“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in Africa. Our shoot wrapped early and we had to catch a plane.”
Her reasons, apparently, didn’t impress him much. She tried again. “I’ve thought a lot about Africa since then.”
“I’ll bet you have.”
Now what did he mean by that?
After one life-changing day at the orphanage with Eric, she’d thought of little else. She even dreamed about the profound despair and the selfless missionary with the teasing smile and the handsome face. Her life since that day had seemed empty and unfulfilling. Most people would think she was crazy, but with her career at its zenith, she’d come home to rethink her future. What did she want to do with the rest of her life?
“I’m on hiatus,” she said, straightening her smile so that only she knew it was no longer real. Obviously, Eric wasn’t as pleased to see her as she was to see him.
“That’s nice.” Eric glanced toward the clutch of gathered teenagers and motioned toward an open door. “Head for the meeting room, guys. Time to start planning.”
And then he turned his back on her and walked away.
The next two hours were both miserable and wonderful for Sam. She liked the kids in the youth group. At first, they seemed intimidated or awed by her, something she hated. But after a bit, they opened up and began tossing out ideas in earnest, no longer focused on the celebrity in their midst.
Scribbling the latest brainstorm on a yellow pad, she glanced at Eric from the corner of her eye. He had not warmed up in the least. With the kids, he was friendly and funny just as he had been in Africa, but with her he was as cold as Antarctica. What had she done, other than be who she was, to warrant his unfriendliness?
“Let’s see, we have nominations for a concession stand, a space walk and pony rides. Does anyone know where we could get ponies?” Eric pointed a pencil at Caleb, who’d sat in on the meeting. “You know most of the townsfolk better than I do. Any ideas?”
“I’ll ask around and get back to you.”
“We have to choose something simple that can be put together easily but will still make plenty of money,” Sam said.
“The concession sounds easiest to me,” Eric answered. “We could make a schedule, work shifts, assign different ones to collect the supplies.” He looked around the table. “What do the rest of you think?”
“Sounds cool to me,” Nikki answered. Of all the teens, Goth girl Nikki was the most outspoken. “I’ll make the schedule of workers.”
Several of the others groaned. Nikki was a tough taskmaster.
“Is there any reason why we can’t run two activities?” Sam asked as an idea hit.
All eyes turned to her, including Eric’s dark chocolate ones. “What do you have in mind?”
“How about a dunk tank?”
“Yes!” Jeremy said and punctuated his approval with a fist in the air. “I can think of a million people I’d pay to dunk. Starting with the school principal.”
A chorus of excited voices pitched in, adding opinions. Sam wrote them down as quickly as possible, feeling pretty good to have come up with a popular possibility. When she glanced at Eric, he was watching her. She smiled. He didn’t return it.
This voluntary position was going to be harder than she’d imagined.
After they had hashed out the initial ideas and responsibilities, Eric announced the next meeting date, then leaned back to gaze around the table. A cute smile danced at the corner of his lips. “Anybody hungry? I brought food.”
With rumbles of approval and a clatter of chairs, the teenagers rushed the pile of snacks like a swarm of hungry locusts. Potato chips and cookies flew off the table while Eric handed out sodas from an ice chest. The man understood the language of kids, whether they were American or African.
“Thanks, Eric.”
“Yeah, thanks, man.”
The kids adjourned to the TV room and plopped down to eat. Sam found a diet soda and settled onto the floor beside the girl named Gina.
“Cold?” she asked.
Gina nodded and pulled a sweater closer to her narrow body.
“She’s always cold,” Jeremy answered as he slid down beside his girlfriend, paper plate piled high with food. Though he was tall and lanky, the brown-haired boy showed the muscular promise of coming manhood. He plunked a cookie and napkin in front of Gina. “Eat.”
“I had supper.”
“You did not.” He waved the cookie under her nose. “I ate. You watched.”
Gina turned her head away from the tempting chocolate sandwich. “My stomach’s a little off today.”
With a shrug, Jeremy placed the cookie on her knee and concentrated on demolishing his own plateful. Gina picked off a tiny corner of the cookie, then placed the remainder on her boyfriend’s plate.
As Sam observed the exchange, a suspicion niggled at the back of her mind. After a bit, she shrugged it off. She didn’t know these kids yet. Her concerns were likely the result of her own long struggle with food.
She sat quietly, getting to know the group by listening to their chatter. The lively talk reminded her of the days in junior high before food had taken control of her life. Other than Eric’s odd behavior, tonight was fun and relaxing, a welcome respite from her hectic life.
Freckle-faced Tiffany obviously had a crush on Billy, but the shaggy-haired boy was clueless. Sam hid a smile when Tiffany took Billy’s empty plate and Coke can, asking if he wanted anything else. Nikki, the Goth girl with kohl-rimmed eyes and black clothes, was the obvious leader. Young Dylan stayed on the perimeter, watchful and quiet.
Samantha wanted so badly to talk to Eric the way she had in Africa. How was he? Why was he here in Virginia? How were the boys, Matunde and Amani? She still treasured the single photo of them. She’d even had it blown up and framed to sit on her dresser—if the suite of rooms being remodeled at Harcourt Mansion was ever finished.
Soda can empty, she went to find a trash can.
“In the kitchen,” Nikki called, guessing her intent.
The Youth Center had been built during Sam’s long absence from Chestnut Grove and she was unfamiliar with the layout.
Rounding a corner, she slammed into the back of a broad-shouldered man. Eric.
He turned, his ready smile fading as soon as he recognized her. With a curt nod, he said, “Excuse me,” and turned away again.
Sam caught his arm. The muscle beneath her hand tensed, rock hard.
“Eric, wait.”
Reluctance hanging on him like a baggy shirt, he complied.
“Have I offended you in some way?” she asked quietly.
“Of course not. You’ve only just arrived.”
“Then why the cold shoulder?”
Indecision came and went. Sam suspected he wanted to blow her off and escape. The honest man she’d met in Africa couldn’t do that. “You should have told me who you were. It was a pretty big shock to come home to.”
“Did it matter? Would you have treated me any differently?”
She saw the truth in his eyes. He would have. She would have been a fashion model, an object