That evening, Betsy met Dennis for coffee.

Their date on Friday had gone well—as well as could be expected. She wasn’t blown away by him in any way, but she liked him. They might not have a future, but she wanted to prove to herself that her life wasn’t on hold.

If she wanted to get married in the future, then she would have to go out with guys.

John might have kissed her on Thursday, but he’d made it clear it wouldn’t happen again. She wasn’t going to be foolish. She wasn’t going to daydream.

She wasn’t going to wait around with the futile hope that he’d decide he wanted her for real.

John might not want her, but Dennis did—at least enough to ask her out a second time. They met at a little coffee shop in Avon, and they had a good conversation about their families, pets, and favorite books.

They’d been sitting together for an hour and had fallen into a brief silence, both of them watch the cars drive by on the road outside—half of them pickup trucks with fishing equipment in the back.

“How long do you have off from your job?” Dennis asked.

“A month. It’s a kind of sabbatical,” she explained, knowing a lot of people raised their eyebrows at the length of a break. “The job we do is hard on you, and even if we have days off, you can’t really get away. So you need that time to refresh yourself and recover.”

“Of course. I wonder if a month is long enough.”

“Sometimes it’s not.”

“Are you looking forward to going back?”

Betsy hesitated because she wasn’t sure how to answer the question honestly. “In some ways I am. In others…”

“How long do you think you’ll do it?”

“I don’t know. I’m starting to think long-term. It might be time for a change.”

“Would you move here?”

“I don’t know. I might.”

He gave her a little smile. “Is it wrong that I hope you will?”

She blushed slightly and returned his smile. It was impossible not to be pleased that someone appreciated her so simply and openly as Dennis did. Maybe this was what it was like to be with a normal, simple guy.

John was a lot of things, but he definitely wasn’t simple.

“How did you get involved in that kind of work to begin with?” Dennis asked, after a minute.

“I don’t know, really. My college degree was in communication, and I wanted to work with an NGO or a ministry of some kind. So I looked around for positions, and I got a communication job with my organization. I did a few different jobs before I moved to my current team.”

“Did you ever think about getting a communication job with some sort of normal company?”

She shook her head. “I really didn’t. I just had in mind that I wanted to help people, and this was how I wanted to do it.”

“Do you think you could be happy helping people in a little town like this?”

It wasn’t a loaded question. She could see he genuinely wanted to know. He was interested—in her, in her history—and he wanted to know her better.

“I…” She cleared her throat. “When I was younger, I didn’t think so. I had these lofty goals of helping people in very dramatic ways. I do that now, and I’m glad I do. But I’m starting to think there might be other ways to help people too. I think I could be happy—in a different context. I hope so, anyway.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I think a lot of people go through something similar, as they get older. I guess it’s part of growing up and settling down.”

“I suppose.” She flashed him a little smile. “Although I don’t think I’m that old yet.”

He laughed, and Betsy laughed, and she couldn’t help but recognize that they got along well.

There was a life here. A life she should probably consider.

A quiet life. Near her mother. In a small town by the ocean. With a man like Dennis.

Far away from John Davenport.

In a way, it would be a relief. Maybe she wouldn’t feel this uproar in her heart anymore. Maybe she could find some sort of peace.

***

That night, she was awakened by a call from Nancy, her friend and one of their team members.

Betsy had been asleep, and she was completely disoriented by the unexpected call at almost two in the morning. She managed to grab her phone and connect the call. “Yes?”

“Did I wake you up?” Nancy asked. “I wasn’t thinking about the time difference.”

“N—well, yeah. But it’s okay. What’s going on?”

“Have you checked your email?”

“Not since this morning. What’s going on?”

“You’ll see an email there from Robert. Jamal died.”

Betsy sat up in bed, her heart still throbbing from the shock of the call. But a chill soon overwhelmed her surprise.

Jamal was a little boy the team had helped in Sudan. John had gotten close to him.

John was going to be devastated.

“Oh no,” she managed to say.

“I know. It’s awful. Anyway, we wanted you to know, but we’re thinking that we shouldn’t tell John yet. He’s going to take it so hard, and then there will be no hope for him really relaxing and getting some rest.”

“He’ll probably demand to get back to work.”

“That’s what we thought.”

Betsy sighed, her throat aching so painfully she could barely swallow. “Okay. Thanks for telling me. I’ll call Chuck in the morning and get his advice about it.”

“That’s a good idea. Sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s fine. I’ll call you later, okay?”

