Trusting His Promise (Love on Sanctuary Shores #5)

Chapter 31

Jo sighed and plopped down on the couch, staring aimlessly at the blank TV screen. Guilt crawled through her stomach. She hated that she had lied to Beckett. But the more she had thought about going on a date with him tonight, the more she had realized that she couldn’t do it.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

There were too many obstacles. She went over the list again in her head: He was leaving—just like Jay had. He had a life somewhere else—just like Jay had. He didn’t really care about her—she was just an amusement to pass the time until his movie was done. Just like she had been to Jay.

Beckett isn’t Jay, a voice in the back of her mind insisted.

And she couldn’t argue with it. She saw now that he was exactly who he said he was.

But she wasn’t.

And she couldn’t bear for him to find that out.

The house was too quiet, and Jo picked up the TV remote. Sam was spending the night at Piper’s as originally planned, since Jo didn’t want to disappoint her daughter too. And Colton had given Dad the go-ahead to get out and about as long as he kept his brace on, so he had made his way over to Karen’s house.

She scrolled through the streaming options, laughing to herself when the second movie that came up was a Beckett Knox film.

She hesitated, then held her breath and clicked on it, letting the breath out as Beckett’s face appeared on the screen. He looked sad and broody, and even though she knew it was a movie, she felt suddenly like it was her fault.

She grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her middle—but it was a poor substitute for the way Beckett had wrapped an arm around her at the lighthouse. Or the press of his lips to hers. Or the way he’d held her hands and told her he wanted to be more than friends.

Jo squirmed.

Had she been a fool to cancel the date? Should she call him and—

And what?

Tell him that she had lied to get out of their date?

She forced her attention back to the TV screen, where Beckett’s character was standing at a graveside, flanked by five children. Jo sucked in a breath as she realized it was supposed to be his wife’s grave.

The story pulled her in, as Beckett’s character descended into a deep resentment toward God that affected his relationship with his children. Her heart broke for every one of them, and more than once, she had to remind herself that it was only a movie.

The mailman had just arrived with a letter addressed to Beckett’s character that seemed to shake him when a knock on Jo’s own front door nearly sent her jumping through the roof.

She grabbed the remote and hit the pause button, then scrambled to her feet, wiping the tears off her cheeks as she hurried through the house.

She pulled the door open and then took a staggering step backwards. “Beckett.”

“Hey.” His wide smile fell away the moment his eyes met hers. “What’s wrong? Is Sam okay?”

He rushed inside, a delicious, savory scent following him.

“Yeah. She’s— Uh— She’s fine.”

“You’ve been crying.” Beckett slid his thumb across her cheek, holding up the glistening liquid as if it were evidence.

She laughed shakily, his touch resurrecting all the feelings she’d been trying so hard to push down all day. “I was watching a movie.”

“Oh, good.” Beckett held up a large plastic bag. “Because I brought food.”

“You brought . . .”

“Food,” Beckett repeated. “Chicken nuggets for Sam. It was the closest thing Lisa had to chicken noodle soup. And Lisa’s best seafood platter for us. With your favorite cheddar fries, of course. There should be enough for your dad too, if he wants to join us.”

“He’s at Karen’s. And Sam is . . .” She looked away. “She’s at Piper’s house. She’s not sick.”

“I know.”

Jo ogled him. “You know?”

“Well, not that she was at Piper’s. But that she wasn’t sick. Lisa said she went to school today.”

“She could have gotten sick at school,” Jo defended herself, then realized how foolish she sounded, when she’d already admitted it was a lie.

“Lisa also said—” Beckett started toward the kitchen, gesturing for Jo to follow him. “That you’re scared because —” He set the bag on the table and turned toward her, eyes gleaming. “You like me.”

A sound blurted out of Jo, but she couldn’t have said if it was a scoff or an acknowledgment.

“That you like me a lot , actually,” Beckett continued.

This time, Jo made sure the sound came out as a scoff, but Beckett seemed undaunted.

