A Wedding on Lilac Lane Hope Ramsay (general ebook reader TXT) 📖

Lane from the inn, it seemed foolish for them to drive separately to this evening’s museum board meeting. So they had arranged to carpool.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. The Rev had to fold himself into the tiny front seat of her old Toyota. He was maybe six foot three and filled up almost any space he entered. He had a presence about him, and her car’s cabin was too small to contain it.

His body heat invaded her space, and the scent of his aftershave tickled her nose in a pleasant way. A minister shouldn’t smell as good as he did.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Micah asked in his deep baritone. She jumped at the sound of his voice, surprised to discover that she’d managed to start the car and drive halfway down Harbor Drive to City Hall on autopilot. Where had her mind been?

Thinking about Rev. St. Pierre’s aftershave, evidently.

She wasn’t about to admit that, so she said the first thing that came to her mind. “I was thinking about what cake to make on Tuesday. I haven’t made German chocolate cake in a while, but not everyone likes that one.”

“Ashley, why do you keep baking cakes for the Piece Makers?”

She glanced at him and then back to the road as she turned into the parking lot near City Hall. “Because I like to bake.”

“BS.”

Hearing the preacher of Heavenly Rest Church use the initials for manure was a bit of a shock. But then he’d been a chaplain in the US Navy for many years, so he’d probably heard and said worse. He’d just called her on her little white lie, and she hated it.

It invaded her privacy or something. If she wanted to bake cakes for the Piece Makers, then it was none of his business. And the fact that she found his aftershave pleasant was certainly none of his business either.

She pulled into a parking spot and stopped the car with a noticeable jerk.

“Whoa,” he said, grabbing the handle above the passenger door even though he was strapped in.

She clamped her jaw tight as she set the parking brake. “I like to bake,” she said, hoping to end this conversation.

She killed the engine, but before she could open the door, he said, “I know you do. You bake every day for customers, but you’ve as much as told me that baking for the Piece Makers has become a chore.”

He wasn’t going to let this go, was he? She shifted in her seat and met his stare. He had deep, soulful brown eyes that demanded confession. Lying to Micah was impossible, but telling the truth wasn’t an option either.

Besides, Micah was the last person on earth she wanted rummaging around in her feelings and thoughts. He might do serious damage if she let him in.

She squared her shoulders and pushed back. “I just told you that I like baking, so can we—”

“I know what you said. But that’s not how you feel.”

What the heck? Was he picking a fight? The Rev was the last person she wanted to argue with, but she wasn’t about to let him run roughshod over her either. She needed to end this conversation.

She yanked the car door open and got out. He followed suit, and even with her battered Toyota as a barrier between them, Micah was able to unsettle her with his stare. What was wrong with him? What did he want from her? She was afraid to ask, and she wasn’t going to volunteer anything.

“You can get the heck out of my feelings, okay?” She locked the car door and stalked off in the direction of City Hall. It didn’t take him long to catch up to her. His legs were incredibly long.

“I’m not trying to pry, you know. Have you ever considered that you bake for the Piece Makers because you’re trying to honor your grandmother’s traditions? Maybe it’s time to give up some of those traditions. Maybe it’s time to recognize that knocking yourself out for the Piece Makers won’t ever bring your grandmother back.”

She stopped halfway up the stairs to City Hall’s front doors and crossed her arms over her chest. “Micah, what in the Sam Hill are you driving at? Because right now you’re ticking me off.”

“Ashley, have you ever considered seeing a grief counselor?”

“What? I’m fine. I’m more than fine.”

He nodded. “Yes. I can see that you’re managing. And I’m sure that you’ve fooled a lot of people into thinking that you’re okay. I mean, your business is thriving. But I remember how things were when I first moved back here. You were struggling to make ends meet. You were ready to give up. And then Jenna showed up and gave you a helping hand. You needed a helping hand then. Maybe you do with other things in your life.

“I’m not asking you to stop caring about Adam or your grandmother. But you can’t keep them alive in this world anymore. And trying to do that is keeping you from finding joy in your life. I hate to see you so sad all the time.”

Whoa, she thought they’d been talking about Grandmother and the Piece Makers. How the hell had they segued into a conversation about her late husband? Adam was the last thing she wanted to discuss with Micah, precisely because she sometimes noticed the scent of the minister’s aftershave.

And that seemed disloyal. And scary. And inappropriate.

“I’m never going to get over Adam, Micah. That’s just the way it is.”

“Of course not. But you’re hiding your heart behind your grief. You’re letting the grief close doors that you could open.”

“Just…leave me alone,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. Then she turned away from him, hurrying up the stairs so he wouldn’t see her tears.

So what if she still loved her husband. So what if she still mourned what she’d lost. She’d lost everything: her best friend, her lover, the father of her child, and