“You did what?” Sara thumped back against the bank of lockers in the employee lounge. “Are you insane?”

Rebecca pressed her fingers against her eyes. It was a distinct possibility. She hadn’t slept at all. She’d been too busy replaying the disastrous conversation with Ben. Over. And over. And over. She’d wanted him to kiss her. Desperately. He’d acted like he was thinking about it. And then she’d pulled out the ‘complicated’ line again. She moaned. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“Let’s see. Gorgeous man from your past who also happens to be a strong Christian, gainfully employed in a job where he helps the less fortunate and, oh yes, still in love with you ten years after you disappear without a trace asks you out on a date. You tell him no and that you can’t get involved with him at all. Um. Yes. You’re an idiot.” Sara threw her hands in the air. “I mean, seriously, Bec, what were you thinking?”

Rebecca winced. “When you put it that way, I’m not sure. But ten years, Sara. It’s been ten years. I’m not the same girl I was back then.”

“Get real. He’s not expecting you to be. He’s not the exact same guy, for that matter. But the only way to find out how much those changes matter, if they do, is to go out with him a few times. And I do mean a few. No more of your one date then dump philosophy.”

“I don’t...” Rebecca snapped her mouth shut at Sara’s glare. Okay, so maybe she did. But how was she supposed to get close to someone—anyone—when a future was out of the question? There’s no point.

“Why can’t you just explain it to him? Do you really think he won’t understand?”

“He might. But what if he doesn’t? What then? Then I’m completely out of luck and he’ll be out of my life forever.”

“As opposed to...?”

Rebecca pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Maybe you have a point.”

“I know I do.” Sara grinned. “Now get out there and help him get that knee back up to snuff so the two of you can go dancing.”

Rebecca snickered. “I thought I was trying to keep him around, not scare him away.”

Sara waved Rebecca toward the door.

He’d already started his exercises. He looked up, the blue of his eyes icier than she’d ever seen them. Her heart stuttered and she swallowed as her stomach began to churn. “Morning.”

“Yep.”

“Ben.”

He paused in his leg extensions and quirked a brow. “If you’re going to tell me it’s complicated again, you can save your breath. I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you won’t try explaining it to me. Maybe I could help uncomplicate things.”

Her lips twitched. The last thing he was going to do was make things simpler. Her dad had been distraught that he’d missed lunch, and a chance to meet—and grill—Ben. If she came clean, Dad would descend like a hyena to a fresh kill. She could hear the new parenting speeches already. “That’s...unlikely.”

After a long look, he nodded. “All right. Well, the doc cleared me to drive and ditch the crutches this morning. He also said I could cut back to twice a week on the PT. So I guess that makes things easier.”

“Why would it?”

He shrugged. “I’ll switch therapists. Since I have to reschedule everything anyway. That way you can go back to uncomplicated and I can try to move on.”

“Just like that?” Sara dipped her spoon into the dish of frozen yogurt and assorted toppings that sat on the table between them.

“Yeah. Here I am taking a deep breath, getting ready to ask him out on Friday, where I plan to spill the whole sordid story and he says don’t bother, he’ll just move on.” Rebecca dragged a hand through her hair. “It’s probably for the best.”

Jen tapped her spoon against her lower lip. “How can you think that, let alone say it? You’ve been hung up on him since college.”

“No I haven’t.” Rebecca frowned as she dug around a gummy bear. Seriously, who put gummy bears in frozen yogurt? They just got hard and gross.

“Oh, okay. Remind me of the names of everyone you’ve dated in the last ten years. And by dated, I don’t mean went out with one time. I need at least three dates for these people to count.” Jen scooped the gummy bear out and popped it in her mouth.

Rebecca opened her mouth, but no names came to mind. “That doesn’t prove anything. It just means I haven’t found the right guy yet.”

“Or it means you found him, ditched him, and then ruined a second chance with him.” Sara shot her a disgusted look. “Honestly. You’re hopeless. And now, since he’s yours, even though you’ve messed it up, neither of us can take a shot with him. Which is seriously unfair.”

Rebecca tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”

“That’s not what she meant.” Jen frowned at Sara. “Though he is yummy, you have to admit that, objectively speaking of course. Still, he’s also a toad, ‘cause he gives up too easily.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Rebecca’s lips in spite of herself. “Thanks. I really blew it, didn’t I?”

“Seems like it. But...maybe there’s still hope. You’re still working on the joint project at the mission, right? So it’s not like he can get completely away from you.” Sara scraped the bottom of the yogurt container. “We’ll just have to strategize.”

