irritably. “But only because you used the magic word.”
Matt, like Andy, seemed to have a Teflon coating when it came to sarcasm. He dropped into the chair opposite Jake’s desk instead of running for cover.
“We had a lot more boys show up yesterday than we anticipated, praise God.”
Jake couldn’t argue with that. It was a praise. New as he was to a life of faith, answered prayer still blew him away. But that didn’t mean he trusted the look in Matt’s eyes.
“I did volunteer for the prayer team, remember?”
“You can be on the prayer team.”
“Good—”
“ And serve as a mentor.”
“What makes you so sure I can do this?” Jake’s hands fisted on the desk.
“What makes you sure you can’t?” Matt countered mildly.
Because I’m not sure I have anything valuable to offer, Jake wanted to say. How could he be a good influence on a person when he hadn’t noticed his best friend drifting closer to the line between right and wrong? But he wasn’t ready to share that story. Not even with Matt.The physical wounds he’d suffered had healed faster than the emotional ones.
“I have no idea how to relate to kids.” Frustration leeched into his voice. “If God wants me to be involved in something, shouldn’t it at least be something I’m good at?”
Something that didn’t make him feel totally in-adequate?
“You must be better than you think.” Matt leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head. “One of the boys specifically requested you.”
“Requested me?” Jake couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t mingled with the boys at the picnic the day before. He hadn’t joined in the games with the pastor and Quinn O’Halloran. In fact, the only boy he’d had any interaction with at all had been…
Jake’s head jerked up and he met Matt’s amused gaze.
“That’s right. Jeremy Barlow.”
The name brought Jake to his feet. “Are you saying that Emma agreed to let Jeremy participate?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ll never be able to convince her.”
“You’re probably right.” Matt’s smiled turned smug. “That’s why I’m hoping you can.”
I’ll trust that You know what You’re doing, God.
Jake muttered the prayer five minutes later as he crossed Main Street. Veering toward the one-story brick building on the corner, he followed the cobblestone walkway to the door and paused to read the bronze plaque before going inside.
The building had once housed the first one-room schoolhouse in the county. Vacant for years, it had beensaved from being turned into a parking lot by a group of citizens who later formed the local historical society.
The details were printed in letters so small that Jake had to squint to read them. But he did—because knowing local history was important.
Not because he was stalling.
And not because he was sure that he was the last person Emma expected—or wanted—to walk into the library.
Jake slipped inside the building, careful not to let the door slam shut behind him. It was the first time he’d been inside the library. Sunlight poured through the lace curtains, creating stencils on the gleaming hardwood floor. Bookshelves fanned out like the spokes of a wheel from the massive circular oak desk in the center of the room. The air smelled like lemon polish.
The order and tidiness reminded him of a certain librarian.
Jake looked around. There was no sign of Emma.
He was about to ring the bell when he heard a voice coming from the back of the room. Jake followed the sound through the maze of tables and suddenly felt as if he’d fallen through a rabbit hole. Everything around him suddenly shrank in size. The tables and chairs. The bookshelves.
Behind a portable room divider, painted in bright colors and cut out to resemble a storybook forest scene, he heard a soft giggle.
“‘Watch what I do! I’ll bake cookies and bread. Yummy pies, tarts and cakes,’ Chef Charlotte said…”
The lilting voice sounded vaguely familiar.
Jake moved
Matt, like Andy, seemed to have a Teflon coating when it came to sarcasm. He dropped into the chair opposite Jake’s desk instead of running for cover.
“We had a lot more boys show up yesterday than we anticipated, praise God.”
Jake couldn’t argue with that. It was a praise. New as he was to a life of faith, answered prayer still blew him away. But that didn’t mean he trusted the look in Matt’s eyes.
“I did volunteer for the prayer team, remember?”
“You can be on the prayer team.”
“Good—”
“ And serve as a mentor.”
“What makes you so sure I can do this?” Jake’s hands fisted on the desk.
“What makes you sure you can’t?” Matt countered mildly.
Because I’m not sure I have anything valuable to offer, Jake wanted to say. How could he be a good influence on a person when he hadn’t noticed his best friend drifting closer to the line between right and wrong? But he wasn’t ready to share that story. Not even with Matt.The physical wounds he’d suffered had healed faster than the emotional ones.
“I have no idea how to relate to kids.” Frustration leeched into his voice. “If God wants me to be involved in something, shouldn’t it at least be something I’m good at?”
Something that didn’t make him feel totally in-adequate?
“You must be better than you think.” Matt leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head. “One of the boys specifically requested you.”
“Requested me?” Jake couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t mingled with the boys at the picnic the day before. He hadn’t joined in the games with the pastor and Quinn O’Halloran. In fact, the only boy he’d had any interaction with at all had been…
Jake’s head jerked up and he met Matt’s amused gaze.
“That’s right. Jeremy Barlow.”
The name brought Jake to his feet. “Are you saying that Emma agreed to let Jeremy participate?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ll never be able to convince her.”
“You’re probably right.” Matt’s smiled turned smug. “That’s why I’m hoping you can.”
I’ll trust that You know what You’re doing, God.
Jake muttered the prayer five minutes later as he crossed Main Street. Veering toward the one-story brick building on the corner, he followed the cobblestone walkway to the door and paused to read the bronze plaque before going inside.
The building had once housed the first one-room schoolhouse in the county. Vacant for years, it had beensaved from being turned into a parking lot by a group of citizens who later formed the local historical society.
The details were printed in letters so small that Jake had to squint to read them. But he did—because knowing local history was important.
Not because he was stalling.
And not because he was sure that he was the last person Emma expected—or wanted—to walk into the library.
Jake slipped inside the building, careful not to let the door slam shut behind him. It was the first time he’d been inside the library. Sunlight poured through the lace curtains, creating stencils on the gleaming hardwood floor. Bookshelves fanned out like the spokes of a wheel from the massive circular oak desk in the center of the room. The air smelled like lemon polish.
The order and tidiness reminded him of a certain librarian.
Jake looked around. There was no sign of Emma.
He was about to ring the bell when he heard a voice coming from the back of the room. Jake followed the sound through the maze of tables and suddenly felt as if he’d fallen through a rabbit hole. Everything around him suddenly shrank in size. The tables and chairs. The bookshelves.
Behind a portable room divider, painted in bright colors and cut out to resemble a storybook forest scene, he heard a soft giggle.
“‘Watch what I do! I’ll bake cookies and bread. Yummy pies, tarts and cakes,’ Chef Charlotte said…”
The lilting voice sounded vaguely familiar.
Jake moved
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