The next morning, Betsy was taking her mother to the grocery store and trying not to think about John.

She was completely unsuccessful.

It felt like her whole being was buzzing with excitement—every breath she took and sight she saw somehow more vivid and delightful than usual. She wasn’t foolish enough to not know why.

She wanted to be with John right now. She wanted him to hold her hand the way he had the day before.

She wanted him to do even more.

Maybe he would.

For the first time, she had legitimate hope, and it was absolutely intoxicating.

She didn’t want to be the kind of selfish, ungrateful daughter who would resent spending time with her mother because she’d rather be with her man, so she kept trying to calm down and focus on the grocery shopping trip.

She must have failed because, as they were parking in the small lot, her mother asked out of the blue, “This isn’t about Dennis, is it?”

“What?”

“This mood… it isn’t about Dennis, is it?”

“I’m not in any kind of mood.” Maybe if she said the words, they would become true.

They didn’t. Betsy was definitely in a mood today. Every time she thought about John, she felt like hugging herself.

Her mother gave her a familiar, narrow-eyed look. “Is there something going on with John that I should know about?”

“N-no.” Okay, that didn’t sound too convincing.

“Elizabeth.”

“I’m just in a good mood, is all.”

“This is more than a mood. I thought you were going to be careful and get some distance.”

“I was. I am. But he’s… something has changed. I don’t think I’m being stupid.” She’d put the car into the park, unhooked her seatbelt, and turned to face her mother.

“Has he said something?”

“N-no. But... I’m really not an idiot. I know something has changed. He’s been… giving me real signs.”

“You said he was going through some things right now.”

“He is.” Betsy didn’t like where this was going. It was bringing down her giddy mood.

“Isn’t it possible that these signs and changes are a result of whatever he’s going through and not because he’s made a conscious, informed decision to pursue a relationship with you?”

Betsy turned away, her stomach twisting slightly. “Sure. It’s possible. But why won’t you believe that he could… he could actually fall for me. I know I’m not exactly romance material, but—”

“Betsy, stop!” her mother interrupted, her expression changing. “You’re beautiful and smart and loving, and any man would be thanking God night and day if you chose him. I’m not saying he wouldn’t.”

“Then why are you so discouraging about this? I’m really not imagining things with John.”

She remembered how it had felt yesterday when he’d reached over and taken her hand. She could see his expression very clearly.

It meant something. She knew it did.

She wasn’t making it up.

“I’m not trying to be discouraging.” Her mother suddenly looked older and very tired. “I’m sorry if it’s coming across that way. I… I just want you to be smart.”

“Can’t I be smart and hopeful at the same time?”

“Maybe you can. I don’t know. But it’s been my experience that, if a man doesn’t actually say something, then there’s not much room for real hope. I just want you to protect your heart.”

Betsy thought about that, and her stomach dropped a little more. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe whatever was happening with John wasn’t built on a firm enough foundation for her to put her trust in.

“My own experiences might have clouded my judgment,” her mother added in a different tone.

Betsy took a sharp breath. “Your own experiences?”

“With your father. All the signs were there too. He was acting like he loved me. I let my feelings lead me to bad decisions—because I kept assuming his actions were speaking louder than words and that he meant things he hadn’t said. I assumed he loved me and would marry me because that was the way he was acting. I was wrong. And I had to live with the devastation.”

“My father was a… a jerk.” She reworded her initial thoughts out of respect for her mother’s sensitivities. “He was selfish and took advantage of you. John isn’t like that.”

“I know your John is different. I know he’s a good man. But I’ve told you before. Even good men will sometimes unintentionally play with our hearts.”

Betsy knew this was true. But it didn’t feel true with John.

She didn’t want it to be true.

She wanted to just revel in the fact that a man finally, finally wanted her. For real.

She swallowed hard. “I know. I’m trying to be careful. But I don’t want to be so careful that I… I discourage him.”

“A strong man who knows what he wants isn’t going to be discouraged because you’re not rushing into things.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Good.”

Betsy didn’t think it was good. The whole conversation had cast a pall on her bright mood. And it made her question everything that had happened over the past few days.

She didn’t like it to be questioned.

At all.

***

Four hours later, Betsy was out on a boat with John.

He’d been painting when she arrived, and when she’d seen the boat on his canvas, she’d said it was too bad there wasn’t a boat they could use.

John had said they did have a boat here at Balm at Gilead. He’d talked to Zeke about it the day before. He could take her out if she wanted.

So here they were—sitting on a small motor boat, enjoying a very sunny day on the water.

Betsy loved it.

All her doubts about this relationship disappeared as soon as she’d seen John. He’d smiled at her in that particular way—warm, intimate, almost sweet—and she’d known she wasn’t letting her heart rule her head.

