just … interesting. I’ve done a little traveling but have spent most of my time making a life, friends. Hasn’t your …
moving about
kept you from some of the good things in life?”
He took a long sip. “Like what? I have friends in virtually every country of the world. I’ve experienced more than most will ever think of doing.” Trevor set down his cup to gesticulate left and right. “This is a huge, wonderful world, Julia. God has done amazing things, everywhere I go. Isn’t that why you are here? To explore what he has for you to see next?”
“Maybe.” What was it about his explanation that left her disgruntled, confused? “But mostly, I’m thinking I need a sense of place, a sense of me.” She clammed up, well aware that she was sharing too much, letting things get too personal.
But he didn’t let her off the hook. “Let me guess. Society girl, right? Debutante? The right schools, the right clothes, the right car. College in four years, maybe grad school. Right job, right condo, right church. Even the right boyfriend—how long have you been dating?”
“Four years,” she said, wondering how to extricate herself from the conversation. His presumption irritated her, regardless of how close he was.
His chin rose in surprise. “Four years. But you left and went to the opposite coast. Is he moving out here?”
“I don’t know. Listen—”
“Ah. I’ve met a lot of people like you on the road, in the middle of the Sinai, in Rio. You’re wondering if it’s right at all, if you’re meant to be somewhere else, doing something else. You’re wondering if you were ever home at all. That’s why you’re here at Torchlight,far from Frisco and family and boyfriend. To discover the truth of it.”
“And what about you, Trevor?” she asked, conscious that her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Have you discovered the truth?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I’ve discovered the pertinent truths; now all I need is a home. And as I’ve told you, I’ve been dreaming of lighthouses lately.”
She coughed and turned away, intentionally breaking up their intimate moment. She didn’t need this now, a man who thought he knew her, who invaded her privacy and urged her thinking toward darker unknowns. The places she longed to go but didn’t dare. It simply wasn’t wise. She’d ventured far enough, coming here.
“I was thinking that we could start in the master bedroom today,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “I’ll need help clearing it of furniture before we begin ripping up plumbing.”
She waited for him to answer, busying herself with buttering a cold piece of toast.
“I’ll be waiting,” he said, setting down his cup. He left the kitchen.
She knew he wasn’t speaking only of the plumbing project.
Julia was poring over the ancient blueprints of the house when he came into the dining room to ask a question about some work he intended to do in the cottage. The sight of her brought him up short.
She was so intent she did not hear him enter. Her hair fell over one shoulder, and she brushed stray strands from her eyes as she continued to study the original plans for the house. In the soft afternoon light, she looked like an angel to him—so quiet, so serene.
Dear God
, he prayed silently.
Give me the strength to control myself around this woman. Help me to wait on your timing.
“How long have you been standing there?” She stood with her hands on her hips, angry to find him spying on her.
“I … I’m sorry. I was just—”
“I don’t need to be looking over my shoulder all the time, Mr. Kenbridge.”
“You can call me Trevor,” he quipped, hoping to elicit a laugh. What was wrong with her? Ever since yesterday, in the kitchen, she had her walls back up. He had apparently edged too close, pushed too far.
“Did you need something?”
He scowled at the hard edge to her tone. “Look, I just came to ask you about the cottage. I think it would be
moving about
kept you from some of the good things in life?”
He took a long sip. “Like what? I have friends in virtually every country of the world. I’ve experienced more than most will ever think of doing.” Trevor set down his cup to gesticulate left and right. “This is a huge, wonderful world, Julia. God has done amazing things, everywhere I go. Isn’t that why you are here? To explore what he has for you to see next?”
“Maybe.” What was it about his explanation that left her disgruntled, confused? “But mostly, I’m thinking I need a sense of place, a sense of me.” She clammed up, well aware that she was sharing too much, letting things get too personal.
But he didn’t let her off the hook. “Let me guess. Society girl, right? Debutante? The right schools, the right clothes, the right car. College in four years, maybe grad school. Right job, right condo, right church. Even the right boyfriend—how long have you been dating?”
“Four years,” she said, wondering how to extricate herself from the conversation. His presumption irritated her, regardless of how close he was.
His chin rose in surprise. “Four years. But you left and went to the opposite coast. Is he moving out here?”
“I don’t know. Listen—”
“Ah. I’ve met a lot of people like you on the road, in the middle of the Sinai, in Rio. You’re wondering if it’s right at all, if you’re meant to be somewhere else, doing something else. You’re wondering if you were ever home at all. That’s why you’re here at Torchlight,far from Frisco and family and boyfriend. To discover the truth of it.”
“And what about you, Trevor?” she asked, conscious that her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Have you discovered the truth?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I’ve discovered the pertinent truths; now all I need is a home. And as I’ve told you, I’ve been dreaming of lighthouses lately.”
She coughed and turned away, intentionally breaking up their intimate moment. She didn’t need this now, a man who thought he knew her, who invaded her privacy and urged her thinking toward darker unknowns. The places she longed to go but didn’t dare. It simply wasn’t wise. She’d ventured far enough, coming here.
“I was thinking that we could start in the master bedroom today,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “I’ll need help clearing it of furniture before we begin ripping up plumbing.”
She waited for him to answer, busying herself with buttering a cold piece of toast.
“I’ll be waiting,” he said, setting down his cup. He left the kitchen.
She knew he wasn’t speaking only of the plumbing project.
Julia was poring over the ancient blueprints of the house when he came into the dining room to ask a question about some work he intended to do in the cottage. The sight of her brought him up short.
She was so intent she did not hear him enter. Her hair fell over one shoulder, and she brushed stray strands from her eyes as she continued to study the original plans for the house. In the soft afternoon light, she looked like an angel to him—so quiet, so serene.
Dear God
, he prayed silently.
Give me the strength to control myself around this woman. Help me to wait on your timing.
“How long have you been standing there?” She stood with her hands on her hips, angry to find him spying on her.
“I … I’m sorry. I was just—”
“I don’t need to be looking over my shoulder all the time, Mr. Kenbridge.”
“You can call me Trevor,” he quipped, hoping to elicit a laugh. What was wrong with her? Ever since yesterday, in the kitchen, she had her walls back up. He had apparently edged too close, pushed too far.
“Did you need something?”
He scowled at the hard edge to her tone. “Look, I just came to ask you about the cottage. I think it would be
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