Charlotte turned and looked out her window just in time to see a powder-puff-blue building with a giant neon-pink ice cream cone sign out front. “I’m okay.” She thought she was anyway. Last night, she’d dreamt of her final curtain call. She’d made her exit without anyone knowing. She didn’t have a party or flowers or any kind of celebration—she’d simply walked away.
She hadn’t even said goodbye. Jameson had probably been hurt by that. He’d been her partner for a long time now. Leaving like that hadn’t been fair to him, but Charlotte was so afraid of losing her nerve.
Part of her missed it. At times, her body still moved, almost instinctively, like when she was waiting for her tea to steep the night before and found herself up on her tiptoes, assuming the position the way she had in countless classes over the years.
But she wasn’t willing—at least not yet—to say she’d made a mistake.
“Jules always said you were something special,” Lucy said. “Said everyone knew it except you.”
Charlotte’s mind raced back over a decade when her first critical review released. She was so relieved when she read it, thankful this notoriously hard-to-please critic had mostly positive things to say about her performance. She’d been so proud until Marcia pointed out that he’d called Charlotte “beautifully graceful if somewhat delicate.” It was a tiny criticism sandwiched between several compliments, but it was the only thing Marcia seemed to take away from that article.
“You wouldn’t understand, Lucy,” Charlotte said. “You have amazing friends and a job you love and people to share your happiness with. You’ve gone on dates and had boyfriends and you’ve got a closet full of the kind of clothes you actually leave the house in. I don’t have any of that.”
“No, but you had countless adoring fans applauding your every move.”
Charlotte stilled. “I guess maybe I want someone to love the parts of me that no one’s cheering for.” She’d only realized it just now. “And I kind of want to be around people who want to know me as a person—not only as a dancer.”
Lucy pulled into a parking place in the lot of a gorgeous white church, put the car in park, and looked at her. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Charlotte nodded but found herself unable to respond thanks to the obtrusive lump in her throat.
Keep it together.
They emerged from the car, walked toward the front of the church, and instantly Charlotte was overcome with anxiety. What if she stood up at the wrong time or people stared at her? What if they made her say her name out loud in front of everyone or kicked her out for wearing a semi-gaudy red belt and shoes?
She followed Lucy through the front door and into the lobby, where they were greeted by a sweet woman named Beverly, who Lucy told her was related to Quinn somehow—stepmom or something? Beverly had a genuinely motherly way about her, though she was nothing like Charlotte’s mother. Probably more like the kind of mother Jules was.
“Charlotte was a friend of Julianna’s,” Lucy said.
Beverly took Charlotte’s hands. “We’re all so sad about what happened.”
“Me too.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here today,” Beverly said with a warm smile. She handed them each a program and sent them on their way.
As they walked toward the sanctuary, Lucy stopped to talk to nearly every person they passed, dragging Charlotte along like she was a bird with a broken wing. Charlotte smiled as Lucy introduced her to everyone, she was Julianna’s friend, and it wasn’t until Lucy stopped in the middle of the aisle to chat with a Sunday school teacher named Delia that Charlotte took a second to look around.
Her eyes circled the sanctuary, which was surprisingly spacious given that the church didn’t appear to be all that large from the outside. Rows of pews lined the room with a long aisle down the center. The planked wood floor had a rustic look to it, and the walls were painted white.
People milled around like it was social hour, and though Lucy had done a good job of informing many of them who her not from around here guest was, there was still a curiosity on most of the faces that looked her way.
Self-consciousness washed over her. Charlotte wasn’t used to attention like this. She was used to the kind of attention she couldn’t really see. She’d always been grateful for the stage lights because they blinded her to the individual faces watching her perform. Out there, it was just her and the music.
In here, though, she felt like she was standing naked on a stage with all the lights on.
She glanced back at Lucy, who was still chatting away, and wished she could plop down on the pew and hide.
Did they all know she didn’t belong here? She didn’t exactly look like the rest of them. She’d spent her life believing God was this strange celestial being that liked to toy with the emotions of the people scurrying around on the earth, and blaming Him for saddling her with a mother as controlling and awful as Marcia Page. That’s on the rare occasion she thought of Him at all.
But now that she stood here, supposedly to worship Him, she wasn’t sure she could ever reconcile her anger with Him for taking Julianna.
These were the things she was thinking when she happened to glance toward the very back corner of the church where a familiar, sturdy form sat, eyes fixed squarely on her.
She didn’t dare look away.
Cranky Cole Turner at church—who would’ve imagined? Had he come to get washed clean after behaving poorly toward her?
Who was she kidding? No way he was even giving her a second thought. And yet, if that was true, then why was he still watching her?
“Lucy, can we sit?” Charlotte whispered as the music started and the milling seemed to lessen.
“Oh my goodness, of course. So sorry.” Lucy moved into the pew where they’d been standing the last five minutes, making sure there was room enough for both of them before taking her seat.
Charlotte sat next to her and let out a deep sigh, keenly aware that throughout this entire church service, Cole Turner could watch her from behind and she would never know.
Also keenly aware that she wished it was the other way around.
8
Cole sat in the very last pew in the back of Harbor Pointe Community Church, trying to focus on the service, but he found himself terribly distracted.
Amelia and AJ sat beside him, both unusually quiet. He’d picked them up that morning and found them sitting on the steps, dressed for church. He put the truck in park and watched them for a brief moment, wishing he could take away their pain.
Wishing someone would take away his.
Connor wasn’t ready to face the church crowd—or any crowd—and while he hadn’t said so, Cole had connected the dots and determined that his brother-in-law might be wrestling with some anger toward the good Lord above.
He knew a little something about that. After all, he hadn’t been back here that long himself.
His eyes darted from the stage to Charlotte then back to the stage.
Then back to Charlotte.
He’d seen her twice before, and both times, he’d been struck by her beauty. But seeing her now, in that dress, with her dark hair in long waves that hung past her shoulders, well, it stirred something in him he thought died the day Gemma left.