On Sunday morning as Rachel drove into town to attend a local church, she passed the little building the Amish used for worship. Although most Amish throughout the country took turns hosting biweekly services in their homes, the Serenity Ridge and Unity districts were two of a few exceptions that worshipped in church buildings. However, they did keep the custom of only gathering every other week as a congregation; on alternating Sundays, families met in their own homes. Rachel was surprised to see the number of buggies neatly lined along the perimeter of the property; could the community have grown that much since she’d been away, or did a lot of folks have relatives visiting?
She sighed. The Amish practice of visiting each other on Sunday afternoons had been one of her favorite customs when she was young. As a girl outnumbered by three brothers, Rachel relished any opportunity that allowed her to socialize with female friends. Once she became a teenager, she better appreciated having older brothers whose male friends dropped in at their house. Although Colin and Albert’s friends were too old to have any romantic interest in Rachel, that didn’t stop her from developing crushes on them. By the time she was mature enough to have a suitor, she’d already made up her mind to leave the Amish, which was probably just as well, considering there weren’t any eligible bachelors her age in their tiny district anyway.
Maybe there are more courting opportunities now that the community has grown, she thought. Ivan hadn’t ever written about walking out with anyone, but she wouldn’t have expected him to, since the Amish were more discreet about their romantic relationships than the Englisch were. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was courting anyone. Then she found herself wondering whether Arden was courting anyone, and if so, whether they’d be walking out tonight, the way Amish couples often did on Sunday evenings. Why would I care? she asked herself. It’s certainly not as if I want him to pay me a visit instead.
But as she headed home after church, Rachel had to admit she wished someone would drop by; the house seemed too large and lonely. Maybe I should make the first move and visit Colin, Hadassah and the children, she thought. I could offer to take them to see Ivan. Ultimately, she wasn’t that brave, however, so she journeyed to the hospital alone, where her brother slept through most of her visit.
A downpour broke out as Rachel drove home, and when she trekked across the lawn, her shoes left a trail of indented footprints behind her. “Mud season” was what Mainers called the period in between late March and early May when the ground was oversaturated with melted winter snow and fresh spring rain. Rachel recalled how she and Hadassah sometimes had to mop the floors three times a day to keep up with the muck her brothers tracked in.
Being back in Serenity Ridge was stirring all kinds of memories, some happier than others. Rachel remembered sledding with her brothers in the winter and the long afternoons her mother had spent teaching her to bake and sew. She even recalled how excited she’d been to help plan for Colin’s wedding to Hadassah—and how that excitement turned to disappointment when Hadassah moved into their house and Rachel found out how controlling she was. Then there were her parents’ funerals, as well as her own leaving...
Aware her mood would darken if she thought too much about the past, Rachel took out the ingredients she’d purchased on Saturday and set about making a batch of sticky buns the way her mother had taught her. Because the recipe made far more buns than she could eat by herself, she decided to bring a half dozen of them to the workshop the next morning, along with coffee for Arden and her. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but as her mother always told her, there was nothing like fresh confections and friendly conversation to draw people together. Granted, Arden had made a point of letting her know it made no difference to him whether he worked with her or with Colin, as long as Ivan’s preference was honored, but Rachel figured since she was the one working there, she’d try to foster a cordial environment. She was tickled when her efforts seemed to pay off.
“These are really gut,” Arden said, his mouth half-full.
“Denki. I was worried I may have lost my touch. It’s been ages since I’ve made them.”
“Why? Don’t you like them?”
“I love them.” Rachel pulled a bun off the loaf for herself. “I got out of practice because, well, my ex-boyfriend, Toby, used to lecture me about the detrimental effects of sugar.”
“Is he diabetic?”
“No. He’s a dokder. And he’s right—an excess of sugar can be bad for you.”
“An excess of anything can be bad for you.” Arden took a swallow of coffee before adding, “I’m surprised you’d let his opinion stop you from doing something you wanted to do.”
Despite her intentions to establish a congenial relationship, Rachel was immediately defensive. “Just because I left the Amish against my family’s wishes doesn’t mean—”
“I wasn’t referring to your leaving the Amish,” Arden interrupted. “I was referring to your refusal to back down to Colin’s demands the other day. I even had a difficult time saying no to him, but you held your own. So it surprises me you’d give in to your boyfriend’s opinion about sticky buns. Seems to me, if he didn’t want to eat them, he didn’t have to, but why should that stop you from making them if that’s what you enjoy doing?”
