Picnics & Promises: Imperfectly Proverbs 31 (Autumn MacArthur)

The next author in my Picnics & Promises highlight series is Autumn MacArthur, with Imperfectly Proverbs 31. Enjoy!

Picnics & Promises: Six Delicious Summer Romances

IMPERFECTLY PROVERBS 31

by Autumn MacArthur

The last thing geeky Samantha Rose planned for was the homemaking blog only her sister was ever supposed to see going viral. After a disastrous picnic, Daniel Novak, the cynical reporter dispatched to interview her, insists he must reveal the truth. But that could ruin everything, including their budding love.

Excerpt from IMPERFECTLY PROVERBS 31:

His knock on the door was answered almost immediately. Definitely the woman he’d seen in the store. No makeup, blonde hair in a soft wispy up-do, and a pink flowered apron over her white T-shirt and slim jeans. Instead of the earlier wary glance, she smiled welcome, though the smile didn’t light up her eyes.

And there, in her oven-mitted hand, was the source of the delicious scent. A tray of chocolate chip cookies. They looked as good as they smelled.

“Ms. Rose? I’m Daniel Novak.”

She swung the door wide, revealing an entry hall with braided rugs on the polished wood floors. “Come in. We have a picnic lunch all prepared. As it’s such a lovely day, we can eat by the lake. But I wanted to bake some cookies for the girls to have later. I’ll just set them cooling before we go.”

“Thank you for agreeing to an interview at such short notice, Ms. Rose.”

“Please call me Sam.”

Nodding acknowledgment, though the boyish name didn’t suit her in the least, he followed her into a spacious old-fashioned kitchen. A huge oak table filled the center of the room. As she wielded a spatula to lift the cookies onto a metal rack, he admired her graceful movements and hoped he’d get one of those cookies, too.

He pulled out his small voice recorder and flicked it on. “Do you agree to me recording the interview?”

For a fleeting moment, apprehension gleamed in her blue eyes. He’d been right to suspect she wanted to hide something. He filed the observation away.

Then she nodded. “Sure. That’s standard procedure, right?”

“It makes sure the final article stays factual, which is in your interest. So, the girls are your nieces, staying with you for the summer, correct?” Easy questions he already knew the answer to first, to warm her up.

After that glimpse of her in the store, he’d done more research, read right through her website, Perfectly Proverbs 31. All the pictures were of food, flowers and plants in the garden, or two little girls, usually wearing matching print dresses.

“Yes. Five-year-old twins, Emily and Rose. I’m minding them while their mom is abroad. I started the blog as a record of these months with them, purely for their mother. I never anticipated it would get as much attention as it has.”

Her voice, low and sweet, fell softly on his ear. He didn’t get the sense she hid anything now.

An irrelevant question tickled his sense of the ridiculous. “Rose Rose?”

Samantha Rose gurgled as she deposited the baking tray in the sink and pulled off her floral mitt. “Thankfully, no. Her name is hard enough for her as it is.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Rose still has a slight lisp, so she says her name as Wose. The girls have a different last name than me. And no, I won’t disclose it, to maintain their privacy.”

She’d answered a question he had no intention of asking. Memories of the way Dad used pictures of him as a kid in mailouts and promotions for his so-called charity still burned in his gut. “Wise. So where are they now?”

Focus on the interview, Novak. Do not reach out and snatch a warm cookie to comfort those memories. No matter how delicious they smell, or how much you want one.

“Next door with my neighbors. As I said, I never expected the site would go viral, and I don’t intend to expose them to any more publicity than necessary. The picnic is all ready to go.” She rested a hand on the large lidded basket sitting on the table. “There’s a perfect spot on the lakeshore.”

“Sounds fine.”

She struggled to lift the basket. “Oops, it’s heavier than I thought since it has everything in it.”

“Let me carry it.” Tucking the voice recorder in his shirt pocket, he took the basket from her and needed to brace himself. No wonder she’d struggled. The thing must weigh thirty pounds. Either her idea of a picnic lunch didn’t involve plastic plates, or she had enough food in here to invite all of Sunset Point.

