Jenna Mindel - Courting Hope

“A church in Northport,” her father said between mouthfuls.

Hope knew of several. One was on the loud side, and she couldn’t imagine her folks staying there, but there were other choices. Good choices. She took a deep breath and answered honestly. “I’d like to hear Sinclair’s first Sunday sermon.”

Her father looked ready to grumble, but her mom stopped him with a touch of her hand. “I heard he shocked quite a few with his stories of Haiti.”

Hope had received only one call. “From who?”

“Mary Stillwell.”

“She exaggerates.” Hope spread tart cherry preserves on her pancakes before dousing them with syrup. It was something she’d learned to do from Sinclair’s sister, Eva, way back when.

“You’re defending him.” Her father’s eyes narrowed.

“All I’m saying is that he didn’t sugarcoat the truth.”

He used to. Sinclair could put a positive spin on anything, especially on what he wanted. A natural charmer of people, Sinclair was a leader. He’d had the makings of a fine salesman, or politician even.

Or pastor.

In a way, ministers were persuaders of the truth. And Sinclair Marsh had been the master of persuasion. Hope had the scars to prove it.

For the first time since he’d returned home, Hope found herself hoping for a little of the old Sinclair charm when it came to this morning’s service. She wanted the congregation to embrace him so he could lead the way toward getting the preschool built. Once she convinced him that it was the right vision for Three Corner Community Church.

“And you believe him,” her dad muttered.

“Yes.” Hope looked at her watch and pushed her plate of half-eaten pancakes aside. She didn’t want to get into it with her parents. She’d heard him speak. They hadn’t. “I’ve got to go.”

“Leaving a bit early, don’t you think?” Her mom gave her an odd look.

“I’ve got some stuff to do in the office.” Hope hurried for the door.

She didn’t want to explain that nothing specific waited for her. Hope wanted to be available before the service in case Sinclair needed information. He’d told her Friday that he wanted to give the church an update on the building project. She wasn’t about to miss that.

“When will you be home?” Her mom looked concerned. Dinnertime was a big deal in the Petersen household.

“I’m not sure. I’ll call if I’m late.” Hope grabbed her purse, wondering for the hundredth time if it wasn’t past time she moved out.

She’d traded part of her life because her folks had lost part of theirs. The part that had looked forward to Sara taking over the farm. And the part that had yearned for grandchildren from Sara and Ryan.

Glancing back at the kitchen table, her heart twisted. Her parents had aged in the past three years. They were still young, but to Hope they seemed tired. The joy in working the farm was lost.

How could she leave them?

“Bye, honey.” Her mom waved.

Her father grunted something that sounded like good-bye.

Hope didn’t like disappointing them, but she wasn’t leaving her church with the preschool up in the air. Not when they needed her vote. She wouldn’t give up because Sinclair made her folks uncomfortable. He made her uncomfortable, too, but for reasons she’d rather not examine.

When Hope pulled into the church parking lot, she immediately spotted the red Camaro. It was pretty hard to miss the car’s shiny wax job. She shook her head. He’d always loved that car.

She walked toward the church but stopped when she heard the sound of music drifting out the open windows of the sanctuary. Someone played the piano, and the notes were reverent and haunting. Beautiful.

Sinclair.

Hope’s eyes closed and her insides tightened as she stood outside and listened. What went through his mind while he played? Did he ever think of her?

Opening her eyes, she pushed those kinds of wishes aside. Why would he think of her anyway? Just because she thought of him constantly didn’t mean he’d return the favor. Taking a deep breath, Hope opened the door and went inside.

* * *

Sinclair looked up when he heard the door open. He expected their worship leaders, Diane and Bud, to arrive soon to practice and didn’t want to be in their way. Instead, he saw Hope standing in the doorway, and his pulse took an erratic skip.

Sunshine poured in behind her, making her look ethereal, like something he might have dreamed. Like something that might slip away if he tried to touch.

She stepped closer, and he noticed a dainty dragonfly clip worn in her hair, pulling some of her bangs over to the side. It only reinforced the fairylike image.

“Are you ready for your first sermon?” Her smile was sweet and conciliatory.

Were his nerves easy to see? “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Your outline looked good. ‘God Changes Everything’ is a catchy title.” She smoothed the front of her skirt.

“Thanks.” He slid down the long piano bench and patted the wood. “Wanna sit down?”

Her eyes widened, and she hesitated. Maybe she was a little nervous, too. But then she perched on the end of the bench, and her slim fingers caressed the piano keys.

“Do you play?” he asked.

“Not very well.”

“Play something.”

She let out a shaky laugh and launched into the simple beginner’s piece called “Chopsticks.”

After listening to her for a few moments, he joined her on the lower end of the keys. For a solid five minutes they played together, filling the sanctuary with carefree music. The connection through the simple song made him forget the distance that had grown between them.

Watching Hope concentrate so hard on touching the right keys delighted him. She’d always taken every task seriously. When she caught her bottom lip between white teeth, he stared at her soft beauty. Why had he never before noticed how pretty she was, especially up close? He forgot that he’d placed her off-limits and hit the wrong note.

She laughed and turned toward him. “Where did you learn to play the piano? I don’t remember you playing before.”

“My mother wanted us kids to play Grandma Marsh’s old piano in the living room, but I was the only one who kept at my lessons until high school. I took more lessons in college from a music major I was trying to impress.”

Hope smiled again. “Did you?”

“Impress her?”

She nodded.

“No. She went after a football player. But I realized how easy it was to connect with God through music. Different maybe, but playing helps me focus.”

“I should let you get back to it.” Hope started to get up.

“Stay.” He touched the soft skin of her arm. She calmed his nerves but rattled his senses.

She didn’t move; she stared at his fingers still resting on her forearm.

He let his hand drop and cleared his throat. “This morning I’m going to announce a building committee meeting held after this Wednesday’s service. We need to move forward on the project.”

Her gaze flashed to his. “Have you decided what to build?”

“That’ll be the main topic of discussion. We’ll need to get a rough idea of how a youth center compares financially to the preschool. I’ll need your input.”

“What about opening it up to the congregation?”

“Once we have a decision from the board, we’ll do that.”

He knew how much Hope wanted that preschool, yet she’d look for acceptance from the whole church. She wasn’t trying to ramrod her way like a certain board member with a nephew. He appreciated that. He appreciated too much about his office manager.

The worship team tromped into the sanctuary, their laughter loud and distracting. Sinclair cast them a glance and waved.