Rachel shrugged, dumbfounded. For all the times people had implied she was strong-willed, it had never come across as a compliment until now, and she treasured Arden’s words. At the same time, she felt criticized by his remark about her deference to Toby... Was that because Arden was right? “I guess I sort of figured he...well, he’s a dokder and he knows a lot more about health than I do.”
Brushing the crumbs from his lips with the back of his hand, Arden remarked, “Jah, he knows a lot more about health than I do, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have a second sticky bun after lunch today.”
As she watched him effortlessly pick up a drill and ladder and carry them across the workshop, Rachel’s heart skipped two beats in a row. It’s probably from all the sugar I just ate, she tried to convince herself.
Arden leaned the ladder against the double wood storage shed and climbed a few steps to inspect the roof a final time before it was picked up for delivery the following day. Made from rough-cut lumber, the structure required no painting, which was a relief, since painting was the task Arden favored the least. As it was, he was dreading painting the inside of the playhouse. Although the cost of any building they constructed included a painted exterior, Ivan and Arden agreed it wasn’t worth it to them in terms of time to paint the interiors, so they left that chore to the customers. Mrs. McGregor, however, had insisted she’d pay extra if they’d accommodate her request this one time. It was important to her that the playhouse be delivered in “move-in–ready condition,” as she put it, which was also why she’d supplied her daughter’s favorite hue of paint.
It’s strange, the things Englischers will indulge in, he thought. And even stranger what they won’t. He could understand why too many sweets could be bad for a person—it didn’t take a medical degree to realize how important a healthy diet was—but he took Rachel’s ex-boyfriend’s opinion about sticky buns as a criticism of the Amish lifestyle. It’s probable some of us eat more sweets than Englischers, but our desserts aren’t loaded with preservatives. Not to mention, we get a lot more exercise than the average Englischer, and we’ve been eating farm-to-table food since long before they came up with the term.
Arden hopped down from the ladder and glanced across the room at Rachel, who was holding a paper in one hand and running her finger down another paper that lay flat on the desk. She appeared to be cross-referencing documents. Arden hoped she could figure out her brother’s abbreviations, notes and figures, because Arden sure wouldn’t be able to offer any input—a fact he didn’t want her to discover. Someone who dates a doctor would find it hard to fathom how a grown man can’t comprehend simple record-keeping.
Rachel happened to look up and caught him watching her. Giving a little smile, she asked, “Is there something you need from me?”
“I—I wanted to be sure the pickup is scheduled for this shed for tomorrow.”
She set down the paper she was holding and opened the planner; like Ivan, she was very organized and had already decluttered the desk. After surveying it, she rose and brought the planner to him. Pointing at a line halfway down the page, she said, “I think this PU means pickup, right? But what’s RCWS? The customer’s initials?”
Arden chewed the inside of his cheek. He would have been hard-pressed to answer even if Rachel hadn’t been standing so close to him, but he was especially distracted by the little scar above her right cheekbone. It reminded him of a tiny chip in a delicate teacup. “I, uh, I think the cu-customer’s last name is Johnston. There should be a customer folder in the filing cabinet.”
“I’ll check on the name and address, but that still won’t tell me if the pickup has been scheduled. To be safe, I’d better call the trucking company,” she decided. Motioning to the shed, she remarked, “It’s beautiful. I love the look of natural wood. What do you call wood like that?”
“The wood is cedar, but the way it is sawn is called rough cut. I like rough-cut sheds best myself, too.”
“That’s it!” Rachel grabbed his forearm. “RCWS means rough-cut wood shed.”
It was either her hand on his arm or sheer embarrassment about his ignorance that was making Arden feel overly warm. He pulled away and reached to retract the ladder so she couldn’t see his face. “Jah, that makes sense. Sorry, I must have forgotten.”
“Don’t apologize—it’s a crazy recording system. I’m just hallich we cracked the code.”
Relieved Rachel didn’t think he was a dolt for not knowing the acronym, Arden confessed, “To be honest, Ivan takes care of most of the paperwork around here, so your guess is as gut as mine when it comes to figuring it out—actually, your guess is better than mine.”
“If that’s true, it’s because I’m related to him. Our minds must be wired the same way.” Rachel’s eyes twinkled with more green than brown today. “Which probably explains why we were so close as kinner.”
