“That’s where Greg’s ideas take center stage.”
While she gave him a topline of the thorough business plan Rachel’s husband had developed—and told him the story of Greg’s teenage tour venture—Ben leaned back, listening in silence until she finished.
“It sounds like he’s not only creative but a go-getter.”
“That’s my take.”
Ben pursed his lips. “I wonder if he’d have any interest in managing the site once it’s up and running?”
Smiling, she propped her elbows on the table and wrapped her fingers around her mug. “That notion did cross my mind. It’s obvious he has an aptitude for this kind of venture, and if he’s involved from the ground floor, he’ll know all the background, gain useful experience, and grow along with the business.”
“Have you broached this with him yet?”
“No. If everyone agrees with the crowdfunding idea tonight, and all the other pieces align, I’ll talk to him afterward. I can’t imagine anyone on the committee would have any qualms about offering him the slot.”
The landline on her desk began to ring, and Ben rose. “I should let you get back to work.”
Much as she hated to see him go, she did have a long to-do list—and the top item was gearing up for the crowdfunding campaign.
She stood too, and walked with him to the door, letting the phone roll to voicemail. “I’ll let you know the outcome of tonight’s meeting.”
“Why don’t you fill me in over tacos at lunch tomorrow? I could meet you on the wharf at Charley’s truck.”
A bevy of butterflies took flight in her stomach.
He was asking her for a date!
“What time?”
One side of his mouth hitched up. “That wasn’t a hard sell.”
“I never pass up a taco from Charley’s.”
He winced. “Ouch. That puts me in my place.”
“Or a date with a handsome man who owns a lighthouse.”
“Better.” He glanced out the front window . . . checked both directions . . . and bent down to give her another one of those tantalizing forehead lip-brushes that made her yearn for more.
Much more.
“Don’t work too hard.” He straightened up.
“I’m not sure I . . .” Her voice came out in a squeak, and she tried again. “I’m not sure I can promise that when I’m on a quest to save a lighthouse.”
“Understood. But save the noon hour for me tomorrow.”
“I’m writing it in ink on my calendar.”
“Much better than pencil.” He grinned, then gestured out the window. “Looks like I should have brought an umbrella.”
She inspected the gray sky and the steady rain that had begun to fall.
Odd.
Usually she noticed if the sun went in and the weather changed.
However . . . it wasn’t every day a hot guy like Ben stopped in her office bearing sweets—and bestowing kisses.
“You want to borrow mine? I always keep one here.”
“No. I’ll run for it. I’m parked just down the block.” He pushed open the door. “Enjoy the rest of your cinnamon roll.”
“Count on it.”
He exited into the rain and began to jog down the sidewalk.
She watched until the wind blew a curtain of moisture her direction and drove her inside.
Closing the door against nature’s onslaught, she scanned the gray sky through the window—and a tiny shiver rippled through her.
Odd.
The changeable weather in her adopted town was nothing new. She ought to be used to it after two years. This was Oregon. Warm and sunny one minute, with clear skies and views to the horizon. Cool and foggy the next, visibility reduced to a few feet.
Yet the sudden deterioration in the weather today felt like a metaphor for life.
After all, who knew what tomorrow held—let alone the next hour?
Everything in her life seemed to be on track at the moment. Her PR business was growing. The Herald was beginning to turn a profit. The lighthouse project was going well. Memories of her bad experience in Atlanta were receding.
And the icing on the cake?
She’d met a very eligible, very appealing army doctor who was as interested in her as she was in him.
Life was good.
Not perfect, but good.
Perfect would be if she and Ben could figure out how to deal with the geographic hindrances to their relationship.
But they were both intelligent people. If they were meant to be together, they’d find a way to make this work.
And she, for one, intended to put a lot of thought—and prayer—into that very challenge.
A rumble of thunder rattled the window, and she took a step back, suppressing another inexplicable shiver.
She wasn’t afraid of storms—and while her clothes were a tad damp from standing at the door, she wasn’t chilled.
The shiver felt more . . . ominous . . . than that. Almost like a premonition—if one believed in such things.
Huffing, she turned her back on the gloomy gray skies and marched over to the conference table.
She’d finish the rest of her cinnamon roll, warm up her coffee, and get to work on the crowdfunding campaign.
And she would not let a silly storm spook her.
All the pieces of her life were moving along fine—and there was no reason to worry any of them were about to go south.
18
Apparently he’d been stood up.
Fists on hips, Ben surveyed the wharf, then frowned at Marci’s office down the block.
No sign of her.
Yet she hadn’t called to cancel.
Strange.
She might be a woman of strong emotions, but she had a first-class mind and appeared to be buttoned up and organized. If he’d ever doubted that, their discussion yesterday about the lighthouse campaign and her crowdfunding idea had been convincing evidence of her business acumen.
So where was she?
He checked his watch again. Five after twelve. Should he walk over to her office, or give her another few . . .
“Can I interest you in an order of tacos? It’s a beautiful day to sit and enjoy the view.”
As Charley called out to him from behind the counter of the food truck a dozen yards away, Ben strolled over. “That was my plan—but I don’t think my date is going to show.” He aimed another glance toward Marci’s office.
“You wouldn’t be talking about our Herald editor, would you?”
“Bingo.” No reason to hide the
