Stranger in the Shadows

“Careful. We’ve got a lot to do. It’s probably best if we don’t kill each other before we finish.” Ben’s words tickled against her hair, his palms warm against her ribs. He felt solid and safe and much too comfortable.

Chloe stepped back, forcing herself to release her white-knuckled grip on his jacket. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to run you down.”

“You didn’t even come close.” His gaze swept over her, moving from her face, to her hands and back again. “Is everything okay? You look pale.”

“I…” But what was she going to say? That she’d seen someone standing outside the church? That she thought it might be the same person who’d stood outside her burning car, watching while the flames grew? The same person who’d been in jail for eleven months? “Everything is fine. I’m just anxious to get started in the sanctuary.”

He stared hard, as if he could see beyond her answer to the truth that she was trying to hide, the paranoia and fear that had dogged her for months. Finally, he nodded. “How about we grab the coffee and get started?”

Go back into the kitchen? Back near the window that looked out onto the yard? Maybe catch another glimpse of whoever was standing near the trees. No thanks. “You go ahead. I’ll start unpacking boxes.”

She hurried back toward the sanctuary, feeling the weight of Ben’s gaze as she stepped through the double wide doors. She didn’t look back, not wanting him to see the anxiety and frustration in her face.

She’d been so sure that moving away from D.C., leaving behind her apartment, her job, starting a new life, would free her from the anxiety that had become way too much a part of who she was. Seven days into her “new” life and she’d already sunk back into old patterns and thought processes.

Her hands trembled as she pulled chocolate-colored ribbon from a box and began decorating the first pew. Long-stemmed roses—deep red, creamy white, rusty orange—needed to be attached. She pulled a bouquet from a bucket Ben had brought in and wrestled it into place, a few petals falling near her feet as she tied a lopsided bow around the stems.

“Better be careful. Opal won’t like it if the roses are bald when she gets here.” Ben moved toward her, a coffee cup in each hand, sandy hair falling over his forehead.

“Hopefully, she won’t notice a few missing petals.”

“A few? No. A handful? Maybe.” He set both cups on a pew and scooped up several silky petals. “I brought you coffee. Black. You didn’t look like the sugar and cream type.”

He was right, and Chloe wasn’t sure she was happy about it. “What gave it away?”

“Your eyes.” He didn’t elaborate and Chloe didn’t ask, just lifted the closest cup, inhaling the rich, sharp scent of the coffee and doing her best to avoid Ben’s steady gaze.

Which annoyed her. She’d never been one to avoid trouble. Never been one to back away from a challenge. Never been. But the accident had changed her.

She took a sip of the coffee, pulled more ribbon from the box, forcing lightness to her movements and to her voice. “They say the eyes are the window to the soul. If you’re seeing black coffee in mine, I’m in big trouble.”

“I’m seeing a lot more than black coffee in there.” He grabbed a bouquet of roses, holding it while Chloe hooked it in place and tied a ribbon around the stems, feeling the heat of Ben’s body as he leaned in close to help, wondering what it was he thought he saw in her eyes.

Or maybe not wondering. Maybe she knew. Darkness. Sorrow. Guilt. Emotions she’d tried to outrun, but that refused to be left behind.

She grabbed another ribbon, another bouquet, trying to lose herself in the rhythm of the job.

“The flowers look good. Are they Opal’s design, or Jenna’s?” The switch in subjects was a welcome distraction, and Chloe answered quickly.

“I’m not sure. They were designed months before I started working at Blooming Baskets.”

“Do you like it there?”

“Yes.” She just wasn’t sure how good she was at it. Digging into the bowels of a computer hard drive to find hidden files was one thing. Unraveling yards of tulle and ribbon and handling delicate flowers was another. “But it’s a lot different than what I used to do.”

“What was that?”

“Computers.” She kept the answer short. Giving a name to her job as a computer forensic specialist usually meant answering a million questions about her chosen career.

Former career.

“Sounds interesting.”

“It was.” It had also been dangerous. Much more dangerous than she ever could have imagined before Adam’s death. But that was something she didn’t need to be thinking about when she had a few dozen pews and an entire reception hall left to decorate.

Chloe pulled out more ribbon, started on the next pew and wondered how long it was going to take to complete the decorations on the rest. Too long. Unless she started working a lot faster.

She moved forward, more ribbon in her hand. Ben moved with her, his sandy head bent close to hers as he helped hold the next bunch of roses in place, his presence much more of a distraction than it should have been. “Maybe we should split up. You take the pews on the other side of the aisle. I’ll finish the ones over here.”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

Absolutely. “I just think we’ll get the job done more quickly that way.”

“Maybe, but we seem to be making pretty good headway together. Two sets of hands are definitely helpful in this kind of work.”

He had a point. A good one. If she had to hold the flowers and tie the ribbons it would probably take double the time. And time was not something she had enough of. “You’re probably right. Let’s keep going the way we are.”

“Silently?”

Chloe glanced up into Ben’s eyes, saw amusement there. “I don’t mind talking while we work.”

“As long as it’s not about the past?”

“Something like that.”

“I bet that limits conversation.”

Chloe shrugged, tying the next bow, grabbing more ribbon. “There are plenty of other things to talk about.”

“Like?”

“Like what Opal’s going to say if she gets here and we’re not done.”

The deep rumble of Ben’s laughter filled the air. “Point taken. I’ll lay off the questions and move a little faster.”

Four hours later, Chloe placed the last centerpiece on the last table in the reception hall; the low bowl with floating yellow, cream and burnt umber roses picked up the color in the standing floral arrangements that dotted the edges of the room. Roses. Lilies. A half a dozen other flowers whose names she didn’t know.

“You did it! And it looks almost presentable.” Opal Winchester’s voice broke the silence and Chloe turned to face the woman who’d been surrogate mother to her during long-ago summers, watching as she moved across the room, her salt and pepper curls bouncing around a broad face, her sturdy figure encased in a dark suit and pink shirt.

“I didn’t do it alone.”

“I know. Where is that good-looking young pastor?”

“Home getting ready for the wedding. Which he’s officiating after spending almost four hours helping with the floral decorations.”

“Did he complain?”

“No.”