“Seems like you’re still pretty close, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked for your help,” Arden acknowledged, which seemed to brighten Rachel’s expression even more.
“Do you have other brieder or schweschdere?”
“Neh, just Grace,” he answered. “She lives with me, along with my mamm. I moved here from Indiana when I heard about the opportunity to work with Ivan. Then I brought my mamm and Grace out after my daed died a few years ago.”
“Do you miss your community in Indiana?”
“Jah, but this is my community now. It’s where my familye and my kurrich familye live, so it’s home to me.”
A shadow crossed Rachel’s face, and Arden realized he might have sounded as if he were judging her for leaving the Amish, which he wasn’t. That’s what happened when he volunteered too much information—he said the wrong things even if he managed to use the right words.
“That reminds me, I’m going to visit Hadassah during my lunch break today,” Rachel said. “I’ll take the business phone with me, in case a customer calls.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Arden asked. He meant was she sure she wanted to take the business phone, but she must have thought he was asking if she was sure she wanted to visit Hadassah.
“Jah. I’m going to offer her and Colin a ride to the hospital whenever they want to visit Ivan,” she answered. “And that offer is open to anyone in the community, including you.”
Given how quickly rumors spread in Serenity Ridge, Arden couldn’t imagine traveling alone with any woman, much less with a woman who’d “gone Englisch.” Still, he thanked her for her thoughtful offer, and they resumed working until their one o’clock lunch break.
“I left your sugar fix wrapped up in the bottom drawer,” Rachel said with a sassy grin before she exited the workshop.
“My sugar fix?”
“Jah, the sticky buns, remember? I’m not going to eat any more of those since I have plenty at the haus, so help yourself. There’s four left.”
“Only four?” he joked back. “The Amish require six servings of fresh goodies a day.”
“Ach, I forgot,” she said, pretending to smack her forehead. “I’ll bring more tomorrow.”
It made Arden inexplicably happy that he could still hear her laughing even after she’d closed the door behind her.
Rachel hesitated in the driveway, wondering whether she should drive or take the buggy. She didn’t want to offend Hadassah by showing up in a car, but she didn’t have a lot of time to spare, so she went inside to fetch her keys. Passing a mirror, she realized she should do something to her hair, which hung loosely about her face and shoulders. It would have been hypocritical to pull it back in a bun the way the Amish women did, but out of respect to her sister-in-law, she brushed it into a ponytail. She was already wearing a long navy blue skirt, and while her cotton top was short-sleeved—most Amish women in Serenity Ridge wore sleeves that covered their elbows—it was plain white and had a modest neckline.
Although she’d felt encouraged her attempt to break the ice with Arden had been so successful, when Rachel pulled into the driveway leading to Colin and Hadassah’s home, she lost her confidence. She didn’t expect to be welcomed, but what if her sister-in-law wouldn’t even acknowledge her? There was only one way to find out. As she followed the path to the house, Rachel carefully avoided the puddles leftover from yesterday’s rain. Muddy shoes would give Hadassah an extra reason not to invite her in, and Rachel really wanted to meet her nieces and nephews who hadn’t yet been born by the time she left.
Colin and Hadassah had gotten married when Rachel was fifteen, and by the time she left home, they had one daughter, with a baby boy on the way. Two years later, Ivan wrote that Rachel’s sister-in-law had had another girl, and three years after that, another boy. Sadly, she’d lost a baby, too—Rachel had sent a letter of condolence, which, like the other letters, went unanswered. Although it would be considered too bold to inquire, she hoped Hadassah’s current pregnancy was progressing smoothly and the unborn twins were healthy.
Rachel’s legs felt weak as she reached the front porch, where a boy about five years old was sitting on the steps. “Hello,” she greeted him. “I’m your ant. You must be Thomas.”
The boy furrowed his brows. “My ant went to Canada with Onkel Albert.”
“Jah, that’s your ant Joyce. I’m your ant Rachel.”
“I don’t have an ant Rachel,” the boy contradicted. He wasn’t being rude—Rachel doubted Colin or Hadassah had told him about her. It stung, but she couldn’t blame his parents. They would have feared they’d negatively influence their children by merely presenting the possibility someone could leave the Amish.
“Would you please tell your mamm that Rachel is here to see her?”
Hadassah appeared at the screen door. “Thomas, your lunch is on the table. Take your boots off by the entrance and go join your bruder and schweschdere.” She held open the door and turned to the side so he could pass.
