No sign of his favorite newswoman.
Might she be at Greg and Rachel’s house? A business visit, perhaps?
Didn’t matter.
If Nicole cruised by and happened to spot her—or her car—she’d assume Marci was here to see him.
And that would not be good.
After giving his hands a quick rinse and running a comb through his hair, he let himself out of the house and secured the front door. From behind the rose trellis, he checked both directions for any sign of Nicole’s car.
Clear.
He broke into a jog and covered the distance to his neighbors’ house in a few dozen steps.
Greg answered on the first ring and ushered him in. Women’s voices chatted and laughed somewhere in the background.
One of them was Marci’s.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late. I got caught up in some meetings.” More laughter from the direction of the kitchen.
“No worries. The longer stew simmers, the better it tastes—according to the recipe. And Rachel and Marci need a few more minutes to finish the biscuits they’re making.”
“I saw Marci’s car out front. I didn’t know she was coming tonight.”
“Neither did we.” Greg grinned. “Rachel issued an impromptu invitation about two hours ago. But there’s plenty of food. Enough for a party.”
The man was in high spirits. And based on Rachel’s laughter, she was too.
Perhaps her parents’ visit had helped clear the air between the almost-newlyweds.
“Hi, Ben. Glad you could join us.” Rachel appeared in the doorway, Marci on her heels. Both women’s hands were dusted with flour.
“I’m always happy to have a home-cooked meal.” He shifted his gaze to Marci. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I appreciate a home-cooked meal too—and I have some exciting news to share. I’m glad you’ll be among the first to hear it.”
“Rachel told me that on the phone, but I haven’t been able to get her to spill anything.” Greg arched an eyebrow at his wife.
“The news is Marci’s to tell.”
“I won’t keep you waiting too long. Once we sit down for dinner, I’ll give you all the details.”
“In that case . . . let’s get this meal started.”
“The biscuits aren’t finished baking yet.” Rachel motioned toward the oven behind her.
“They will be by the time we fix drinks and say a blessing. Come on back, Ben, and claim a seat. Sorry it’s a little crowded. There’s supposed to be a leaf for the table somewhere in the house, but we haven’t found it yet.”
Ben followed him back to the kitchen. The round table was on the small side—but as long as Marci was beside him, that wasn’t a problem.
While Greg and Rachel finished the final meal preparations at the counter, he held out a chair for Marci. She sat, and he took the seat next to her.
As the younger couple conversed in subdued tones across the room, he leaned close to his dinner partner. “Coming here might not have been the best idea.”
“I drove up and down before I parked.” Her breath was warm against his cheek, like a Hope Harbor breeze on a bright summer day. “If I’d seen a car parked on the street, I would have called Rachel and bailed. But no one was here. Do you think she’s gone?”
“She hasn’t checked out of the motel.”
“Drat.” Her face fell. “Why do you think she backed off on watching you?”
“I have no idea. She must be changing her strategy.”
“Well, let’s not worry about it tonight. I, for one, am thrilled to have a chance to see you.” Her leg brushed his, and he hiked up his eyebrows. “Hey . . . it’s the best I can do in public.”
He smothered a chuckle with his napkin as Greg and Rachel joined them.
After a brief blessing, Greg dished up the savory-looking stew. The first bite verified that it tasted as good as it smelled.
Greg fielded the compliments, then turned the spotlight on Marci. “I’ve been waiting two hours to hear the news Rachel hinted at over the phone. Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“I won’t.” Marci buttered a flaky biscuit and set it on the edge of her plate. “I posted our campaign on the crowdfunding site this morning. You won’t believe how much money had come in by five forty-five, when I left the office.”
Greg tossed out a guess. Ben shrugged. He hadn’t a clue what to expect.
When Marci gave them the figure, he suspected his eyes were popping as much as Greg’s.
“You’re kidding.” Greg gaped at her.
“No. At this rate, we might not even need you to donate the difference between what we raise and your original offer, Ben.” Marci beamed at him.
“The donation stands. If extra funds come in, use them for restoration . . . or marketing . . . or to buy an adjacent lot or two for parking or any buildings that might be in the master plan. I want to contribute to Skip’s legacy too.”
“Thank you.” She gave his leg another nudge.
In response, he reached over and squeezed her fingers under the table.
A lively discussion about the lighthouse project dominated the conversation during the remainder of the meal, and once they’d all had a generous slice of the cake Marci had supplied, she and Greg had to make a mad dash to Grace Christian for the meeting.
Rachel walked her and Ben out while Greg went to the office to gather up his notes.
“Hold on a second.” Ben pressed a hand against the door to stop her from opening it and scanned the street through the sidelight.
No unfamiliar cars.
“We’re clear.”
Rachel’s eyes thinned. “Does this have anything to do with that blonde woman who’s been sitting in a car on our street?”
So far, he’d told only the police and Marci about his unwanted visitor—but it wasn’t surprising his neighbors had noticed her presence.
“Yes.”
“We spotted her on Friday. Greg reported her to the police later that night.” Rachel waited, giving him a chance to explain—or not.
Dredging up the overseas episode wasn’t on his agenda for the evening—but it wouldn’t hurt to