There was something here, and it was real. She wasn’t making it up in some sort of childish daydream.

She glanced over at him as he was fiddling with the motor. They’d come out far enough to be alone on the water, and then he’d turned off the engine. The boat was rocking, but the waves weren’t particularly rough so the motion was soothing rather than dramatic.

John wore sunglasses, and he looked gorgeous and masculine in his casual clothes. His skin was a lot tanner than it had been last week, and there was a slight shadow of bristles on his jaw, even though she knew he had shaved that morning.

And Betsy had a sudden, overwhelming realization. She couldn’t believe that this man would ever want to be with her. Not for real. Not for good. He was so handsome and so smart and so good in every way.

He was just hanging out here with her. That must be all it was.

If he was really choosing, he would choose someone other than her.

The knowledge burned in her throat, effecting her so much she had to turn away and breathe deeply.

She wasn’t as insecure as she’d been as a girl, but some things never fully went away. And she couldn’t imagine—she just couldn’t imagine—that a man like John would ever really want someone as plain and unexciting as her.

Basic Betsy. It was who she’d always been.

“What’s the matter?” he asked from behind her.

Damn it. “Nothing,” she said, turning back around with a smile. “I was just looking around.”

He didn’t appear to believe her. His brows were pulled together. “Did something upset you?”

Of course it had upset her. Her mother had been right all along. “No. Why would you think that?”

“You just looked…” He reached out to take off her sunglasses so he could see her eyes. Then he picked up one of her hands, rubbing the palm gently with his thumb. “Maybe I was imagining it, but it looked like something had hurt you. I’m not okay with that. I’m not okay with anything hurting you.”

So there her heart went all into flutters again. She gave him a slightly trembly smile. “Nothing is hurting me.”

“Good. Because I’m not going to let it.”

They sat for a minute, holding hands, as the sun beat down on them, and Betsy told herself her fears were just a lingering result of her old insecurities.

She was a worthwhile, valuable person—in God’s eyes and in the eyes of the world. There was no reason a man couldn’t fall in love with her. Just because no one ever had, didn’t mean no one ever would.

She wasn’t going to let her old fears hold her back anymore.

She smiled at him and used her free hand to take off his sunglasses, the way he had hers. “It’s only fair,” she said, at his questioning look. “I want to see your eyes too.”

His smile warmed, and her whole body started to pulse.

He didn’t lean over and kiss her, but he didn’t need to. They sat holding hands for a long time, and they didn’t talk. She just let herself enjoy the moment, enjoy John’s presence, enjoy the beauty and warmth of creation.

There weren’t always moments of peace and joy like this in her life, and she wanted to bask in it for as long as she could.

“It’s like that hymn,” John murmured, after several minutes of silence. He was still holding her hand, occasionally stroking her palm in a way that felt special, tender.

“What hymn?”

“Morning by morning new mercies I see.”

“Yes.” It was like he had read her mind, and it confirmed how perfectly in sync they were. “It’s exactly like that.” She gave him a teasing smile. “We should sing it.”

He arched his eyebrows dryly. “You can sing it for me. You’ve got a good voice.”

“I’ll only sing it if you sing it too, but you have to really sing—not just move your lips and occasionally make a little noise.”

He curled his mouth at her, but she just laughed. “I’m serious. You have to really sing. I want to see if you really know how to do it.”

“I know how to sing. Not well, but…”

“I don’t mean knowing how to sing. I mean I want to see if you know how to really let yourself go, surrender to the joy God gives you—not always try to control yourself all the time. I want to see if you can… you can relinquish. Be free.”

She hadn’t really intended to say all that, but the words embodied so much of what she’d been thinking about him for the last week, all the ways he always held himself back from genuinely enjoying—living—life.

He gazed at her silently for a moment.

She didn’t know what to say or what to do so she just started singing the first verse of “Great is Thy Faithfulness.”

She was pleased and relieved and washed with a wave of joy when John started to sing it too.

He really didn’t have a bad voice at all. He stayed on key, and he had a pleasant resonance to his deep voice. They sang together well, but soon she forgot about how she sounded.

She thought about the words, about their meaning, about unchanging faithfulness in her life—even when everything else changed.

She teared up a little on the second verse, really feeling what it meant in joining with all nature in testifying to God’s nature on this beautiful day, surrounded by sky and ocean and sunshine.

John was really singing—in a way he never did in church. She’d teased him about never really letting himself go, but there was real truth in that observation. He was always so afraid of relinquishing control that he couldn’t let loose his heart.

He was now, though, and it just added to her joy of the moment.

