“Are you implying I should stay?”
“Not at all. That’s your decision. I’m merely suggesting there are many factors to ponder when choosing a place of residence—and we have Sweet Dreams.” The priest winked and gave him an elbow nudge. “Enjoy your treat and tell Marci I’ll see her tonight at the lighthouse meeting.”
With a wave, he set off at a fast clip for the bakery.
Eyes narrowed, Ben watched him for a few moments.
Curious how the priest had brought up the very subject that was on his mind.
Turning back toward his destination, Ben spotted Charley strolling by on the wharf side of the street. Heading for the taco stand, perhaps.
The man smiled and gave him a thumbs-up—almost as if he was agreeing with everything Father Murphy had said.
Which was ridiculous.
There was no way Charley could have heard their conversation from that distance.
It was probably just one of the artist’s quirky greetings.
Ben waved in response and resumed his trek, for once oblivious to the relaxing harbor scene.
Everything the priest had said made sense—and if he wasn’t so far along in the process with the Ohio job, he might toy with the notion of retooling his career plans. But he was in deep already—and passing up an opportunity at such a coveted and well-respected practice would be crazy.
Besides, Hope Harbor had no need of an orthopedic surgeon.
But the practice in Coos Bay does.
Ben frowned.
And the urgent care center here needs a medical director or it’s going to fold.
Once again, his pace slowed.
Both of those opportunities were viable—and would be worth weighing, if he was inclined to stay.
In fact, he might be able to arrange to join the Coos Bay practice and step in at the urgent care center until a permanent director was found. Many residents used it for their health care needs—including Skip. Hadn’t the center recommended the outstanding surgeon in Coos Bay?
Yet much as he liked Hope Harbor . . . much as the notion of saving the urgent care center for the town was appealing . . . the real incentive to change plans was the woman in the office a few doors ahead.
Except there were two big problems.
It was too soon to know for certain where their friendship might lead—and the job in Ohio wasn’t going to wait around for him to find out.
Giving up that opportunity for a relationship this new would be a huge risk. What would he do if he and Marci parted ways?
A billow of gray mist shuttered the sunlight, and out on the jetty, the foghorn issued a long, plaintive warning to harbor traffic.
Beeee. Carefulllll.
A caution he should heed as well. There was no need to make a life-changing decision today—or tomorrow.
But now that the seed had been planted, it might not be a bad idea to begin putting out some job feelers.
Just in case.
“Sweet Dreams delivery.”
As Ben’s baritone voice greeted her from the door, Marci swiveled away from her computer screen to face him.
Whoa.
Did this man ever have a bad hair day?
Not once in all the times she’d seen him had he looked anything but drop-dead handsome.
Suit and tie, jeans and T-shirt, dress slacks and button-down shirt—didn’t matter. He was swoon-worthy in any attire, every strand of his thick, dark-brown hair tamed despite the wind that often whipped through Hope Harbor.
If only her hair would behave half as well.
“Any takers?” He held up a white sack but remained by the door.
“Yes. Come in.” She stood and motioned to a small conference table off to the side, smoothing down her flyaway locks. “Would you like some coffee?”
“That would hit the spot.” He strolled in and glanced around the office.
Thank heaven she’d been born with the tidy gene. An ex-army officer wouldn’t appreciate clutter. Her desk might be full of papers, but they were all piled in neat stacks—and Rachel’s work space was pristine.
“What brings you here today? Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Anyone who comes bearing Sweet Dreams cinnamon rolls gets the red-carpet treatment.”
“I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop in. Is Rachel here?” He surveyed the empty desk.
“No. Her parents showed up so I gave her the rest of the week off.”
“Ah. That would explain the unfamiliar car I’ve seen parked in front of the house.”
“Apparently, they arrived on her doorstep without any warning. She sounded happy on the phone, though. They’ve been estranged, but I’m thinking they’ve worked out their differences.”
“That would be great—for everyone’s sake.” He set the bag on the small table while she grabbed some napkins and carried over their java.
“Black and strong.” She set his in front of him and took a seat.
He joined her, uncrimped the bag, and held it out. “Help yourself.”
She took one of the sweet confections, deposited it on a napkin, and licked the icing off her fingers.
At his amused expression, she gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. It’s too tasty to waste.”
“I like a woman who enjoys her food.”
“In that case, you’ve come to the right place.” She took a sip of coffee, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. Odd that he’d shown up just when she was thinking about calling him. But what she wanted to talk about was better done in person, anyway. “I’m glad you stopped by. I have an idea I wanted to run by you.”
“Shoot.” He dived into his roll.
“The lighthouse committee is working hard, and Greg’s come up with some inventive ideas about how to make the site pay for itself going forward. Our biggest problem is raising enough money to match the offer you’ve had from your anonymous buyer.”
“It’s a chunk of change.” He took a paper napkin and wiped some sticky icing off his hands