Squinting up at her from the bottom step, Rachel noticed Hadassah’s belly was so large she appeared to be nearing the end of her pregnancy, although with twins, it was sometimes difficult to tell. “Hello, Hadassah.” Her voice quavered as she fought to control her emotions. Her sister-in-law had always had a way of making Rachel feel she was intruding, even when Hadassah came to live in Rachel’s house.
She remained on the other side of the door. “What can I do for you, Rachel?”
Her manner told Rachel what she’d already suspected; she was going to be treated like an outsider, or at best, like a customer. You could invite me in and introduce me to my nieces and nephews. “I wanted to say hello and ask if you need a ride to the hospital. I’m hallich to—”
“Neh, we don’t want to ride in an automobile. We’ll get there on our own.”
“But it’s too far away to take the horse,” Rachel began to say. Then she realized it wasn’t that Hadassah didn’t want to ride in a car—it was that she didn’t want to ride in Rachel’s car. She swallowed, trying not to feel slighted. “Okay, well, if you change your mind, let me know. And once Ivan is discharged, please feel free to stop by the house any time.”
“Denki—I mean thank you,” Hadassah said as if Rachel no longer understood Deitsch. “It’s good to know you’re allowing Ivan’s relatives to visit him. His brothers will be so pleased.”
There, that did it; Rachel’s eyes welled with tears. “I didn’t mean I was allowing you. I meant I’d wilkom your company.” Even though you’re being terrible to me.
The silence that followed was punctuated by birdsong and the muffled conversation of the children inside. If Rachel heard correctly, her name was mentioned. She waited another moment before saying, “I’d better get back now. I’ve been helping Arden with the bookkeeping, and I’m having a hard time making heads or tails of Ivan’s notes,” she nervously admitted.
“Colin could take over if you’re struggling,” Hadassah suggested.
Rachel’s cheeks burned. Hadassah was just looking for a reason to get rid of her. “Denki, but I’ll figure it out. Besides, it keeps me busy until Ivan is discharged.”
“If you’re bored, you should consider returning to your job in the city. Joyce will be back from Ontario soon. Between the two of us and the deacon’s wife, Jaala, we can care for Ivan. We might not have nursing degrees, but we’ll see to it he recovers.”
Rachel refused to respond in kind to Hadassah’s barbed insinuations. As genuinely as she could, she replied, “Denki, but I’d rather stay here until Ivan is better. I’d wilkom your help caring for him, though. And if you change your mind about a ride, let me know...”
Rachel forgot she’d been standing on the first stair and she stumbled as she backed away, narrowly missing a puddle, but she didn’t stop moving until she reached the end of the road, where she pulled over and put the car in Park. Resting her head upon her arms on the steering wheel, she tried to gather her swirling thoughts. Why does Hadassah tear me down like that? I’m not the one who acts as if I’m better than she is—she’s got so much hochmut she’d rather pay exorbitant cab fare than accept a ride from me! And I never implied she couldn’t effectively help Ivan recover—even if I do know more about health care than she does.
The abrupt honking of a loud horn caused Rachel to lift her head and peek in the rearview mirror. She rolled down her window and motioned for the driver to go around her; there was plenty of room. You might as well pass me, she thought belligerently, because I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready to leave. And that warning went double for her sister-in-law.
Arden sighed as he put away his insulated lunch bag. Having completed the shed for pickup, he could move on to the next one. He also had a doghouse to build. Arden and Ivan frequently joked the business should be named Blank’s Little Buildings instead of Blank’s Sheds, because they accepted orders for everything from sheds to ice shanties to doghouses. They’d even built an outhouse once. As long as a building’s dimensions fell within the state’s regulations for transportation, they could make it, but Arden was looking forward to the day when they could focus solely on sheds, because they could be more efficient that way. But until their business grew, they couldn’t turn away any projects, including playhouses. Which meant this afternoon Arden had to tackle the task he least enjoyed: painting.
He’d just finished rolling paint over the first wall when someone entered the workshop. Unable to tell whether it was Rachel or a customer, he squeezed through the playhouse door. It was Rachel. Her face was blotchy and her eyes pink-rimmed, like on the day he met her. Uh-oh. Her visit with her sister-in-law must not have gone well.
