41

The glow from the backyard beckoned to Harper as she approached Mrs. Penhearst’s house. She guessed Ben had returned home when she couldn’t find him at the festival or anywhere in town.

She could have called.

Should have called.

But what could she say? How did she explain Marco without defaming herself—proving how unworthy she was to be with Ben?

Bennett Langston was the picture of striving toward perfection. Every moment she experienced with him was filled with gentleness and generosity; so painfully opposite of Marco.

Marco.

Ugh! What was she supposed to do about Marco? The man she once believed held every hope and dream for her future in his heart, was in Gibson’s Run.

Marco caught up with her as she was walking up the steps of her mother’s house. He pleaded with her to talk, but she’d refused. How could she give Marco anymore of her life after the time she’d spent with him robbed her of her last moments with her dad?

He’d refused to leave the porch until she’d agreed to have breakfast with him. She relented and he’d retreated back toward town. As he disappeared, her thoughts zipped straight to Ben. What must he think of her?

She needed to give him some kind of explanation. Maybe the whole truth wouldn’t hurt as much when she shared it with Ben? Or maybe he would look at her with the same disgust and disdain her sisters had when she’d returned from Italy to sit by Daddy’s bedside after he slipped into a coma?

“You won’t know until you try.” Harper whispered as she pushed the gate.

Slouched low in one of the half dozen Adirondack chairs circling the wide stone fire pit, Ben seemed entranced by the rising flames. Closing the distance between them, Harper sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t question why she needed to tell him her whole truth. But she needed to share. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Ben snapped his focus to Harper. Worry and relief reflected in his gaze. He stood, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

Savoring his strength, she rested her cheek against the scratchy surface of his puffy jacket, wrapping her arms tight around his waist. The worry slowly suffocating her since the moment she’d decided to tell Ben her truth evaporated in the peace of him. She shouldn’t accept the comfort he so freely gave, but for a moment, she wanted to ignore the barriers to the future.

He pressed his lips against her forehead and the simple touch oozed through her entire body.

With a sigh, she pressed her palm against his chest and stepped back. “Ben, I have to explain.”

“Harper, you do not need to tell me anything. Your life. Your past. All of it is yours. I don’t need to know.”

“But I need to tell you.” She clasped his wide hand between hers and guided him back to the fire.

Her gaze lingered over the dancing flames. Their orange and yellow glow was mesmerizing and she clung to the comfort she found in the simple, yet chaotic movement. “I designed this extension of the back patio a couple summers ago for Mrs. Penhearst. I wanted her to have a place where she could have peace and a bit of an outdoor sanctuary.”

“Well, you certainly hit the mark. Even with the snow, the shelter and design make it pleasant to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or cocoa. Perhaps do a little star gazing or thinking.”

“Or disastrous life choice sharing?”

Ben lifted a dark green thermos and twisted open the spout. Pouring the steaming contents into the portable cup, he said, “Even the worst of problems are softened with a little hot chocolate.” He stretched the shiny cup to her. “Drink up. And know that nothing you could ever say will change my glowing opinion of you, Miss Harper Jessup.”

Heat permeated the cup, thawing her hands, but Ben’s words flamed the growing heat of attraction in her heart. This man was more than striving toward perfection—he was nearly tripping over it.

Steam from the cocoa warmed her face as she gingerly took a sip. The chocolate filled her mouth and she could taste Mrs. Penhearst’s secret. “Mmm. Vanilla, cinnamon, and dark cocoa.”

Ben nodded. “My mom learned from Aunt Lulu. Hot cocoa was my mom’s answer to getting Darcy and me to talk. When I think about her, I always seem to want a cup. I guess I’ve been drinking more than my fair share in the past week or so.”

Lowering to the chair beside him, she shifted her gaze to his profile as he stared into the fire. “Christmas is the hardest for me. Missing Daddy. He loved Christmas. He would have loved having all the grandkids around. Between my sisters and brother there are a half-dozen grandchildren now. My dad only ever met my sister, Elizabeth’s, oldest.”

Shadowed by the late December hour, he shifted in his chair and focused his gaze on her. “Harper…”

She drew in a deep breath, letting the chilled oxygen burn her lungs before her slow exhale. “When I was in college, I apprenticed for credit. I was offered a mentorship with this amazing designer in Rome.