“Which I thought was good news,” Beckett said. “Since I like you a lot too.” He took a step forward and rested his hands on her shoulders.

She didn’t dare to breathe as his eyes locked on hers.

“But if you don’t want me here, then tell me, and I’ll go. And I won’t bother you again. I promise.”

Jo knew she should answer, knew she should tell him to go, knew she should say that this was never going to work out. But her voice had completely disappeared—and she didn’t want to find it.

Slowly, she shook her head.

“Good.” Beckett’s eyes crinkled as he let out a loud breath. “Because I honestly wasn’t sure that was a promise I could keep.”

He turned back to the table and started pulling containers of food out of the bag. “Why don’t we grab some plates and take this in the living room to finish your movie.”

“Oh, we don’t have to watch the movie.” Heat rushed to Jo’s face at the thought of him finding out what she’d been watching.

“Of course we do.”

“It’s a chick flick,” she tried. “You wouldn’t like it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do know what kind of movies I make for a living? Anyway, it doesn’t matter what we’re watching, as long as I’m with you.”

Oh, why did he have to go and say those kinds of things?

She pulled two plates out of the cupboard and passed him one, praying that the TV would miraculously turn itself off while they filled them.

But when they got to the living room, the image was paused right where she’d left it—with Beckett’s face in the middle of the screen.

He grinned. “So you canceled a date with me to spend time with me on the screen.”

“I— It wasn’t—” She gave up. With the way he was laughing, there was no way to come up with an excuse that would allow her to keep her dignity.

Beckett sat on the couch and gestured for her to sit next to him. “What do you think of it so far?”

“It’s pretty incredible,” she said honestly. She sat, landing closer to him than she meant to. “What’s in the letter?”

“You’ll have to watch and see.”

Jo huffed but folded her hands as Beckett offered a prayer of thanksgiving for the food—and for the chance to spend the evening together.

Jo was sure the food was delicious, but she barely tasted it, between being so drawn into the movie and being so aware of Beckett’s presence. When the food was gone, he set their plates on the table and then wrapped an arm around her, snugging her close enough to rest her head on his shoulder. She hesitated a moment, then did.

He sighed, and she sat upright again.

“No, stay.” He chuckled. “That was a sigh of contentment. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to sit like this with you.”

Joy curled through Jo’s middle, and she rested her head on his shoulder again, watching as the Beckett on the screen received more letters—they were from his late wife—while the Beckett on the couch next to her slid his hand gently up and down her arm whenever she tried to hide her tears from him.

When the movie ended, she reluctantly sat up.

“So?” Beckett sounded nervous. “What did you think?”

“I loved it,” she answered. “You’re very talented, did you know that?”

He grinned. “Don’t give me a big head. It was an incredible story. I’m just grateful I had a chance to be a part of it. It’s—” He hesitated, and Jo tilted her head, studying him. It wasn’t like him to be shy with words. He looked up at the ceiling. “It’s the story that led me to Christ,” he said quietly. “If that doesn’t sound too crazy.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Jo reassured him. “How?”

“I— Well, you know how I felt about God as a kid—and all the way up until I made this movie, actually. The first four movies I made, I didn’t believe the words I was saying. At all.”

Jo readjusted her position so that she could see him better, her knee pressing into his leg. “So what was different about this movie?”

Beckett blew out a breath. “I think the story hit a little close to home. The way my character shut down after his wife’s death and took out his grief on his kids—that felt just like what had happened between my dad and me. And the letters my character got—” He cleared his throat and swallowed, and Jo reached for his hand without meaning to. “They sounded like something my mom would have written.”

“Mine too,” she whispered.

Beckett nodded. “Anyway, Maggie must have noticed that the movie was getting to me, because she invited me to go to church with her. It wasn’t the first time. But it was the first time I said yes.” He shook his head. “I still remember the verse the pastor preached on, Matthew 11:28-29, ‘Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls.’” He met her eyes, his glistening. “I can’t even tell you what it was like to hear those words. Rest for my soul. Somehow, in that moment, I realized that was exactly what I needed, and Christ gave it to me.”