Arden could sympathize; Colin’s behavior toward her the other day had been downright spiteful. You’d think under the circumstances, he’d extend Rachel a little grace. After all, Ivan had been gravely ill and Rachel was volunteering in the shop. Arden supposed it was none of his business how the Blanks interacted, but it wouldn’t hurt if he showed a little more appreciation of Rachel himself.
“Hi,” he said casually, strolling in her direction to grab a rag from the bin.
“Hi.” She barely glanced up from the planner she had already opened in front of her. “If I’m reading this right, it looks like there’s another shed that’s due on Monday.”
“Jah. I’ll get right on that as soon as I finish painting the inside of the playhouse.”
This time she paused to look up. One side of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Lavender?”
“How did you know?”
Rachel pointed to her own hair, which he noticed she’d pulled into a ponytail, to indicate he had something on his head. “The flecks gave you away.”
Arden scowled, pulling a curl straight and checking his fingers for paint. “It’s lecherich, the things the Englisch want.”
Now Rachel scowled, too. “Jah, we’re a lecherich group, aren’t we?”
“Neh, I wasn’t referring to you.”
“I’m Englisch now.”
Arden was trying to cheer her up, not offend her. He would have been better off if he’d remained inside the purple playhouse. “Jah, but—but—”
She waved her hand. “It’s okay, I agree. Some Englischers buy their kinner too much stuff they don’t need. I mean, considering the homelessness problem in our country, it seems extravagant for someone to buy a kind a playhouse she’ll outgrow in a year or two. But at least if they’re going to buy something like that, it’s schmaert they’re investing in a playhouse as nice as the one you made.”
“Denki,” Arden said as warmth traveled from his ears all the way down his spine. “I hope the customer still thinks it’s nice when it’s delivered on Friday and she sees my paint job. I’m not the best painter, and it’s close quarters in there.”
Rachel snapped her fingers. “Oh no, I forgot to reschedule the pickup for that. Listen, how about if I make the call and then I’ll do the painting so you can start on the next shed?”
Arden was taken aback. “That’s very kind, but you don’t have to do that. It’s enough that you’re managing the paperwork—”
“Really,” she insisted, looking directly at him. Maybe it was because her hair was drawn up or because she’d been crying, but she appeared pallid, almost gaunt. “There’s not enough paperwork for me to do while I’m waiting for a customer to call. Besides, I find the monotony of painting soothing. Especially when I’m using a soft color, like lavender.”
“Lavender paint has the opposite effect on me,” Arden said with a laugh. “But even with its windows open, the playhouse doesn’t have a lot of ventilation. I don’t want you to get dizzy.”
“I carry surgical masks wherever I go. I’ll grab one from my car.”
So, while Arden went to work on the next shed, Rachel painted the playhouse interior. Every once in a while he’d call out, asking how she was doing in there, and she’d indicate in a muffled voice she was fine.
Toward the end of the afternoon, she stuck her head out and pulled off the mask. “Kumme take a look. Tell me if you see any spots I’ve missed.”
Arden gingerly ducked into the playhouse—Mrs. McGregor had insisted he shouldn’t add an adult-size door to the back of the structure because she wanted the house to be “child-centric”—and straightened his posture to three-quarters of his height. Rachel was as meticulous with her painting as Ivan was about his work. “I hate to admit it, but it looks really gut.”
“Hate to admit it? Why? Because Englischers can’t paint as well as the Amish?”
“Neh, because it’s purple.”
Rachel blushed. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little defensive.”
“A little?”
She chuckled. “I think it could use another coat, don’t you?”
“It’s hard to say until this coat dries.”
“Jah, you’re right. So what color do they want the trim painted?”
“I think she called it cloud white or cotton white—it was something fluffy.” Arden instantly wished he hadn’t admitted that was how he remembered the name of the paint—he sounded so juvenile.
“Poodle white, maybe?” Rachel joked, and from the way she rolled her eyes, he recognized she was poking fun at the names of the paint colors, not at him.
Suddenly, aware of how close they were to one another—not that there was any other way to position themselves in such a tight space—he felt heady and needed air. “I think the fumes are getting to me,” he said. As he backed toward the door, he inadvertently stepped on the rim of the paint tray, upending it.
“Oh neh!” Rachel tried to scoop the spilled paint from the floor with her hands.
“Here, let me help,” Arden offered, snatching the nearby rag. As he bent to swab the floor, she stood up, catching him beneath his chin, and he staggered backward. She reached for his arms to keep him from knocking into the wall, but it was too late; he could feel his shirt dampen with paint along his shoulders as well as on his arms where Rachel had clutched them.
