She was probably right. Although, personally, if he had a house this nice, even cluttered as it was, he’d think twice about selling. The kitchen alone was impressive. A person didn’t have to be a gourmet chef to appreciate the gray marble countertops and cupboards painted a stylish navy blue filling the spacious kitchen. He especially liked the exposed wooden beam overhead.
He still remembered the first time he’d seen the inside of Belville Park—after Jen’s dad had passed but before her mom had followed. It’d been all he could do to hide his shock at the size of the place. Sure, it was crowded—boxes, bric-a-brac, books—as if someone, probably Jenessa, had begun the job of organizing the overabundance of possessions but quit mid-mission.
Yet the hardwood floors and ornate woodworking, the walls painted in an array of neutrals and pastels were all in good condition. Swap out some of the overly fancy furniture for comfortable couches and chairs, move all the boxes and clutter out of sight, and this place could make an amazing home for a family.
Jenessa, though, had seemed embarrassed about the messiness the first time she’d given Sam and Lucas a tour. She’d also been exhausted, grieving her father, worried over her mother, buried in work at the newspaper. It’d been one of his first hints that all wasn’t as idyllic in the Belville family home as he’d once thought.
He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge. Expired a week ago, but they could risk it. The fact that he’d found any groceries at all in the pantry was a surprise given that Jen had all but moved in at the Everwood.
“Hey, Luke?” Jen had paused with her fork in midair. “I didn’t really demand we be friends, did I?”
He grinned at her echo of his earlier words. “That’s exactly what you did.” He cracked two eggs into a bowl. “You waltzed into the coffee shop one day, practically dragging Sam along with you, and came right up to me as I was stirring creamer into my coffee. You said, ‘I’m Jenessa Belville and this is my friend Sam Ross and we’re in the market for another member of our inner circle. Which makes us sound cult-ish, but I promise we’re not.’”
“I sound like a nutcase.”
“Well, I joined your little inner circle, so what does that make me?” He poured milk into the bowl and whisked. He remembered vaguely recognizing her when she’d approached him that day. They’d both grown up in Maple Valley, after all, she a couple years ahead of him in school.
She smiled around a bite. “A friend. That’s what it makes you.”
It took every ounce of self-control in him not to wince. To keep whisking the globby mix of eggs and milk and pretend that one little word—friend—didn’t feel so ill-fitting.
“A mysterious friend, but a friend all the same.”
“I’m not mysterious, Jen.”
“You are. You never talk about yourself. But I don’t mind. I’m good at cracking mysteries. One day I will discover all your secrets.”
Well, that was the most disconcerting thing anyone had ever said to him. He pointed his whisk at her. “Just eat, Belville.”
Although if ever there was a person he might wish to let in, it was Jen. Something told him that if he someday spilled everything to her—told her about the explosion and Tashfeen and the decisions he’d made after—she’d understand.
But then he’d have to tell her the rest. About Tashfeen’s mother. About Flagg and Bridgewell. About how long he’d been lying to them all. And that might be enough to ruin his chances—
He cut the thought off before it could go any further. What chances? Anything more than friendship with Jen had always been out of the question. Because of his secrets. Because he spent half the year or more overseas doing things he’d never be able to talk about.
Because Jenessa Belville deserved someone more whole than he could ever hope to be.
He rubbed a palm over his arm, felt the ridges of his scars through the cotton. Then, realizing what he was doing, he stopped, picked up the bowl of eggs, and carried it to the griddle. “Why don’t you take your plate into the sunroom? It’ll be more comfortable there. I’ll bring the eggs in when they’re done.”
Jen nodded and stood, lifting her plate. But she paused halfway across the kitchen. “You know what the odd thing is?” She glanced around the room. “Ever since I put that sign in the ground, I’ve had this strange feeling that as much as I might want to be done with this house, maybe it’s not done with me. And then . . . those kids. What if there’s a reason they’re here?” She shrugged, a chunk of dark hair falling free from her ponytail. “I sound silly. I must be overly tired.”
No, she sounded like the Jenessa Belville he knew. She always saw the potential in things. Like the way she’d seen something in him, later Mara and Marshall—sensed the possibility of deep friendship when they’d been little more than strangers.
It inspired him. Made him think of Noah, of the mission Flagg had assigned him. He should take a cue from Jen. Look for the potential and possibility in this assignment. Cling to the promise of securing his future with Bridgewell.
If only that future didn’t mean once again saying goodbye to the woman currently disappearing into the sunroom. He dragged a fork through sizzling eggs. At least he still had another month in Maple Valley.
He’d make it count. Spend as much time as possible with his friends, with Kit and Beckett. He’d mentor Noah as best he could. He’d enjoy each and every encounter with Jen even though he knew they didn’t belong together.
And maybe somehow, he’d convince his stubborn heart to let go.
5
Jenessa woke up to the warmth of the sun on her face and the welcome weight of her quilt tucked up to her chin, the lull of a fan or some other whirring sound gently coaxing her to consciousness. And something else . . .
A sense of calm and comfort. As if she wasn’t alone in her bedroom.
She opened her eyes and sat up slowly, bleary gaze coming into focus, and she felt her forehead wrinkle in confusion. She’d slept in the sunroom?
She flopped back against a nest of throw pillows, trying to make her morning brain function. There was a plate on the end table and—oh! Lucas had been here last night. Had made her pancakes—and eggs, too, although she didn’t remember eating them. She must’ve fallen asleep . . .
A flurry of whispered voices passed the room.
The kids!
How could she have forgotten? She jumped from the loveseat, gaze zooming to the small antique clock on a wall shelf. 8:02. For all she knew, the children had been up for hours while she slept.
She moved quickly, tripping over the quilt at her feet, catching herself on the back of the rocking chair. The kids were probably hungry. Maybe she could take a cue from Lucas—make some pancakes and eggs.
She emerged into the kitchen. Wait, who’d started a pot of coffee? Its tantalizing scent wrapped around her as the sound of shuffling from the dining room snagged her attention. What were those kids up to?
“Come on, Vi.” Colie’s hissed words carried as Jenessa hurried to reach them, finally catching up just as they moved into the entryway.
“I don’t want to leave.” Violet dragged a bag behind her. No, not a bag. A pillowcase? Filled with what? It clanked over the mudroom floor.