Slipping her gloves from her fingers, she stuffed them into her pockets and rolled her suddenly stiff shoulders. As she entered the large common room, Pastor Jacobson spotted her and came forward, his ruddy face open and smiling.
“Amy, you made it.” He offered his hand, swallowing hers in his much larger one. The forty-something former pro wrestler was the size of Paul Bunyan with an equally big heart.
She returned the smile and unwound a thick scarf from her neck. “I must be early. Where is everyone?”
“You may be it,” he said. “A scout troop was scheduled for tonight but something’s going on at the school and they canceled. With time short, we’re falling behind, so Rafe comes in most nights for a few hours. You’re a blessing for volunteering to help him.”
Blessing? She sure didn’t feel that way, and when Rafe appeared from the kitchen area toting a box labeled “green beans,” she wished she’d not come at all.
“No one else volunteered?”
“A few others may pop in. You never know.” Pastor patted her shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m headed over to the hospital. Sadie took a fall. Keep her in your prayers.”
Amy stared in dismay at the pastor’s departing back. Just like that, she was alone with Rafe Westfield. All day she’d considered backing out. Now she wished she had. But when she’d mentioned working late at the gift shop, her mom had pushed her out the door.
Behind her, Rafe slammed a box onto a table. Amy spun around.
“Hi,” he said, calm as could be. “Thanks for volunteering. We’re shorthanded.”
Amy swallowed a flutter of nerves. “So I see.”
“Might as well take off your coat and get comfortable. There’s a lot to do.”
Get comfortable? That was not likely to happen. But she shed her coat and hat, wondering how she’d gotten into this miserable situation.
“Look, I—uh...” She pressed her lips together, trying to think of a reason to leave but nothing came. The truth was she loved this project, had volunteered all through high school and beyond. Why should she allow an unimportant man to take that pleasure from her the way he’d taken her heart? With a soft exhale, she said, “Tell me where to start.”
She could do this. She would do this. Rafe didn’t need to know how awkward she felt. Or that the anger and resentment of their broken engagement simmered just beneath the surface of civility. Resentment she’d thought was long gone.
Rafe zipped a knife along the top of a box and flipped up the flaps.
“We set up empties on those tables,” he said, pointing, “and the finished ones over there. And these are the donated items to pull from.”
“Just like always.”
“Yes. Like old times.”
Old times? She didn’t think so. In old times, this would have been fun. They would have laughed and teased and made a game of sorting and packing. He would have tossed a bag of rice at her and later, when he wasn’t looking, she would have taped his shoe to the floor. Between the pranks and hijinks, they would have talked about any and everything and planned their holiday adventures.
Those times were as gone as their love.
Stiff as a mid-January icicle, Amy took a list and began sorting through random items donated by service groups and individuals. Several minutes passed while neither spoke. The tension in Amy’s neck tightened. She was intensely aware of Rafe’s every movement, of being alone with him for the first time since their break-up. The huge, mostly empty hall echoed with painful silence, except for the rattle of cans and scrape of boxes. She could even hear herself swallow!
“A-w-k-w-a-r-d,” she muttered to a can of yams.
“Did you say something?”
Amy didn’t look up. She didn’t need to look to know Rafe was burning her with a questioning stare. “Nothing.”
Tin cans clattered against the brown Formica tabletops while she repeated her mantra. She was doing this for Jesus and the needy. Rafe could go take a leap in a snowbank. She didn’t like him. He’d left her, broken her heart. She could work beside him for the sake of others. He would not affect her.
As if he read her thoughts, Rafe moved his half-filled box directly across from hers so they were standing face-to-face. His gray-blue eyes searched hers. “You all right?”
“Fine.”
He nodded, all the while stacking canned goods into a box with automated efficiency. Tension simmered. If he didn’t feel it and get the message that she didn’t want to talk to him, he was an insensitive slob.
“Snowglobe’s a great place to be during the holidays,” he said, rattling boxes of macaroni and cheese.
Really? Then why had he left? “It’s a great place to be any time.”
If he comprehended the jab, he dodged it. “Spokane must have agreed with you.”
“What?” Frowning, she glanced up. “Why?”
“You look good.”
“Oh. Well. Thanks. I enjoyed the time there.”
“Your mother seems really happy to have you home.”
“She is.” Now shut up and leave me alone. And stop looking at me as if you’re even the slightest bit interested in my life.
“Are you happy about taking over the shop?”
Amy suppressed a sigh. He was as insensitive as she’d thought. “For the most part. I’ve missed the small-town things we do at Christmas. The tree lighting, caroling door-to-door.”
“I’m looking forward to those myself. The ski race, too.”
She resisted the urge to ask why he’d changed his mind and come home. She didn’t want to care why he did anything.
When she didn’t speak, another uncomfortable silence fell. With an inner groan, Amy wondered which was worse, talking to Rafe or dealing with the awkward silence.
She stacked four cans of corn into a box and stole a glance toward the doorway. Not another soul anywhere around.
When she could bear the quiet no longer, she asked, “Are you competing?”
“In the race?” He shook his head. “No, but Jake is. I’m minding the store. The recreational rental business should be brisk when tourists hit town.”
“So, how’s that working out for you?”
With a box of stuffing in each hand, he grinned, transforming his serious expression into a thing of beauty. Thick lines radiated from the corner of his eyes, lines that hadn’t been there five years ago. A pinch of concern prodded Amy. She wasn’t stupid or uninformed. She knew where he’d been for most of his military career, and now she wondered what kind of toll war had taken on the breezy young athlete she remembered.
“I play with big boys’ toys all day,” he said. “Can’t beat a job like that.”
She studied him, bothered by her thoughts and this sudden, unwanted curiosity about his life. “Business must be good.”
“We’re doing all right. You should come by sometime and check us out. Take a spin on one of the new Arctic Cats.” Using a black marker, he labeled a filled box and set it aside.
“Maybe I’ll do that.” When Antarctica melts. Though she was itching to ask why he’d left the military, she refrained, struggling not to care one way or