Or he seriously needed to consider more time in the gym.

Samantha Rose untied her apron and slipped it off, hanging it on a hook behind the door. “I’ll just grab my purse.” She slung a large tote over one shoulder. “I’m ready.”

On the porch, she pulled the front door closed but didn’t lock it.

“No locks?” He couldn’t hide his surprise.

A charming chuckle accompanied the smile she flashed him as she pushed the garden gate open. “I thought the same when I arrived. It seems no one in Sunset Point locks up. I’m told it would be considered downright unneighborly.”

Carrying the basket down the hill without pitching forward limited how much breath he had left to talk. “City girl?”

“Mostly.” She grinned. “We moved around a lot for Dad’s job, but Mom always managed to create a home in the new place within days. She’s a gifted homemaker. Since moving away from home, I’ve continued the family tradition by going where my past jobs took me, most recently Seattle.”

Reaching level ground on Main Street made hauling the picnic basket far easier. She turned right, away from the store.

“Right here. I’m glad we could get a table.” She grinned and pointed to the only unoccupied table among the heavy timber picnic settings scattered along the grassy lake bank. “I’m told that mention in the newspaper has doubled visitors to Sunset Point, despite how out-of-the-way it is. Would you put that on the bench?”

Relieved, he hefted the basket and deposited it where she asked, then clasped his hands together and stretched out his arms and shoulders. Time to get back to the interview. “You can take all summer off to mind your nieces? Great employer.”

Again, she flashed him a bright genuine smile as she opened the basket lid and lifted out a blue-checked tablecloth. “My employer is me. Since I quit my last job and started working for myself, my office can be wherever there’s an internet connection. This summer, I’m working evenings, once the twins are in bed.”

Deftly, she shook the tablecloth open, laid it over the table, and clipped weights shaped like dragonflies to each corner. “To stop the breeze blowing it away,” she explained, answering his unspoken question.

“What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. It’s all done. I only need to lay it all out.” The three thick glass dishes with plastic lids, a set of proper cutlery, cloth napkins, and two Mason jars containing what looked like apple juice explained why the basket weighed so much. “I’ll leave the pie in the basket for now.”

She peeled back the lids to reveal the first two dishes contained a mix of salads, nicely presented on a bed of lettuce, while the third held bread rolls.

“Looks good.” He meant it.

“The vegetables are organic, fresh from the backyard. My neighbor, and her granddaughter who owns the house, had it all planted up before I arrived. You already know Maddie, of course. She and her husband run the store and live behind it, as well as doing the bed and breakfast there.” Frowning at the table, she repositioned a few items. “There, that looks right. I’ll just take a few photos before we eat.”

The camera she pulled from her bag looked professional.

“Why not let me take the pictures, and then you’ll be in them, too?” Unusually, Meg hadn’t insisted he bring a photographer to the interview, instead suggesting he ask permission to use images from the blog.

He wanted at least one of the evasive Ms. Rose.

Samantha Rose’s cheeks pinked. “No, none of me. I hate having my photo taken. I won’t bother with photos today. It’s a habit I’ve gotten into. If something looks nice, I photograph it, in case I can use it in a website. I’m a web designer and using my own images means I produce unique pages for my clients.”

A plausible enough reason, but her breathy tone and the slightly hunted look in her blue eyes suggested she had other reasons to keep herself out of the photos.

His newshound instinct kicked all the way in. Not that he’d let his suspicions show.

Raising a hand, he stood back. With a month here, he’d get the photos he wanted some other time. “Take as long as you need. I can wait to eat. Breakfast this morning was twice what I’d have at home.”

Her musical chuckle sounded again. “Maddie enjoys looking after her guests. I loved the welcome they gave me — two days’ worth of home-cooked meals, to tide me over till we’d settled in.”

He nodded and let her get on with her photos. Food was one thing, but after a few days, all the sweetness and light from his hosts would become cloying.