“What are you doing here?” Jerry strolled into the common room of the mission where Rebecca was sitting with a few of the teens who were busy with their homework. Since no one needed her help, she had her e-reader out and was trying to work her way through a research paper on new rehabilitation techniques, but her eyes kept glazing over.

“It’s better than being at home. I was hoping I could actually make some headway on this professional development reading but I’m not having any luck with that.” Rebecca shrugged.

“Ah.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “What’s wrong with being at home?”

“I don’t know. I love having my own space, but maybe I need a cat or something. When my girlfriends headed home after dinner, I just kind of ended up here. Not that I’m needed. Kira’s been doing a great job keeping everyone on track with their studies. Where is she?”

“You must have just missed her. I sent her home, she wasn’t looking good. I think she’s overdoing. I love that she wants to spend as much time as possible serving the Lord, but not if her efforts mean she has less time overall. She never complains, though I can see the treatment’s leaving her exhausted. Her parents say being here is the best medicine so I try to keep my worry to myself.” Jerry rubbed his neck, his own exhaustion evident. “Anyway, how’s the work with Bread of Heaven going?”

“It’s all been email so far. Lots and lots of email. I had no idea planning a donor open house could involve quite that many words. I mean really, what’s to plan? You choose a date and time, figure out the food, send invitations. Done. Right?”

Jerry chuckled. “You’re asking the wrong person. You notice we’ve never done events, right? They’re simply not my forte. Honestly, the Board was so excited that B of H wanted to combine efforts, I think they would’ve agreed to participate even if we lost money on the prospect.”

Rebecca frowned. Losing money was a valid concern, and not something to joke about. “Well, they may still get their wish. B of H doesn’t do anything half-way. The list of caterers they sent is way, way out of the realm of reasonable as far as I’m concerned. I don’t understand why we can’t just get boxes of frozen, bite-sized things from the warehouse store and cook ‘em up on site. You’ve got a reasonably talented kitchen staff who could handle that.”

“It’s the marketing mindset. You don’t impress the big donors with reheated mini-quiches.”

She scoffed. “Assuming any big donors even come. Besides which, I can think of one big donor who’d be more impressed with an event that cost less than five grand to host. And that’s on the low end.”

Jerry winced. “At least we’re splitting the cost with them.”

“That is the split cost.”

He coughed. “Oh. Wow.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure how they think fancy food and a tour through our gardens is going to open pockets. Are there really people who don’t know we’re down here?” Rebecca crossed her arms. If people paid any attention, they had to know something like this was around. Then it was a simple matter of an Internet search or asking around at church. It’s not like it’s hard to find places to give.

Jerry watched her quietly.

“What?”

“What else is going on? You’re as close to angry as I’ve ever seen you, and I’ve seen people go out of their way to try to annoy you.”

She blew out a breath. Why did the open house bug her so much? “I guess I’m just annoyed that it takes a big international hunger relief agency to draw attention to the fact that there are families within ten miles of the nation’s capital who go to bed with growling stomachs every night. Are they at the same level of poverty as kids in Africa? Okay, maybe not, but they have just as little assurance of their next meal as those kids. Why is food insecurity considered less important at the local level? We shouldn’t need a big open house and fundraiser to get attention; people should be looking for ways to help that go beyond dropping off the extra can of pumpkin puree at the food bank on Thanksgiving.”

Jerry fought a smile. “We do get an awful lot of pumpkin puree. And spinach. I’m not sure who decided canning spinach was a good plan, but if the food bank shelves are any indication, the primary reason people buy it is to donate it. And we do find ways to use it—it’s better than nothing. As to why people aren’t more proactive, I can’t help you with that. I think most of us spend our lives focused on the minutia of day-to-day living and don’t think about the fact that one in eight families downtown aren’t sure where their next meal will come from. It’s easier to focus on the global problems and the fact that, as a whole, America’s wealthy and well-fed. I think people feel selfish if they give locally, like somehow they’re letting Jesus down. And that’s simply because they don’t recognize the need is as big as it is.”

“Which is the point of the open house. All right. I get it. I can’t say it sits well, but I understand at least.”

“As for the expense? That I can’t really speak to, but I do know Bread of Heaven gets a lot of support from all over, so it’s probably safe to say they know what they’re doing. I’m inclined to trust them.”

Rebecca nodded slowly. Bread of Heaven certainly had a huge budget, the majority of which went directly into their programs. She’d spent time digging around online and found only positive ratings by financial accountability watchdogs. Jerry was right. She needed to trust them. Trust Ben.

And that, right there, was the kicker.