“Wow, Beckett, that’s . . . wonderful.”

“The best thing that has ever happened to me. Although the last few weeks have brought some good contenders for second place.” He squeezed her hand and leaned forward, and Jo caught her breath.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He jumped to his feet so abruptly that Jo fell back against the couch. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

“Where?”

Beckett tugged her to her feet. “You didn’t really think I was going to answer that, did you?”

Jo laughed. “No. But it was worth a shot.”

“Almost there,” Beckett teased, as he pulled Jo toward the town square.

“No kidding.” Little puffs of steam billowed from Jo’s laugh and hung between them. “The town is only so big, you know.”

Beckett shrugged. “It could be anywhere. You don’t know.”

Jo shook her head. “It’s after 9 p.m., which means most places are closed. So unless we’re going—”

“Right here.” Beckett stopped her at the gazebo, the lights that circled it twinkling a warm invitation.

“Here?” Jo’s voice wobbled a little.

“I know this place holds bad memories for you. For both of us. And I want to fix that. So—”

He led her up the steps, then pulled out his phone and opened to the song he had queued up while Jo was putting on her jacket. “I need to ask you something that I should have asked you twelve years ago.” A ripple of icy nerves slid down his back, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

“Will you—” He pressed play on the music. “Dance with me?”

“Oh.” Jo looked around the square. “Here? Now?”

“Here,” Beckett confirmed, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her close. “Now.”

He swayed, slowly leading her to the music.

“I don’t dance,” Jo murmured, but she leaned into him and lifted her arms to his shoulders.

Beckett let out a long breath of relief. “You seem to be pretty good at it.” He slid his hand to the back of her head, tucking it gently against his chest and resting his chin on her hair.

“How did you know I like Lydia St. Peter’s music?” Jo murmured.

Beckett kissed the top of her head. “I know a lot of things about you.”

“Like what?” Jo tilted her head back to look at him, her expression slightly guarded.

“Like that you’re a great mom and daughter. And an excellent fisherwoman. And—”

Jo laughed. “Stop. Now I’m the one who’s going to end up with a big head.”

But Beckett wasn’t done. He slid his hands to her hair, running his fingers through it. “I know I wish I hadn’t been such an idiot all those years ago. When I saw you standing here, waiting, I realized what a colossal mistake I was making. But I was too dumb and stubborn to admit it then. If I had, then maybe . . .” He shook his head. There was no changing the past.

But there was this moment.

“So how are you feeling about being more than friends now?” he whispered as the song came to an end.

Jo sighed against his chest, then eased out of his embrace, moving to the gazebo’s railing. “I feel . . .”

She looked out at the square instead of at him.

“Scared?” Beckett filled in gently, stepping up next to her.

She sighed again, and her head bobbed almost imperceptibly.

“Because I’m leaving?” he asked.

Her nod was a little more pronounced now, and Beckett let himself relax a little. This he could resolve.

He reached for her hand. “I meant what I said to Sam. About coming back often. About there being things— people —” He corrected himself. “I want to see. All the time.” He tugged her hand until she had no choice but to look at him. “And by people , I mean you , just in case that wasn’t clear. And Sam, of course.”

Jo’s expression melted, and Beckett was sure he had finally convinced her.

But she swallowed and let out a shaky breath. “Beckett, I don’t—”

He lifted a hand to slide along her cheek. “I promise you, Jo. I will come back. Even if I still hated this island—which I don’t— you would be worth coming back for.”

He lowered his lips to hers in a long, slow kiss, delighting in the way her lips responded.

When he pulled back, the fear in her eyes had lessened a little, and hope sparked in Beckett’s chest. “ Now what do you think about being more than friends?” he whispered.

“We’ll have to see about that,” she whispered back. And then she brought her lips to his again.