The shots she took weren’t just snapshots. Not with the way she carefully framed and adjusted things. Then she smiled. “There, done! Now we can sit.”

Once they were both seated, she spread her napkin in her lap then gazed at him expectantly. What did she want?

“Will you give thanks, or shall I?” she asked when the silence stretched uncomfortably long.

Give thanks? He hadn’t done that for years and had no idea what he’d say to God if he did. “Uh, how about we each give thanks silently?”

She quirked her lips to one side and raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”

Instead of praying, he watched her bow her head. Another Christian. He’d figured that already from her blog, with its scattering of Bible verses and mentions of God. If Meg sent him here in the hope he’d regain his lost faith and magically turn into some happy-clappy seeing the best in everyone, she’d be disappointed.

Years of exposure to the seedy underbelly of human nature taught him to be cynical.

Not to mention, his father. People who called themselves Christians could be the worst hypocrites of all, as if playing the God card gave a get-out-of-jail-free pass.

Even Samantha Rose, sweet as she seemed, hid a secret she didn’t want discovered. Somehow, somewhere, she’d lied to the public. His earlier suspicions hardened into certainty.

He was here to uncover her lie. And then, let everyone know.

Purchase the Picnics & Promises Collection

About Autumn MacArthur:

Autumn Macarthur is a USA Today bestselling author of clean Christian inspirational romances with a strong touch of faith. If you love happy-ever-afters, sweet romance, and Hallmark movies, chances are you’ll enjoy her stories!

Originally from Sydney, Australia, she now lives in a small town not far from London, England, with her husband (aka The Cat Magnet), and way too many rescue cats for their tiny house! You can visit her at her website http://faithhopeandheartwarming.com, on Facebook as Autumn Macarthur, and on Twitter as @autumnmacarthur. She’d love to hear from you!

Picnics & Promises Collection: Zara's Folly (Clare Revell)

The second Picnics & Promises novella in my series of highlights is by one of my fellow Pelican Book Group authors...Clare Revell. I haven't yet read ZARA'S FOLLY, but the following excerpt has me settin' on ready. Way to go, Clare!

Picnics & Promises: Six Delicious Summer Romances

 ZARA’S FOLLY by Clare Revell

British equestrian, Zara Michaels, heads south to convince TJ Greggson to sell his property to her developer father. Any way she can.TJ co-owns the stables, catering to disabled children—his life’s purpose. His brother wants to sell. TJ doesn’t. Can TJ help untangle Zara from her past follies, or will their secrets destroy them both?

Excerpt from ZARA'S FOLLY:

ZARA MICHAELS RAN DOWN THE STAIRS to the platform, praying the train wouldn’t leave before she boarded it. The guard was closing the doors as she reached the train. “Wait,” she called.

He turned and held the last door open long enough for her to plunk her case inside and climb in after it. “Have a good trip, miss.”

“Thank you.”

Somehow she stowed her case and rucksack in the one remaining space on the luggage rack. The automatic doors to the main carriage hissed open. Zara made her way down the already swaying carriage in search of her seat. She’d almost missed the train, thanks to her sister Kim’s incessant meddling, not to mention yet another lecture from her father.

One blessing in disguise. At least her forward facing seat was empty. These days not even a reserved sign guaranteed that. And the way the day was going she’d expected to find someone already sitting there.

She regarded the old lady in the aisle seat and managed a faint smile. “Excuse me. May I get past you, please?”

“Of course, dear.” The old lady stood to allow Zara access to her seat.

“Thank you.” Zara suddenly teetered into her seat as the train jolted over the junction points to the main line. She put her handbag on her lap, squashing it between the table and her middle. She turned to the window, pushing her glasses up her nose as the train sped up. The houses and factories of York slid by, becoming sparser before turning into fields and trees as the city was left behind.

Zara focused on the window, the trees and forests, fields and streams zipping by. Faster and faster, clickety-clack, the train sped through the English countryside—relentlessly taking her into pastures unknown, but at the same time along a path she knew all too well.

