he’d fiddled with Beth’s drawing instead of doing what she’d asked him to do.
“You let me down.”
Her remembered words stung on a variety of levels. He’d been taught to honor his commitments, and it created a sense of disappointment in himself that he hadn’t followed through on what had been expected. Deeper than that, though, was Beth’s lack of understanding that he wasn’t trying to let her down—he was trying to help. There had been something wrong with her design, and he had discovered the needed element to bring out the dimension.
He wished she’d at least looked at what he’d done before flinging out an accusation and storming off. Hadn’t she figured out by now that he wanted what was best for her? For them? Sighing, Andrew picked up a little whisk broom and began cleaning up the work area.
Sometimes he wondered if his fascination with Beth was unhealthy. She was so different from the other girls in the community. And it was much more than the way she dressed. She was self-reliant, a freethinker. She didn’t let anybody tell her what to do. Some perceived this as pigheaded, but Andrew preferred to think of it as independent. He admired it.
And at the same time, he resented it. An independent person didn’t need anybody else. Andrew wanted Beth to need him. One thing was certain: He needed her if he wanted to use his artistic abilities full-time.
His cleanup finished, he yawned and reached for his coat. Outside, full dark had fallen, letting him know without looking at a clock that it was well past his normal bedtime. But before heading out the door, he glanced once more at the worktable. Returning to the table, he took a moment to arrange the suncatchers in a neat line.
When Beth came in tomorrow morning, she would see he had honored his commitment. She’d teasingly told him to make half a dozen. He’d done it. She would see she needed him as much as he needed her.
SEVEN
A dull ache throbbed at the base of Beth’s skull as she brushed her teeth. Straightening from bending over the sink, a wave of dizziness hit, and she grabbed the porcelain basin to steady herself.
“Whew, I hope I’m not coming down with something.”
Her equilibrium restored, she headed to the bedroom to dress. It was early for her to be up—especially for a Saturday—but she didn’t know when Sean McCauley would be stopping by, and she needed to be ready.
Her hands trembled slightly as she slipped on a fuzzy sweater, and again she wondered if she was getting sick. But then she shook her head, reminding herself of her restless night. Of course she felt wimpy this morning. It had been well after two when she looked at the clock last, which meant she’d had fewer than five hours of sleep.
“Once I get some coffee in me, I’ll be fine,” she encouraged herself as she sat on the edge of the bed to tie her sneakers. Bending down that way made her head spin, and she added through gritted teeth, “And I better eat something, too.”
She considered going to the café for breakfast. The new owner, Henry’s sister Deborah, baked the most delectable cinnamon buns.
But Saturday mornings were always busy at the café, and Beth might have to wait to be seated. She didn’t want to waste time this morning. Instead, she visited her own kitchen, frowning at the limited choices.
With a sigh, she plunked a mug of coffee left over from yesterday’s pot in the microwave and dropped two frozen waffles in the toaster. The microwave dinged just as the toaster tossed the waffles into the air. Leaning against the counter, she munched the dry, blueberry-flavored waffles and sipped the bitter liquid. Although it couldn’t compete with Deborah’s cinnamon buns and freshly brewed coffee, it filled her belly and revived her enough to go to the studio. Tucking the drawing pad containing both hers and Andrew’s designs and the thick contract beneath her arm, she headed to her vehicle for the short drive.
Cars—plain ones and
“You let me down.”
Her remembered words stung on a variety of levels. He’d been taught to honor his commitments, and it created a sense of disappointment in himself that he hadn’t followed through on what had been expected. Deeper than that, though, was Beth’s lack of understanding that he wasn’t trying to let her down—he was trying to help. There had been something wrong with her design, and he had discovered the needed element to bring out the dimension.
He wished she’d at least looked at what he’d done before flinging out an accusation and storming off. Hadn’t she figured out by now that he wanted what was best for her? For them? Sighing, Andrew picked up a little whisk broom and began cleaning up the work area.
Sometimes he wondered if his fascination with Beth was unhealthy. She was so different from the other girls in the community. And it was much more than the way she dressed. She was self-reliant, a freethinker. She didn’t let anybody tell her what to do. Some perceived this as pigheaded, but Andrew preferred to think of it as independent. He admired it.
And at the same time, he resented it. An independent person didn’t need anybody else. Andrew wanted Beth to need him. One thing was certain: He needed her if he wanted to use his artistic abilities full-time.
His cleanup finished, he yawned and reached for his coat. Outside, full dark had fallen, letting him know without looking at a clock that it was well past his normal bedtime. But before heading out the door, he glanced once more at the worktable. Returning to the table, he took a moment to arrange the suncatchers in a neat line.
When Beth came in tomorrow morning, she would see he had honored his commitment. She’d teasingly told him to make half a dozen. He’d done it. She would see she needed him as much as he needed her.
SEVEN
A dull ache throbbed at the base of Beth’s skull as she brushed her teeth. Straightening from bending over the sink, a wave of dizziness hit, and she grabbed the porcelain basin to steady herself.
“Whew, I hope I’m not coming down with something.”
Her equilibrium restored, she headed to the bedroom to dress. It was early for her to be up—especially for a Saturday—but she didn’t know when Sean McCauley would be stopping by, and she needed to be ready.
Her hands trembled slightly as she slipped on a fuzzy sweater, and again she wondered if she was getting sick. But then she shook her head, reminding herself of her restless night. Of course she felt wimpy this morning. It had been well after two when she looked at the clock last, which meant she’d had fewer than five hours of sleep.
“Once I get some coffee in me, I’ll be fine,” she encouraged herself as she sat on the edge of the bed to tie her sneakers. Bending down that way made her head spin, and she added through gritted teeth, “And I better eat something, too.”
She considered going to the café for breakfast. The new owner, Henry’s sister Deborah, baked the most delectable cinnamon buns.
But Saturday mornings were always busy at the café, and Beth might have to wait to be seated. She didn’t want to waste time this morning. Instead, she visited her own kitchen, frowning at the limited choices.
With a sigh, she plunked a mug of coffee left over from yesterday’s pot in the microwave and dropped two frozen waffles in the toaster. The microwave dinged just as the toaster tossed the waffles into the air. Leaning against the counter, she munched the dry, blueberry-flavored waffles and sipped the bitter liquid. Although it couldn’t compete with Deborah’s cinnamon buns and freshly brewed coffee, it filled her belly and revived her enough to go to the studio. Tucking the drawing pad containing both hers and Andrew’s designs and the thick contract beneath her arm, she headed to her vehicle for the short drive.
Cars—plain ones and
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