On the third verse, John stopped singing.

She glanced over at him and saw something happening on his face. It was tight with emotion, and he was staring blindly out at the water.

She kept singing because she didn’t know what else to do. She knew he was dealing with something—something that wasn’t about her.

Whatever he was dealing with was spiritual and intense and private, so she didn’t ask about it or expect him to share.

It went on a long time. When she finished the hymn, she started singing it again from the beginning, and John sat beside her the whole time, holding her hand tighter and tighter, lost in his own intense reflections.

He was praying or thinking or struggling with emotion—or all of them at once.

It felt important, so she prayed for him silently.

When she finished the hymn the second time, she fell into quiet. Her hand was actually hurting now—he was gripping it so hard.

She was breathing in fast little pants, anxious and hopeful and confused and frightened all at once. Her skin was flushed, and she tried to show her support through her grip on John’s hand, since it was the only way she had at the moment to show it.

It was several more minutes before John finally turned to look at her. His voice was hoarse when he said, “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be good. Trying not to let God or anyone else down. I’ve been so focused on it that I’m not sure I even know how to worship… how to love.”

“That’s not true,” she said, rising immediately to his defense. “You do know how to love.”

He lifted one of his shoulders in a slight shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I don’t want to be like that. I don’t think God wants me to—or expects me to.”

“He doesn’t.” It was exactly what she’d suspected, hoped, he’d been reflecting on.

“I know.”

She waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. He’d loosened his grip on her hand but hadn’t let it go yet.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “I was… I had snuck out at night and gone to a party I wasn’t supposed to the night my parents were killed. I got drunk and was in bad shape, so one of my buddies called them. They were out to dinner, but they left and were coming to get me. Another car ran a… a stop light. They were both killed instantly.”

Mark had eluded to it but had not told her any of the details. She was horrified and heart-broken and full of understanding she hadn’t had before. It filled in the missing pieces of her picture of John—why he was so afraid of enjoying himself and not doing what he was supposed to do. “That wasn’t your fault, John. You can’t possibly think it was your fault.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to have fun and enjoy life. God doesn’t want your empty duty. He wants your love.”

“I know.”

“John…” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say so she just trailed off.

He met her eyes with a little smile. “I’m going through some real soul-searching over here, and all you can say is my name? I’m waiting for some more words of wisdom.”

She dissolved into giggles, relieved and even more emotional at his fond, teasing tone and the breaking of the tension. She finally pulled her hand away from his, but only to reach around him with both arms and give him a hug.

He wrapped his arms around her too, pulling her against him tightly.

They hugged silently for a minute, and Betsy couldn’t remember ever feeling so close to another person.

She didn’t want it to end.

Maybe it wouldn’t.

Maybe she would be allowed to be close to John like this for the rest of her life.

After all, it hadn’t happened before, but it wasn’t impossible.

***

They returned to the dock at Balm in Gilead not long after. It felt like everything that needed to happen had happened, and Betsy was overwhelmed with happiness and tenderness and hope.

So much hope.

She felt strangely shy as John helped her out of the boat. She could barely bring herself to look him in the eye.

“Betsy,” he murmured, his gentle tone causing her to raise her eyes to his face. His eyes were just as tender as his voice. “Sweetheart.”

He’d never called her that before. He usually called her just Bets.

The word felt like more than just an endearment.

It felt like he really meant it.

“Do you have to leave now?” he asked.

Her heart made several little leaps. “I told my mom I’d be back for dinner. She’s making something.”

“Just your mom?”

She realized what he was asking, what it meant. “Yes. Just my mom.”

“No one else?”

“No one else.” She had a call to return to Dennis, but at the moment it was the last thing she wanted to do.

He nodded, evidently pleased by this piece of news. “Maybe you could come back after dinner.”

She swallowed. “Maybe.”

“Will you?” His eyes were soft and questioning and so incredibly beautiful.

Everything she wanted.

“Okay. I will.”

He smiled then, and she smiled back, and he leaned down to press his lips very gently against hers.

It was such a gentle little kiss—barely a brush of his mouth—but it made her mind and heart and body explode with feeling just the same.

“Good,” he murmured, his breath wafting against her lightly. “I’m glad. Things don’t feel right in the world without you.”

It was as close as he’d come to a declaration of feeling, and it gave Betsy even more hope.

He wasn’t just holding her hand.

He wasn’t just kissing her.

He’d actually said that he wanted to spend time with her, that it was important to him that she was around.

He wasn’t just playing around with her. He wasn’t taking advantage of her.

This meant something to him—maybe as much as it meant to her.

She could trust him. She always had.

He wasn’t going to break her heart.

He wasn’t that kind of man.