“Tickets, please, ladies and gents.”

Zara pulled her ticket from her bag, along with the reservation card and held them out to the conductor. He glanced at them and nodded as he handed them back. Zara returned them to her purse. Her phone beeped and she sighed. The photo of Jordan was obscured by a message that read Kim Mob.

Can’t you leave me alone for an hour, sis? What do you want now?

The message made her heart sink lower. Are you really going to do this? Aunt Agatha loves that place. Tell Dad no more. So what if he disinherits you b/c you want a life of your own and don’t want to do his dirty work anymore? Is the money really more important?

Another text quickly followed.

Are you there? You made a commitment to Christ, Za. You can’t go back on that and compromise your soul.

Then a third message.

Call me. Or at least promise me you know what you’re doing. And make sure you call Jordan every night.

Zara scowled. “Course I will,” she muttered. “I’d hardly go away and not call, now would I?” She shoved the offensive phone to the bottom of her bag. “Now try bothering me.”

The old lady cocked her head and stared at her. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yeah. Tired of my phone beeping.”

“My son is always on his phone. He wants me to have one, but I don’t see the need. I’m too old for this face thing or the non-stop chirping. And you miss out on so much with your head constantly peering down at a tiny screen.”

“I know what you mean.” Zara settled back in her seat, and crossed her ankles. “Kim, my sister, is permanently attached to hers. I really wish I’d left mine at home. I only use it for calls and texts, nothing else. It’s what she calls a thick phone.”

“Thick?”

The bloke opposite chuckled over his book.

“Not smart like hers. Oh, I can access the internet, email, take photos and so on, but I have a computer at home for that. I don’t need it on my phone as well.”

As the old lady rattled on about her son, grandchildren and the weather, Zara studied the man seated opposite her while replying. He was kind of cute with short, slightly wavy dark hair. His dark eyes flitted across the pages, his full lips pursed, his long tanned fingers holding the book almost reverently. Oh, there was something sexy about a man who read. Her gaze slid across his broad shoulders, and down the tanned muscular arms his shirt sleeves didn’t hide. The tan indicated he either lived abroad or worked outside. Going on appearance alone, he was definitely her type.

Finally the old lady beside her stopped chatting and fell asleep.

Zara sighed with relief. Then whispered a prayer of apology. She should be grateful anyone took the time to speak with her without recognizing her and asking for an autograph.

The bloke opposite stood. “Could you watch my things for me for five minutes or so, please?”

“Sure.” Zara tried to ignore the goose bumps the sound of his chocolaty-smooth voice raised. She watched him stride down the swaying carriage. Once he was out of sight, she grabbed his book. Taking care not to lose his place, she read the back cover. It sounded interesting and she made a mental note of the title. A historical thriller set during the last war. Exactly the sort of thing she loved to dive into and get lost inside. She laid the book back down, making sure to place it exactly how she’d found it.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she wished she’d thought to have packed something to read, but she’d left in such a rush, she was amazed she’d packed a suitcase for herself. Jordan’s things took up so much more room than her own. All she had in her handbag was a notebook, pen and coin purse. And the phone she hated with a passion. Her Bible and puzzle book were in the case. No way was she unpacking that on a crowded train. Knowing her luck, a pair of her knickers would tumble to the floor. Or worse, that black lace bra she loved so much.

She’d left the laptop at home, having closed all her social media accounts that morning. She needed a complete break from everyone and everything—Jordan being the exception, but that was different. Yes, she was still reluctantly working for her father—one last job. She was tired of the way he ran his business and what he expected her to do. She really was tired of helping her father get richer than he already was by scamming their property out of the poor fools.

She’d become more and more uncomfortable with that aspect of the job and becoming a Christian made it impossible. She found herself having to compromise more and more, until she reached breaking point.