“I am such a kl-l-lutz. I am so sorry. I ruined your wall.”
“I’m sorry. I ruined your shirt. Look—your sleeves have handprints on them.”
“Purple, my favorite color,” Arden quipped as he gave Rachel the rag so she could wipe off her fingers. He twisted his torso to inspect his lower pant leg. A thick glob of paint dribbled down his calf to his ankle. “At least my shirt is color coordinated with my trousers.”
That sent them into peals of laughter. Every time they tried to stop laughing, they’d start again, harder than before, until they were nearly breathless. Suddenly, Rachel went quiet. She held a lavender fingertip in the air in front of her lips. Arden listened. Someone had entered the workshop.
“Arden?” a man called.
Arden scrunched his shoulders forward so he wouldn’t rub against the door frame as he exited the playhouse and Rachel followed. Colin was standing a few yards away, shaking his head. “What is going on here?”
“W-we—we,” Arden stuttered, both embarrassed and angry. He could imagine how ridiculous he and Rachel looked, but who was Colin to demand to know what was going on in his workshop?
“We spilled paint,” Rachel said, an edge in her voice.
“That much is clear,” Colin retorted. “Spilling paint is a waste of money—and time. It hardly seems like a laughing matter.”
“I guess that depends on how good your sense of humor is,” Rachel shot back. Sometimes it was difficult to say whether Colin was goading her or she was the one goading Colin, but Arden wished they’d both knock it off.
“Is—is Ivan okay?” he asked, concerned about the reason for Colin’s visit.
“Jah. I spoke with the dokder this morning, and he said Ivan should be discharged by the end of the week. It would be a shame if he came back to find the workshop like this.” He pointed at the hem of Arden’s pants, which were dripping paint onto the floor.
So that Rachel wouldn’t have a chance to interject a snippy reply, Arden quickly said, “Praise Gott. Denki for coming all this way to share the gut news with us, Colin.”
“Jah, well...” Colin seemed thwarted by Arden’s expression of gratitude. “I also brought you this estimate of Ivan’s hospital bill. It’s based on the premise he’ll be in the hospital another four or five days. They won’t tally the final amount until he’s discharged, but I understand you and Ivan use your business earnings to cover medical bills. This will give you an idea of whether you can pay it or not.”
The Amish oftentimes negotiated a steep discount with health-care providers by paying their bills in full at the time services were rendered. Ivan had always been more than generous in using their business profits to help cover Arden’s mother’s medical expenses, even forgoing his own salary on occasion. Now Ivan was the one who needed financial help. Arden had no doubt the community would cover whatever portion of Ivan’s bill they could. But the collective funds were stretched to the limit, and he didn’t want to strain them further. Arden knew roughly how much money he and Ivan had in their business account, and he could give up his salary for a couple of weeks, but with his mother sick, he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t need to see a doctor again soon, too. Then what would happen? He didn’t want Colin to find out they were financially strapped, lest he argue their situation was more evidence of why they should close their shop.
“Denki.” Arden held out his hand for the estimate; his palm and fingertips were purple.
Colin shook his head. “I’ll leave it on the desk so you can read it once you and Rachel are finished...spilling paint.”
“What a grump,” Rachel muttered as the door shut behind her brother. “So listen, I think the best thing is for you to take off your boots right there. Otherwise, you’re going to leave purple prints everywhere you walk.” She giggled, but Arden was no longer in a joking mood. She must have caught on, because she strode to the rag bin and returned with several more rags.
Blotting paint from his boots and pants, Arden realized Colin was right; he had wasted both money and time this afternoon, and he hoped Colin wouldn’t tell Ivan about the paint incident. It wasn’t so much that Arden cared about Colin’s opinion as it was that Arden wanted Ivan to be confident Arden was doing everything that needed to be done in order to cover the hospital bill and meet their financial goals for the spring. And because the sooner Arden completed a project, the sooner he got paid, he was going to have to increase his productivity and decrease his distractions. Which means keeping my conversations with Rachel to a minimum, Arden decided. Starting now.
“I’m going to work late tonight, but after you’ve cleaned up the paint mess, you should leave for the evening,” he told her when he finished wiping off his clothes.
“Are you sure? I could help—”
But Arden cut her off. “Jah, I’m sure,” he said. I’m absolutely positive.