Jem was silent for so long as he hauled the clothes out of the washer and carried them upstairs, Natalie wasn’t sure if he was going to tell her at all.
Back at ground level, he fetched a drying rack and positioned it by the north windows where they’d catch the morning light. He had the third sock hung on the rack before he spoke. “The Miss America pageant.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what Dad and I were fighting about that tipped me over the edge. He was into me over why I hadn’t been to church that Sunday.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I was doing college assignments, but just to see his eyes pop, I told him it was because I wanted to watch the Miss America pageant.”
Natalie gave a low whistle. She could well imagine the reaction that’d get.
Jem shrugged. “It was the latest in a series of fights. We’d been building to it for a while. I know we were trying to save for the—well, to save money—but staying with him instead of moving out was pretty much a terrible idea.”
She remembered. Money or not, she’d warned Jem of that at the time.
“I think Dad suspected what I was hiding: there was not one single part of me that wanted anything to do with God. I had twenty years of resentment toward Dad for always bossing me around and never giving me the benefit of the doubt. I thought God was the same.” He finally met her eyes. “And I knew your greatest dream was to build on your father’s legacy with his ministry.”
Natalie swallowed. He’d expressed parts of this—in far less coherent fashion—standing on Mom and Dad’s back porch on that terrible Thursday night when he told her he was leaving for Chicago. She could still smell the scent of burned vegetables that’d emanated from the house. She’d found out later Mom was too busy eavesdropping to remember she had dinner on the stove.
Jem touched her hand, fingertips barely grazing her skin. “It wasn’t your fault. At all.”
Natalie managed the barest of smiles. “Obviously. Keep going.”
He pulled a pair of John’s pants from the hamper. “I agonized over it, but I couldn’t escape it. Our lives were headed two totally different directions. You wanted to spend your life working for God. And I wanted to spend mine running away from Him.” He shrugged, eyes on the wet clothes. “It’s no excuse. But at the time, I didn’t think it was a choice. I couldn’t imagine spending my life serving—or pretending to serve—a God just like my father. And I couldn’t marry you, knowing that. So I left.” He shook his head. “It sounds even worse when I say it out loud.”
Natalie cleared her throat. All this time, and she’d thought he’d been disappointed in her. That somehow she hadn’t measured up. The thought was so hard to dislodge, she had trouble fully believing his explanation. “And then?”
“Fast-forward five years, and the life that I thought would make me happy just wasn’t working out. I had my degree, my job, a girlfriend. No dad or God to make me feel guilty. And I was miserable. Then one day I got a postcard from Charlottesville. I thought it was from you.”
She snapped her gaze up. “I didn’t—”
“It was my cousin. She puts the tails on her f’s like you do.” He hung the last shirt, placed the hamper on the kitchen counter, and pointed to the door. “Want to finish this conversation on the porch?”
She shook her head. “Finish the story.”
He leaned back against the counter, hands in his pockets. “I was ready to drive back here overnight. It was a wake-up call. I was miserable. I’d thought giving God control would ruin my life, but I’d ruined it just fine on my own. So I broke up with Chloe and went back to church. Then Chloe came back a few weeks later with her news.” He offered half a smile. “At first I thought God was punishing me. I stopped church again for a while. But the pastor reached out, and we talked about it. He helped me realize that me projecting Dad onto God was totally wrong. The road back started for real from there.”
Natalie gripped the back of a dining room chair. It was true. She’d ignored the signs when they were younger, but the distance between Jem and God had been real. Things were different now, she could tell. But still . . . “What changed now? You and your dad have fought the entire time since you got back. Something’s different.”
He smiled. “You.”
“Me?”
“You forgave me. Every day, each time you got mad again. I want Olly to have a grandfather. And if you can forgive me, maybe I can forgive him.” He picked up his keys. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
She followed him out the door, and they drove back to her apartment in silence. Natalie pulled the bobby pins loose from her hair and rested her head against the seat, processing the conversation they’d just had.
She’d asked God for an indication about whether Jem had changed.
She’d gotten it.
He walked her to the door and waited as she fished out her keys. “Did I tell you that you look amazing tonight?”
Sweat dampened her dress, her hair was an unruly tangle, and her shoes were . . . Whoops. Still somewhere at John’s house. “I’m a mess.”
“You’re a hot mess.” He offered his hands. “We might not get the filet mignon I was hoping for, but would you still care to dance?”
She held still and studied his face, a combination of boyish freckles and the faint worry lines of a new parent. Tired as he was, a sparkle still danced in his ocean-blue eyes.
Jem’s actions tonight soothed the doubts she’d had about the change God had wrought in his heart. A man who loved like this—in the face of rejection, disappointment, and hurt—was a man she might be able to trust again.
He wiggled his fingers at her.
Natalie stepped into his arms and pulled his head down.
She slipped a hand along the slight stubble on his jaw, her face a breath away, then brought her lips to his. She kept her kiss sweet and light, and after a moment Jem’s hands rested on her upper arms. Her fingers brushed Jem’s hair as she reveled in being in his arms again. He’d made mistakes, yes. Did the thought of being hurt by him again still terrify her? Completely.
But she was tired of being apart from him when every inch of her wanted otherwise.
Pulling back a fraction, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
The sparkle in Jem’s eyes had fanned into a blaze. “Uh-uh. Come back here.” He caught her lips once more, one hand on her waist and the other cupping her jaw. He deepened the kiss, and a flare alighted deep inside Natalie. She stood on tiptoe and wound both arms around his neck, tasting the lemonade he’d pinched from his father’s fridge.
Jem held her tight, kissed her as if he’d been waiting to do this for years. He kissed her cheeks, her temple, her forehead, then brushed her lips again.
Natalie dragged her eyes open as Jem finally rested his forehead on hers. One hand gripped his collar, the other slid along his neck.
Jem drew in a ragged breath, opened his eyes. “Is this another I’ll-kiss-Jem-but-then-tell-him-it’s-not-happening-again thing?” His arms tightened around her. He brushed her lips again, spoke with his mouth barely touching hers. “’Cos I’d really like to convince you otherwise.”
She smiled and pulled his head back down.