The only way out was to break free. The hold her father had over her, made that impossible. Losing her inheritance didn’t bother her. But Jordan…

Kim called it folly. Zara would rather call it… Honestly? She didn’t know what she called it. It wasn’t running away. Reality check maybe? A new beginning? The Lord knew how much she needed one. How much she longed to run away and start over. Somewhere. Anywhere. She wanted someone to accept her, along with her past and the baggage she came with.

She heaved a sigh. That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. At least not one that was good enough for her father to approve of the relationship.

No, she had to leave. If turning her back on everything in York made her broke so be it. Once this was over, that was it.

Done. Dusted. Finito.

Perhaps Aunt Agatha would help—or at least have an idea of what to do.

Snoring resounded in her left ear, and then the old lady snorted, shifted in her seat and settled down again. The scent of coffee floated through the carriage. At that moment there was nothing in the world Zara wanted more than an infusion of hot coffee. Preferably a large strong one. But there was no chance of that for a while—at least not until her seat mate woke. Did this train even have a buffet car? For all she knew, the aroma could be coming from someone who might have thought ahead and included a thermos flask with their packed lunch.

The cute bloke reappeared with a cup in each hand. “I thought you might like a coffee.” A bright smile lit his face. He plonked down the take away cups and slid one across the table. “I could see you weren’t able to get out and it seemed mean to drink in front of you.”

She returned his smile. “Thank you. I’m dying of thirst.”

“Good job they have plastic lids. I nearly came a cropper on that last set of points.”

“That could have been messy.”

“You’re telling me.” He reached into his pockets, pulled out several sachets of sugar and creamer and a couple of stirrers. “Almost as messy as dying in your seat from thirst.”

She tilted her head and held out a hand. “Well, not literally dying. I’m Zara.”

“TJ.” His firm warm grip encompassed her hand for far too short a moment as he slid back into his seat.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Call it a thank you for diverting our sleeping friend from talking my ear off.”

Zara gently removed the lid from her cup and inhaled deep of the enticing scent. She ripped open the sugar, tipping one sachet after the next into the hot liquid. “Honestly, I wasn’t really listening. Just nodded and responded in the appropriate places.” She added creamer, stirred, and replaced the lid. She sipped, burning liquid scalding its way down her throat.

The train began to slow as it approached Sheffield. The old lady woke, gathered her things and headed to the end of the carriage.

Zara glanced after her. “Bye, then,” she said quietly.

TJ snorted. “My brother does that. Along with shouting ‘thank you’ when motorists don’t give way at crossings. Or ‘you’re welcome’ when he does something for someone and doesn’t get a thank you in return. One of these days he’s gonna get thumped for doing it.” He set his coffee on the table. “It was a good idea of yours to reserve a seat. I thought I was going to have to stand all the way home before I found this one.”

“It was the only train going direct,” she explained. “Well kind of. I have to change once if my aunt can’t collect me. Some of the trains meant changing three or four times, plus a tube trip. I hate the underground with its closed in spaces.”

“Me too. You going far?”

“Reading, to stay with my aunt.”

“Holiday?”

She shifted and hid behind her paper cup for a few seconds. “Kind of. What about you?”

“Back to work. I’ve been staying with my brother in Scotland for a few days. Trying to persuade him not to sell his half of the business we co-own.” He swigged the coffee. “It didn’t work.”

“Can you buy him out?”

TJ gave a short, bitter laugh. “I wish. But there’s no way. Someone is coming to value the place on Monday, but even without that valuation I know I can’t afford a mortgage. Sides, we inherited the place together when Dad died.” He wrinkled his nose. “But you don’t want to hear all that.”

Zara’s phone beeped. “Excuse me.” She picked it up as TJ went back to his book. The screen read Aunt Agatha.

Of course I will pick you up at Reading. Saves changing trains and getting the one to Earley. I’ll meet you on the main concourse. They’ve done away with platform tickets. Something to do with cracking down on people riding trains without paying. Theory being without a ticket you can’t get on the train or platform. Stupid idea if you ask me. If you really want to jump a train you’d find a way, platform ticket or no.

