Transferring the images she’d taken at the bridge to her laptop didn’t take much time. She hadn’t taken many pictures, but she had two or three good ones the kids could choose from for their projects. She downloaded a few more examples from the web as well.
When she moved her camera bag, the volunteer firefighter forms caught her attention. She pulled the paper toward her, remembering Mark’s warning that she give it serious thought before committing. Then his other, more recent, words came back to her.
Why are you doing this, Riley Madigan? When leaving is still on your mind?
Her heart spluttered. After this morning, Mark would expect her to stay in Miracle Creek—even if he didn’t say so. Would things continue on their natural course? Hopefully. Maybe. She rubbed her chest where a knot grew and tightened. The sticky note with Cheri Matheson’s contact information in New Orleans caught her eye. It might as well have been a neon sign flashing Escape Exit.
She sat back and pushed both hands through her hair. She hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t looked for it. Coming here was supposed to help her get away from entanglements. From rumors and the danger of giving your heart away so it could be waved around for everyone to see, even as it was stomped on.
Was leaving still on her mind? Maybe the better question was, was she considering staying? It had always been a possibility. Needing to establish herself in her career. The fantasy of finding somewhere to call home. A little girl’s dream. On a deeper level, she’d been seeking that, coming here to Miracle Creek. She glanced at the painting of her grandma’s house. It did look like it could belong here.
And the idea of leaving Mark behind, should she move on, was growing more and more difficult to imagine.
What’s with all the noise?” Mark’s dad wandered into the kitchen.
Mark stopped whistling long enough to answer. “I’m making your favorite breakfast.” He flipped the pancakes and shook plenty of pepper on the bacon.
“Where did all this food come from?” His dad looked around. “Is that flour?”
Mark nodded. “We were out of everything but the frozen stuff Steph brought over and salad dressing. Who eats like that?”
“We do.”
“Not anymore.” He slid the pancakes onto a stack already waiting. He piled the bacon on top and set it on the table. “I didn’t learn to cook from the best firehouse company in Washington for nothing.” He pulled out a covered dish of scrambled eggs where they’d been keeping warm in the oven. “Could you get the orange juice out of the fridge? Oh, and the syrup’s warm in the microwave.”
His dad finally moved into action. “Just the way I like it.”
Mark resumed whistling, turning off the burners and wiping down the counters. He tossed the dishcloth behind his back, aiming for the sink. He missed, the cloth hitting the cabinet and dropping to the floor. He didn’t even care. He’d spent the best few hours he could remember with a woman, and it had happened with him the way he was now, not the way he used to be. When he’d walked Riley to her front door, he hadn’t cared about anything but the feel of her hand wrapped in his and the next time he’d see her. He hadn’t been sure he’d ever feel like that again.
His dad picked up the cloth, dropping it in the sink. “What’s up with you? Did you take some of those pain pills? The ones that make you want to hug everybody?”
Mark shook his head. “Trust me, if I wanted to hug you, you’d know. Sit down—breakfast is getting cold.” He pulled out a chair.
His dad watched Mark closely as he sat across from him.
“I cooked it; you bless it,” Mark said.
His dad narrowed his eyes. Mark blinked at him. Then his dad bowed his head and gave a brief blessing on the food. Just before he said amen, he interrupted himself.
“—Oh, and whatever You’ve done to Mark that’s waking him up, let’s have more of that.”
Mark opened his eyes, watching his dad.
“Amen.”
“Amen,” Mark echoed.
His dad placed a napkin on his lap and surveyed the breakfast. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain art teacher, would it?”
Mark tried to stop the stupid grin that pulled across his face. “What makes you ask that?”
“Some little birdies told me you’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”
“Small town,” Mark said, reaching for the syrup.
“So, anything else you want to share with your old dad?” He looked at Mark expectantly.
“Look, it’s all kind of new, and we’d like it kept quiet. So that means not telling you anything more.”
“Not fair.”
“Tell me about it,” Mark murmured.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it. You’ve got your network of spies. I’m sure you’ll get all the juicy gossip sooner or later.”
His dad grabbed some bacon. “Nurse a guy back to health and he shuts you out. Typical.”
“Dad.”
He paused, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth.
“I’m not shutting you out. I really like her. I didn’t see this happening. Not ever again. I feel like I need to protect it.”
Cal nodded. “I get that, son. I do. If anybody deserves something—”
“No, don’t say that. It’s not about deserving.” He pushed his eggs around on his plate.
“Then what’s it about?”
“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve stumbled into something that has the potential to kill me. Only it isn’t. It’s—”
“—waking you up.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah.”
“To the smell of bacon,” his dad said, picking up his fork.
Mark smiled as he watched his dad tuck back into his food.
“So, have you asked Riley to the firemen’s ball?”
It was Mark’s turn to pause. “She’s coming to the memorial,” he said carefully.
“You didn’t ask her to the dance?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Not sure she’d want that.”
His dad raised a brow at him.
Mark shrugged. “Like I said, we’re keeping things quiet.” Still, the idea warred inside him. On one hand,
