Chapter 16

16

GINA

I pulled up to the hotel, checked in and found that it catered to visiting businesspeople, salespeople, and those en route to conferences in Nashville. My room was simple and clean, with a single bed and a bathroom. There was cable television and air-conditioning. It was all I would need as I searched out Porter. I couldn't just go to the lumberyard. I hadn't told my father I was coming into town, and I didn't know how Porter would react if I just showed up there.

Having deposited my suitcase, I went downstairs and out the front door. Main Street stretched away from me into the distance, lined with quaint little shops and eateries. I wandered down the sidewalk, saying hi to everyone I passed. Some recognized me and some didn't. I hadn't spent a lot of time back here in the last several years.

I passed the hardware store and the police station. On the opposite side of the street were the library and post office. I considered which location presented the best opportunity to run into Porter. From what I knew of him, he would give a wide berth to the police station. He might frequent the hardware store, but it was more likely I would run into him in the library.

I crossed the street and pushed through the swinging double doors into the tiny library I used to come to as a kid. It was basically one large room, with bookshelves running down all four walls and consuming one-quarter of the internal space. What was clearly a toddlers' area was marked out by colorful rugs, boxes of games and puzzles, and a TV on an ancient audio-visual cart.

There was a checkout counter in the center, and the rest of the space was taken up by computer stations. It took me no time at all to determine that Porter was not in the library. I was about to sneak away when the librarian spotted me, waving from behind the counter.

"Hello!" she cried, oblivious to the "quiet in the library" edict.

"Hello." I hastened over to speak with her, eager not to annoy the few patrons who browsed the stacks. She wasn't someone I recognized from my childhood, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Welcome to Singer's Ridge," the librarian said. "I can give you a guest pass to browse the internet, but you need proof of residency to check out any material. Where are you from?"

"Nashville," I said reluctant to admit to the stranger that I actually hailed from Singer's Ridge. I didn't feel like answering a ton of questions.

"Well, if you're looking for something to do while you're in town, our town council created a brochure." She tapped a display case near the register, sliding a brochure free and handing it over.

Welcome to Singer's Ridge , the pamphlet read. Inside was information about restaurants, the local movie theater, and the high school football and drama schedules. I nearly laughed. Some things never changed.

"Thank you," I said, gracefully removing myself from the premises.

It was late in the afternoon, and I realized I was hungry. Taking a stab in the dark, I angled toward the pizza shop, enjoying the walk. I was reminded of the last few weeks of Porter's stay in the hospital; everywhere I looked, I was searching for him. I thought I saw him on the opposite side of the street, but when I squinted, I could see that man had broader shoulders. I thought I saw him in the five and dime, but when I peeked in the door, I realized that man was too young.

He wasn't at the pizza shop either. By the time I ordered a slice and sat down to eat it, I wondered if I was on a fool's errand. Maybe Porter hadn't come back. Maybe he was traveling, or he had moved somewhere that didn't remind him of his old life. There was one other place I knew I could check, but I was stalling. A visit to the lumberyard was my absolute last resort.

I finished my pizza and went back to the hotel. Singer's Ridge hadn't changed much since I'd moved to Nashville and I didn't know if that made me feel warm and nostalgic, or anxious and hemmed in. I slumped in bed, picking up the remote and flicking through channels.

What was I doing here? Had I really thought I would magically run into Porter on the street? That he would be happy to see me? That we would instantly fall in love and get married and have children? It was a pipe dream, and I was a fool. I'd had my chance when he asked me for my number, and I blew it. I put my career above my happiness, and I was suffering the consequences.

Determined not to wallow in sadness, I tried to pay attention to a cooking show. There were three contestants racing around an industrial-sized kitchen, trying to outdo each other. I wondered how Evil was getting on and if she would ever forgive me. I should just give up and use the rest of my vacation to go sightseeing. Alone. With that horrible thought, I succumbed to my desperation, and the first of many tears slid down my face.

I n the morning, I felt better, and I decided to give my mission one more try. I dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt and headed to the diner for coffee. Diners are great meeting places, and besides, they often boasted scrumptious breakfast items. It took me a few minutes to walk, but I enjoyed the exercise. Just like my commute, the walk gave me time to air out my feelings, to get a hold of myself and prepare for the coming day.

If I didn't find Porter at the diner, I could always drive over to the lumberyard. I still wasn't sure I wanted to risk it, but I had come all this way. It seemed a shame to leave without at least giving him a chance to reject me. The diner was across the street from the police station. I held my heart in my hand as I pushed through the door into the cheerful interior.

A breakfast bar ran across the length of the restaurant, booths on the opposite wall. The décor was the same as it had been for as long as I could remember. A young woman stood in the foyer, waiting to direct me to whichever seat I chose. I scanned the clientele, just as I had done yesterday, searching for familiar features. A spark of recognition hit me when I saw him, sitting at the counter, hunched over a cup of coffee. He didn't see me at first, focused on his drink. I had a moment to decide whether I wanted to go through with this, a second to weigh my future against my pride. He looked so masculine out here in the real world. His shoulder muscles bunched beneath his work shirt, his hips square against the seat. My moment was up when he turned to face the door and saw me standing there, breathless.

I expected anger or elation, some raw emotion that would tell me whether I had done the right thing or not. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, his face a neutral mask. I could see him doing some calculation in his head, as if weighing my appearance against our last encounter. I stepped forward, eager to explain, but he shook his head.

"Hello, Nurse Matthews," he said.

"I can explain." I approached the counter, my thoughts racing, my heart searching for salvation in his eyes.

"Not here," he cut me off.

The hostess smiled awkwardly, pretending to be absorbed by picking dried jelly off a menu.

"I have to go to work," Porter said, finishing his coffee and standing up.

"I'm sorry—" I tried.

He waved me off. "Meet me here for dinner tonight."

My heart skipped a beat. He wasn't angry. He wasn't jumping for joy, but I hadn't completely destroyed all hope of a future. We had a date, our first real date. Tonight I could explain my reservations and why I had chosen to rebuff him and beg for his forgiveness. Tonight, I could tell him that I thought of him as more than just a patient. From the very beginning, when I'd first laid eyes on him, I had known that he was different.

He took two steps toward me, bent his head, and kissed me on the cheek. The soft brush of his lips was electric, sending a jolt clear through to my core. His newly shaved jaw was smooth as satin, like a warm breeze against my skin. I fought to maintain my dignity, to stay upright when my knees shook. Butterflies swarmed in my stomach, sending heat racing throughout my body.

Nodding to the hostess, Porter strode out the door, sparing me not even a backward glance. I felt the breath return to my lungs in one sweeping gasp. My feet came unglued, and I could finally see the world around me. I searched apologetically for the hostess, accepting the jelly-stained menu without a word. My knees were grateful for the relief when I sank onto a stool, the same stool that Porter had so recently vacated. A cacophony of triumph sounded in my ears, and the one overarching revelation— I have a date tonight —rang loud and clear.