“My mom was all for it. I was the only daughter who hadn’t joined a sorority and fallen in love within the first six weeks of college, so I think her romantic heart was hoping I would find my forever love in a café overlooking the Piazza Navona. My dad, well, he didn’t like the idea of any of his kids being more than a few miles from home—the thought of his youngest daughter flying thousands of miles away where he couldn’t see her for months was not high on his list.”

“I can understand the feeling.”

Harper was thankful the veil of darkness hid the heat lighting her cheeks with his simple words. “We fought for nearly six months—the same argument weekly at Sunday dinner. And every sibling had to add her or his perspective. None of my sisters wanted me to go. Ryland was the only one who supported my decision—not that he would say that in front of my dad. The only person who ever disagreed with my father was my mom. And, let me tell you, Nancy Jessup gave him a piece of her mind.

“On Christmas Day, I boarded a plan for JFK to make the single connection to Rome. Just like that. I defied my father for the first time in my life. It was a high I had never experienced. Independence. Don’t let anyone ever tell you rebellion doesn’t have its perks, because I floated on the feeling of being independent from my family for weeks.”

“But you seem so close to them.”

She nodded. “I am. But close knit can also be suffocating. Add to the fact I didn’t fit into the Jessup mold of star athlete and scholar—independence was intoxicating. In Rome I felt as though I could really be myself for the first time. I rented a single room in this hotel for students and I cooked most of my meals on a hot plate or bought food from a street vendor. Rome is so small, I walked to work and to the single class I was auditing at RUFA. The city is magical. History and art intertwined with a touch of romance all blanketed by the beauty of Christianity.

“A few weeks in, I was treating myself to a coffee while I sketched the Fontana del Moro, one of my favorite fountains in Rome. It was a perfect day. The sun was peeking through the clouds and yet a chill had settled deep in the bones, making the coffee all the more wonderful. I was truly the happiest I’d ever been. Then he sat beside me.”

Lifting the cooled chocolate to her lips, she tried to quiet her inner critic who shamed her on a daily basis over her relationship with Marco. Eight years later she still wondered why he sat beside her. What made him chose her with wild blonde hair and her nose in a sketchbook? Marco said God had turned his head to show him an angel. Those words used to do wicked things to Harper’s insides, but today the mere thought of God being anywhere in her relationship with Marco twisted her stomach.

“My relationship with Marco is tough to explain. If I understood his power over me during that year, I might have words but...regardless, a coffee changed the course of my life.

“Marco and I were nearly inseparable. He was in his first year working at his father’s business. During the week we both worked, and on the weekends we played. And, I am a bit ashamed to say we played hard.” She glanced at Ben and saw no judgment, only compassion. Who was this man? She lived the story and judged herself nearly on the hour.

“I was Marco’s plus one for various dinners and parties. He dressed me like a little doll and I let him. I broke every rule couching my life since childhood, and I didn’t care. That feeling of independence I had when I first came to Rome, emboldened me to say yes to everything.

“At the end of the semester, I was supposed to return home, but Marco begged me to stay. My father refused. He wanted me home, and he wanted me home before Memorial Day. I can remember screaming at him. Telling him he was ruining my life. Didn’t he realize I was in love? That I needed Marco and Marco needed me?

“My dad told me to grow up. That I couldn’t understand what real love was. I was living in a fantasy, and it was time I came home and proved I was a member of the Jessup family. I refused.

“My parents cut off all my funds, but it didn’t matter because Marco offered to pay. And I let him.

“For the next six weeks, we traveled the coast going from party to party. Marco made deals for his father and I wore pretty dresses. What you’ve read about the social elite is mostly true. And I let myself be seduced by their life.” Harper swallowed against the rising bile. She hated herself. She wished she could eradicate this part of her history; to pretend as if the Harper who danced on tables and swigged thousand-euro bottles of champagne like soda never existed. But that Harper was the rubble on which she had built her today. To stamp out old Harper, would rid herself of whom she had become. And, although today’s Harper was far from perfect, she was trying desperately to become a person her father would be proud to call a Jessup.

“Harper,” Ben said, his voice low and soothing to Harper’s spirit. “We all do things—make choices—we’d rather forget. But the bad decisions we make usually help us avoid disasters in our future.”