Zara grinned. Yup. Looking forward to seeing you. Train gets in around half past four. She tucked the phone away and glanced across at TJ. He was engrossed in his book. Zara leaned against the back of the seat and drained her coffee. Then she closed her eyes. Time for forty winks instead of worrying about the task ahead.

Purchase the Picnics & Promises Collection

About Clare Revell:

Clare is a British author. She lives in a small town just outside Reading, England with her husband, whom she married in 1992, their three children, and unfriendly mini-panther, aka Tilly the black cat. Clare is half English and half Welsh, which makes watching rugby interesting at times as it doesn’t matter who wins.

Writing from an early childhood and encouraged by her teachers, she graduated from rewriting fairy stories through fan fiction to using her own original characters and enjoys writing an eclectic mix of romance, crime fiction and children's stories. When she's not writing, she can be found reading, crocheting or doing the many piles of laundry the occupants of her house manage to make.

Her books are based in the UK, with a couple of exceptions, thus, although the spelling may be American in some of them, the books contain British language and terminology and the more recent ones are written in UK English.

The first draft of every novel is hand written.

She has been a Christian for more than half her life. She goes to Carey Baptist where she is one of four registrars.

She can be found at:

http://www.revell124.plus.com/clarerevell/

https://www.facebook.com/ClareRevellAuthor

https://twitter.com/ClareRevell

http://telscha.blogspot.co.uk/

https://uk.pinterest.com/ClareLRevell/

https://www.instagram.com/clarerevell/

https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B005NZT2O2

https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005NZT2O2

http://pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/index.php?main_page=index&manufacturers_id=45

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Picnics & Promises Collection: A Pocketful of Wishes (Mary Manners)

My sweet friend, Mary Manners, has released yet another awesome novella as part of an exciting 6-book collection: Picnics & Promises. I'll be highlighting the entire collection here on Chirp 'N Chatter over the next couple of weeks...starting with Mary's book, A Pocketful of Wishes. Enjoy!

