Page 102 of Relentless

“Crew, I’m so —” her words trailed off. It didn’t feel right to apologize on her mother’s behalf, but she had to say something. Her mom was right about one thing — Oakleigh was damaged goods, just not in the crude way that she had insinuated.

Being with her meant sorting through the heavy burden of emotional baggage, and she needed reassurance that Crew was in it for the long haul.

“Oakleigh, look at me,” Crew insisted, pulling her chin toward his steel blue eyes. “You did something amazing, and I’m really proud of you.”

The compliment filled her with a dash of pride, taking the edge off her aching, wounded heart. On top of being incrediblyhandsome and charming, he possessed the rare talent of knowing just how to lift her spirits when she was down.

“Thanks, but you know I won’t take credit,” she replied. The crowdfunding for the church had been her idea, but she knew the Lord had blessed the project and ultimately used it to bring changes in her. While the church was being rebuilt, so was Oakleigh, brick by brick.

Pushing open the Jeep’s door, Oakleigh’s boots crunched on the icy asphalt. Giving one last glance at her winter look in the reflection of the car window, she paused as she felt Crew’s strong arms wrap around her.

“Hold it,” she ordered. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she snapped a quick selfie. The picture of his handsome face and piercing eyes beside hers drove a smile to her face. “Gah, we are going to make beautiful babies someday.”

Crew’s eyes widened. “Oh, you think so?”

“Too soon?” Oakleigh shrugged, reaching up and running her fingers down his stubbly chin.

“Nah,” he replied with his contagious white grin. He offered his sturdy bicep, and she gratefully intertwined her arm in his as they made their way up the church steps.

Before stepping inside the warm building, she couldn’t help but think about her mother, who was probably already looking for ways to cause aggravation. Searching for any excuse to stall, Oakleigh caught a glimpse of the coffee shop from the corner of her eye. Audrey was there on time to start her Sunday morning routine of brewing coffee and baking cinnamon rollsfor Sunday service. There was already a line forming of those who had spent the night in the church, and were in search of morning sustenance.

Audrey fumbled through the keyring with her gloved fingers and gave a happy little clap when she finally found the one she was looking for. The celebration was short-lived as her boots lost traction on the icy sidewalk, causing her to cling to the door handle for dear life while her feet did a perilous dance across the slick ice.

“It’s like watching some sort of tragic cartoon,” Oakleigh sighed with a pitiful shake of her head. “I’ve got to help that girl.”

Crew glanced over her shoulder at the absurd situation unfolding. “Ah yeah,” he said with a tinge of concern. “I’ll come with you.”

“I’ve got this,” Oakleigh deflected, stuffing her gloved hands into her jacket pockets. “Why don’t you check in and see if Maeve and Dallas need a hand.”

He gave her a conspiratorial look. “You’re trying to avoid your mom, aren’t you.”

For someone who had hit his head as many times as Crew had, there was no getting anything past him.

“You guessed it,” she admitted, scuffing her boot against the ground.

He leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips. “Take your time.”

She wrapped her arms around his middle, enjoying his warmth. “I love you,” she breathed out.

“Oh yeah?” He gave a crooked smile as he held her close. “And why’s that?”

“For just being you,” she sighed, reassured that despite the chaos and cruel accusations from the night before, Crew was still herperson.

Releasing from their long embrace, Oakleigh dashed across Main Street. She winded through the long line of cars and trucks already in search of a coveted parking spot in the small town. She pushed open the coffee shop door with a loud jingle, and pulled a red apron off the hook.

“I’m here to help,” Oakleigh announced.

“Oh hey,” Audrey said, whisking to the oven to start baking the first batch of cinnamon rolls. “I’m okay, really.”

She still looked frazzled despite her steady words that sounded like a well-memorized script.

“Audrey,” Oakleigh paused, running through her mental checklist on the litany of things she needed to apologize for.

An impatient customer with what she considered an obnoxious looking mustache banged his mug on the counter.

“I asked for a refill?”

Audrey’s eyes filled again with her familiar anxious look.

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