The first tear cut a line down Harper’s cheek leaving a salty trail across her lips. She glanced at Ben. His mouth tilted, soft and generous. His gentle spirit tugged at Harper to crawl inside and allow him to fight every battle. But she knew from past experience once he heard the rest of her story, he would no longer offer her a touch in kindness or a word of forgiveness.

Pressing a slow breath through her lips, she fixed her gaze on the dancing flames. “During the second week of August, I was scheduled to go to Marco’s parents’ home for a dinner party. My dad called and asked me to come home. I argued with him telling him Marco needed me. He had my sisters, my brother, and my mom. Marco had me. How was Dad being fair asking me to come home? My dad told me he understood. And before he hung up the phone, he told me he loved me. That was the last time I heard my dad’s voice.”

Tears sloshed over her cheeks, dripping into her chocolate. Her breath clattered through her frame. Setting the cup on the wide arm rest, she pulled her legs to her chest and gave in to the crush of sorrow filling her soul. No matter how many times she’d told the story the moment ripped open the wound of her betrayal. The pain was as fresh today as if the conversation had happened this morning. As her body shook with each wave of tears, the soft pressure of Ben’s arms curled around her.

Lifting her with the ease of a feather, he sat in her empty chair and cuddled her to his chest. His heavenly scent, amplified by the fresh wood burn of the fire, soothed Harper. Her tears slowed to a soft trickle and she lifted her focus to Ben. “I’m sorry.”

“Harper, we discussed this earlier. You never a need to apologize for tears.”

“Who are you?”

“Ben Langston.”

She chuckled and swiped the lingering wetness from her cheeks. “No, how are you so amazing? Didn’t you hear how horrible I was, or am? Why are you comforting me?”

He brushed his hand across her cheek and locked his gaze with hers. “Harper, you’re not horrible. You made an error in judgment, one which ended up having a ripple of repercussions. But you’re not irredeemable. Nothing you’ve done is bigger than the cross.” He suddenly stopped and looked skyward. A sheen crested his eyes.

“Ben?” Harper placed her gloved hand against his cheek to force his gaze to hers. “Where did you go?”

He shook his head. “Nowhere. I guess, I needed to hear those words as much as I needed to say them. Do you…or can you believe Christ is bigger than anything you can ever do?”

Her heart warmed. A slow steady heat spread from her chest to her limbs. “I do believe He is bigger.”

He shrugged. “Then no matter what you tell me or what you’ve done or what I’ve done, no matter what we’re unable to forgive in ourselves, Christ has already forgiven in each of us. Why can’t we trust Him in His promise? Why are you holding on to pain He wants to heal?”

“But my dad?”

“Harper, if your father was half the man you described, he forgave you the moment you went against him. You even said his last words to you were he loved you. He doesn’t sound like a man who would want you to sit in a vat of guilt trying to earn redemption, does he?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. She knew her father loved her and forgave her, but her heart had the need to flagellate itself to try to exercise the lingering feelings of betrayal. And yet, in this moment, staring into eyes holding kindness beyond what she deserved, her heart paused the whip and began the healing balm of forgiveness.

Daddy loved her.

His call was a day before he was to have quadruple bypass surgery and, as her mother shared later, the pain over their broken relationship hung over him. Daddy wanted her to know he loved her. He wanted his baby girl waiting for him when he woke up from surgery. But he never woke up.

“It’s so hard to let go of the guilt, you know?”

He nodded. “Guilt has been as close a friend as I could have had for the last five years.”

“I replay the last call over and over in my head. What if I had said ‘yes’ and flown home? Would he have woken up? Recovered? Would he be alive?”

“Harper, you can’t put that kind of control on your shoulders. You’re not God. You don’t decide who lives and who dies. You’re merely one of His children and He’s offering you His grace. Let Him have the weight of your dad’s death. He’s asking you to let go.”

She rested her head against Ben’s shoulder and snuggled into his embrace. Could she really release her guilt? Would letting go allow her to forgive Marco? And if she forgave Marco, would the all-consuming feelings for him that she’d kept under lock and key in her heart, come flooding back?

What would the choice mean for her life? Her choices?

What could it mean for her and Ben?