Picnics & Promises: Six Delicious
Summer Romances

A Pocketful of Wishes by Mary Manners

As childhood neighbors, Jenna Palmer and Carter Stevens discover first love. When a cross-country job transfer separates them, they promise to one day find each other. Years go by and they lose touch until an accident causes their paths to once again cross. Can their promise stand the test of time, or will time crush their promise…and their love?

~~~~~

Enjoy the following excerpt from A POCKETFUL OF WISHES:

Leavenworth.

It sounded like one of the bad words Mom and Dad forbade her to use. How ironic that this new town her parents were determined to drag her to shared the same name as a prison. Because Jenna might as well be going to prison. Her parents were ruining her life.

Especially her dad, with his new job. That’s all he’d talked about for weeks now. He didn’t even have time to talk about school anymore, or come to her softball games.

When she was still playing softball. Which she couldn’t do anymore, because they were moving to Leavenworth.

Just for spite she rolled the word around on her tongue and muttered.

Leavenworth…Leavenworth…

Tears welled in her eyes as she lifted her gaze to find Carter. Dark, shaggy hair spilled over his forehead, highlighting the dusky pallor of his cheeks. In another month his skin would glow bronze from hours spent in the sun while he helped his dad with their lawn care business. He’d worked beside his father since the summer he’d turned nine. He was fourteen now—nearly four months older than Jenna.

Carter swiped the tumble of hair away, revealing eyes the color of rain-slicked river rock—gray with specks of russet along the edges. She’d always loved his eyes. They were one-of-a-kind.

Carter closed the trunk and turned to face her.

“Don’t cry, Jen.” He grinned ruefully as he jammed his hands into the pockets of his favorite pair of faded jeans. She knew they were his favorite because he’d told her last week while they were eating sundaes together down at Miller’s Ice Cream Parlor following an afternoon of swimming at the community pool. Carter had said the pants probably wouldn’t fit much longer, since he’d launched into another growth spurt, but he’d make them last as long as he could. His folks would be tight on money until the mowing season cranked up to its full stride in a couple of weeks, maybe a month. “Everything’s going to be OK.”

“How can this ever be OK?” Jenna’s lower lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth. “I might as well be moving to Mars.”

“It’s not that bad. You’ll see.” He shrugged, trying his best to lighten the moment. But his tone told her he was just as miserable. “You can write to me and fill me in on all the fun places on your side of the country.”

That sounded forever apart.

“I don’t think there are any fun places in Leavenworth.” How could there be, with a name like that? Suddenly her belly roiled like it had last weekend, when Carter jumped from the pool’s high dive and then dared her to do the same. She’d climbed the ladder and inched out to the end of the board. Then a glimpse down into the water had stars dancing in her line of vision as she suddenly felt like she’d pass out. But Carter had gently coaxed her from the pool’s edge, his voice low and raspy, making her believe she could do it. So she did believe, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight and jumped. For a beat of time the breath lodged in her throat, then her squeal could probably be heard into the next county. The adrenaline rush was so cool that, following a congratulatory fist bump from Carter, she went back five more times.

But this whole idea of moving cross-country didn’t feel cool. It just felt…awful. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay right here, with Carter.

“Of course there are fun places.” Carter’s eyes betrayed his words. Jenna had known him since they were both in diapers, and right now his forehead was knitted into a frown, his eyes stormy-dark. “You’ll find them. Then you’ll write and tell me all about them.”

“Like pen pals?” She placed a hand on his forearm. His skin warmed her chilled fingers. “Sort of like passing notes in class except we have to send them through the mail instead?”

They’d done a lot of note passing over the years without getting caught. They were both good at it. Really good.

“Yes, like that, only better because we’re already…” He glanced down at her hand resting easily on his arm and offered a sort of lopsided grin. “Best friends…and even maybe more.”

“More?” Jenna’s pulse did the same weird sort of leapfrog against her throat as it had when Carter asked her to dance the last slow song at their end-of-school dance. “Do you really think so?”

“Um…yeah, I do.”

“Me, too.” Jenna’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Will you write back?”

“You know I will, Jen.”

Carter drew his hands from his pockets and fidgeted for a moment, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. A mockingbird ran through its litany of calls as he took a step closer to her and skimmed his thumb ever-so-gently over her cheek.

Jenna closed her eyes and sighed. This was one of his gestures she loved. Her insides dipped and scrambled as if she’d just plunged over the first huge crest of the Screaming Banshee coaster that she and Carter had ridden together at last year’s Labor Day fair.

“I don’t want to go,” she murmured on a sob as she opened her eyes again to focus on him. “I really don’t.”

“I know.” His lips trembled. “I don’t want you to, either. I’m going to miss you so much, Jen.”

“This can’t be happening.” Jenna gulped back the lump in her throat as tears spilled over to trail down her cheeks. “Tell me it’s just a bad dream, Carter.”

“I can’t.” The words were anguished now. His voice cracked, as Jenna knew it tended to when he got upset. “I can’t because it’s more real than a heart attack.”