When she’d hung up, she lay back in bed and stared up at the dark ceiling of her room.

She cried a little bit. For Jamal, whom she had really liked too.

And also for John.

***

The next day, Betsy went to visit John in the middle of the morning, earlier than normal because she felt restless and confused and wanted to get the visit over with, since each time she saw him now seemed to work up her emotions even more.

Just one more week. Then he’d be gone, visiting his brother, and something, somehow would be decided.

She wasn’t sure whether she would be glad or sad about it.

She’d called Chuck that morning, and he’d agreed they shouldn’t tell John about Jamal until these two weeks were over. Betsy knew it was for the best, but it made her feel like she was deceiving him, keeping secrets from him.

She hated to do that.

John wasn’t reading on the patio or painting in the studio, and she saw no sign of Zeke, so she wandered around aimlessly, searching.

She finally found John in the pool.

He was swimming laps. She recognized the fine curve of his shoulders and strong lines of his arms as they pulled out of the water with each stroke.

She stood and watched him for a minute until he must have either seen or sensed her presence.  He stopped, standing up at the end of the pool, and pulled off the goggles he wore.

“You’re here early,” he said.

“Yeah. Sorry. I hope it’s not too early. It just worked better with my schedule today.” That was the truth and didn’t reveal anything that couldn’t be revealed.

“No, it’s fine.”

“I didn’t know you swam.”

“I was on the swim team in high school, but I haven’t swum much since.” John hauled himself out of the water, and Betsy couldn’t help but let her eyes slip down to his body, naked except for the wet swimsuit.

His body was fine. Very fine.

She’d never seen a man’s body she liked more.

Swallowing hard, she raised her eyes and smiled. “I thought you ran instead.”

“I do. I have been. But…”

When he didn’t finish the sentence, she was immediately curious. “But what?”

His features twisted with a wry look. “My knees are killing me from running so much on the sand. So I thought I’d swim today instead.”

She laughed. It was just like him to be embarrassed about admitting his knees were hurting. He was always trying to be so invincible.

He’d grabbed a towel and was blotting his skin dry. While he was rubbing down his hair, she couldn’t help but sneak another look at his broad chest. He had very good pectorals and a deliciously masculine scattering of dark hair. He had dark hair low on his flat belly too, leading down in a thin line beneath the waistband of his suit.

Betsy swallowed again and looked away.

“I’ll let you shower and dress, if you want,” she said, hoping she sounded mostly natural. “I have time.”

“Nah, it’s fine. No need to waste your time with that.” He gestured her toward a table and a couple of chairs with the best view of the ocean, and she had to resign herself to going through this visit with John only half-dressed.

They went to sit down, and she said, “Mark called last night. He and Daniel got back to Willow Park in good time.”

“Good. Good. It was nice of him to visit. He didn’t have to.”

“I’m sure he wanted to. He’s your brother. You’ve gone a lot farther to visit him.”

Her word were true. She knew very well that John had flown halfway across the world to see his brother. More than once.

She liked how devoted the brothers were to each other. It made her happy. And not just because it was good to know John had someone who loved him so much.

She just liked to see the closeness. She’d never had any siblings. She often wished she did.

“Did you do anything interesting yesterday evening?” she asked, searching for a topic of easy conversation that wouldn’t make her chest ache or stomach flutter.

“Not really. They had a cookout here, so I hung out there for a while. Then I just read. What about you?”

She should have realized asking that question would lead her into this trap, but now she was stuck. She cleared her throat. “I, uh, had coffee with someone.”

John’s expression changed visibly. “With someone?”

“With Dennis. The dentist.”

John had looked friendly earlier—genuinely glad to see her—but now he was almost scowling. “Dennis the dentist. He should put that on his sign.”

“Don’t be snide.”

“Was I being snide?”

“Yes. Kind of. He’s a nice guy.”

“Evidently, if you’ve gone out with him twice in three days.”

“It’s not like that. We’re just casual. I’m just starting to get to know him. What’s wrong with that?”

“Did I say anything was wrong it?”

“Well, you’re acting very grumpy about it. Why shouldn’t I go out with someone?”

He was still frowning, and his body looked tense instead of relaxed. “Did I say you shouldn’t go out with someone?”

“You don’t have to say it when you look so bad-tempered about it. It would be nice if you could be supportive.”

“I’ll be supportive,” he grumbled.

“When are you going to start?”

He obviously made an effort to clear his frown. “I’ll start now. So you really like this guy?”

