurant wasn’t full by any means, but every conversation died. There were some priceless looks in the dining room. One woman put a hand to her bosom as if Jesus himself had just walked through the front door while a teenage boy dropped his spoon into his soup, showering his T-shirt.

She could tell Jake was fighting a smile as he said, “I was planning on eating here, yes. Are you still serving?”