As if to prove the truth in that, Jenna’s parents shuffled from the house. Mom had a tote bag, stuffed full of magazines and knitting supplies, slung over one shoulder. Dad carried a pair of overnight bags. Unlike Jenna, they were both prepared for the journey ahead. It would take six days by car to travel from Maple Ridge to Leavenworth, considering the list of sightseeing detours Dad had tacked onto the trip.

Six days…a lifetime.

Her parents came down the short flight of steps and, instead of heading straight for the car, went to the side of the house. They disappeared around the corner to check on something. Their voices drifted on the breeze.

Jenna swiped at her tears. She had only a few minutes more with Carter. She could hardly bear the thought. Time sped up just as she wished it would come to a screeching halt. She was in a race car with no steering wheel, no emergency brake. The end of the track rushed up to greet her.

Why had her dad agreed to take the Chief of Police position in Leavenworth? Wasn’t the sergeant’s position in Maple Ridge good enough for him? She’d heard her parents whispering heatedly to each other behind the closed door of his office and knew there had to be some explanation, but as usual she stood firmly in the dark. Was it too late for Dad to change his mind and let them remain here, where everything was perfect, happy…familiar?

With Carter.

Jenna had begged and pleaded with her parents, but to no avail. The decision was final.

They were leaving.

Today. In a few minutes.

“Don’t forget me.” Jenna lifted her gaze to capture Carter’s and held tight as his face swam before her. “It’s going to be hard enough not seeing you every day. I couldn’t bear not talking to you, too.”

“I won’t ever forget you, Jenna. We’ll see each other again. I promise.” His eyes filled too,

and his chest heaved as he struggled with his emotions. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Write to me.” She swiped tears from her cheeks. “Every day.”

“And twice on Sunday.” He cupped her elbows and leaned in close. Sunlight cocooned them as a gentle breeze ruffled Jenna’s hair. His T-shirt held the scent of summer mingled with citrus from the dryer sheets his mom used. “Every Sunday.”

Carter dipped his head, his gaze suddenly softening. His fingers trembled along the nape of her neck as his breath skimmed her cheek.

Jenna’s pulse galloped as the universe shifted. Carter was going to kiss her.

They’d never kissed, never even really held hands except for the slow dance a few weeks ago. Or when he helped her navigate slick rocks to cross a shallow section of the river.

And there was the time they rode the Screaming Banshee together. Then he’d laced his fingers with hers and held tight. In that moment Jenna felt as if she could conquer the world.

She wanted to kiss Carter…had wanted to for the longest time.

She sensed he wanted to kiss her as much. He shifted slightly and his lips settled ever-so-lightly along her cheek, grazing the spot where his thumb had wandered only moments ago. His touch was so gentle and tender, that no words were needed to communicate all he felt…mirroring all she wished for.

A moment or two passed as Jenna held her breath. She tilted her chin and his lips skimmed lower to find hers. As his mouth melded to hers, the softest gasp billowed up from deep inside her. Her heart paused and then quickly recalibrated, turning everything bright and new as the sun burst into a million points of light. As he held her close she inhaled the blend of summer sunshine and fresh-mown grass on Carter’s skin. She bottled the scents that would forever brand him into her memory.

Carter.

She would experience only a single first kiss in her lifetime, and now that kiss belonged to Carter. No length of time or distance could ever take it away.

Forever sealed. Forever ours…together.

Her parents’ voices, drawing closer now, carried on the breeze to shatter the tender moment. She turned and spied them heading back around the corner. Reluctantly, she pressed a hand to Carter’s chest. As he stepped back, putting distance between them, an arctic blast sliced through Jenna.

“Jenna, it’s time to go,” her mother called. “Say your final goodbyes.”

Jenna shivered as another chill swept in.

Final…this is final.

“No, it’s not.” Carter had developed a knack over the years for sensing what she was thinking. Being next-door neighbors since birth did have its advantages. “This isn’t final. I’ll find you, Jenna, no matter how far away your parents take you. I promise.”

“I’ll find you, too.” She nodded stiffly. “I will.”

“That should be easy, since I don’t plan on going anywhere. I’ll be right here.” Carter delved a hand into his pocket to retrieve something. He pressed the small, cool object into the palm of her hand. “Take this. Keep it close and I’ll always be with you. Always, Jenna.”

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About Mary Manners:

Mary Manners is an award-winning author who has spent a lifetime exploring her joy of writing. She has two sons and a daughter, as well as three beautiful grandchildren. She currently lives along the sunny shores of Jacksonville Beach with her husband Tim.

A former teacher and intermediate school principal, Mary spent three decades sharing her love of learning. While growing up in Chicago Mary worked a variety of jobs including paper girl, figure skating instructor, pizza chef, lifeguard, and nanny. Many of these enriching and challenging experiences led to adventures that add a touch of humor to her stories. Mary loves long sunrise runs, ocean sunsets, and flavored coffee.

Connect with Mary at her website: www.MaryMannersRomance.com. “Like” her author page on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.