Page 124 of Chasing the Sun

My eyes narrowed. “A mean joke?”

He scoffed. “Not even a little.”

I searched his face for anything that would give him away—some twitch, some glimmer of a tell, but all I saw was patience. Calm. A kind of knowing that made me want to run and stay all at once.

“Why me?” I asked, my voice a whisper.

Why not Cal?

My thoughts raced. Excitement and disbelief warred with uncertainty. This man was giving me exactly what I needed to purchase the farm and make Star Harbor Farm a reality, but all I could think about was Cal.

What about his dream?

“Sometimes the right person just needs a little push.” JP smiled, his words pulling me from my thoughts. “All I am asking is for you to think about it, Ms. Darling.”

I blinked. “Umm . . . okay.”

He stood, urging me to accept his peace offering in the form of coffee. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take a walk and hear about your plans for Star Harbor Farm.”

So we walked.

Side by side JP King and I walked every acre of the farm while I rambled on about the vision Stan and I had had for the farm. He didn’t interrupt, but only paused to ask clarifying questions. If I didn’t know the answer, he simply shook his head and assured me not to worry—some details could be worried about later. Then we got back to the cottage and he walked back to his car, got in, and drove away—leaving nothing but dust and questions in his wake.

I didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

I sat there with my long-empty coffee cup, staring out at the barn and the pumpkins and the fluttering notes in my window, and I felt something shift. Something huge. Like a puzzle piece had clicked into place—but upside down.

Who would do that for me?

Who would believe in me enough to make this happen?

The answer danced just out of reach. But the feeling it left behind burned hot and aching in my chest.

It didn’t make sense.

None of it did.

When I closed my eyes and exhaled, I knew one thing with aching certainty: Someone had opened a door.

Now it was up to me to walk through it.

THIRTY-SEVEN

CALLUM

The sky wasthe color of old pewter, streaked with the watery light of a sun not quite ready to rise.

I couldn’t sleep.

I hadn’t, really, for two nights now, stuffed into a bedside chair as I sat with Wes in the hospital. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Wes’s face—his expression slack with pain, his voice a whisper through gritted teeth as they wheeled him past me in the hall. I saw Hayes, too, pale and too still in that hospital chair, his hands shaking when he thought no one was watching.

For Wes, the road to recovery would be long but he wasn’t going to walk it alone. I finally came up for air when the nurse told me I stank and insisted I get at least one good night’s sleep away from the hospital.

And a shower.

Back at the inn, the dark sky hung heavy. Damp. Still. In the distance, the lake was quiet in a way that felt sacred.