“He’s nice. I like him well enough. I still don’t know him very well.”

“What’s his story?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. What’s his background? How old is he? Does he have a criminal record?”

She ignored the last question because she knew he wasn’t serious. “He’s around forty, I think.”

“He’s too old for you.”

She rolled his eyes. “No, he’s not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Has he been married before?”

“Yes. He got divorced a couple of years ago.”

“What happened there?”

She supposed it was natural for him to curious, but it felt more like an interrogation, and she was annoyed by it. “How is that your business?”

“I sure hope it’s your business.”

“His wife left him for another man. Happy now? I thought you were going to be supportive.”

He cleared his expression again. “I am. Sorry. I’m not good at being nice.”

She had to laugh at this. “Yes, you are. Your first instinct is to be nice. It’s only when you’re feeling useless that you start being rude like this. And we keep telling you it’s all right for you to take a break every now and then. It doesn’t mean you’re useless.”

She hadn’t intended to say so much, but she didn’t regret the words.

She wanted him to know that.

She wanted him to believe it.

And she really didn’t know if he did.

“I’ve been feeling pretty useless lately,” he admitted gruffly, leaning back in his chair, confirming her thoughts.

“I know you have.” Her voice was a lot gentler than before. She couldn’t hold herself back, so she reached over and put a hand on his arm. “But I’m telling you that you’re not. You don’t have to work to be useful. And you don’t have to be useful to be of value. Maybe we like having you around just for yourself.”

He met her eyes, something strangely questioning, tentative in his expression. “Do you?”

“Of course we do.”

“Do you?”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “I do.”

When she realized what she’d said—and what it implied—she felt a stab of fear and pulled her hand away.

She didn’t want to stop touching him but she needed to. She couldn’t let herself fall into this emotional trap.

John might be unusually needy lately, but he’d made it clear he didn’t want a relationship with her. She couldn’t let herself hope he would.

Not again.

He must have shook himself off internally too because he straightened up and looked away from her. “So are you going to see Dennis the dentist again?”

She frowned, her stomach dropping in disappointment at his dry tone although she knew it was for the best. “I don’t know. I might. And I’ll keep waiting for you to be supportive about it.”

All he said to that was, “Yeah.”

***

John was walking her back to the lobby a few minutes later when Betsy heard a loud squawking from the top of the fence surrounding the pool and patio.

She blinked up into the sun and saw a small seagull, perched up there as if he owned the place. The bird kept squawking in that abrasive way seagulls had.

“What’s your problem?” she asked the bird. She’d always liked animals—all animals—and she saw nothing strange about talking to them.

“He’s probably hungry.”

“Why would he think we’d have food for him?”

When John didn’t answer, Betsy peered up at his face and saw an expression that was almost guilty.

She gasped. “Have you been feeding him?”

“Just a little.” He slanted her an adorably sheepish look.

“How do you know it’s this one?”

“Oh, I know. He comes every morning for his biscuit. He has a real attitude about it now.”

“You give him a whole biscuit?”

“Not a whole one. I crumble up a piece of one for him. He was real pitiful on the first day, pecking at a hard old fry. I felt bad for him.”

Betsy was overwhelmed with the strangest feeling—a mixture of amusement and understanding and fondness.

And something even deeper. A lot deeper.

“It’s okay,” he said with a twitch of his lips. “You can laugh if you want.”

“I don’t want to laugh.” She did giggle, though, and then to her horror it turned into almost a sob.

There was absolutely no reason to be so emotional about something so little, but she was.

John was always picking up strays. It was what he did.

He wanted so much to take care of anything and anyone that might need him.

Even this little bird with an attitude.

It was one of the things she loved about him.

He cared about Jamal so much and still didn’t know the boy was dead.

She tried to control herself and pretend she was just laughing, but John seemed to know the difference.

Without saying anything, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into a hug.

She burrowed against him, taking comfort in his warmth, in his heart.

But for only a minute. Soon, she made herself pull away.

“You better go get him a snack,” she said, feeling better at the release of emotional tension. A little embarrassed, but better. “He obviously didn’t get enough biscuit this morning.”

“He’s obviously a spoiled ingrate who doesn’t deserve anything better.”

John’s voice was dry, but Betsy knew better. As they were walking through the lobby, she said, “You’re going to go find him something as soon as I leave, aren’t you?”

“Of course not,” John muttered. “He’s a bird. He’ll have to find his own food.”

Both of them knew it wasn’t true.