Page 48 of The One Who Risked it All

At least the cookies would be good. Nothing like stress-baking to ensure perfectly chewy snickerdoodles.

As I worked, I wondered what Eli was doing right now. Was he out on a call, rushing into danger with that reckless bravery that both thrilled and terrified me? Or was he at the station, trading quips with Captain Parker and pretending not to care about anything beyond the next adrenaline rush?

The ache in my chest intensified, a familiar longing that I’d been fighting for years. It wasn’t fair that he could affect me like this, even after all this time. I’d tried so hard to move on, to find someone who didn’t come with a side of family feud and complicated history. But every time I thought I was making progress, Eli would flash that infuriating grin, and I’d be right back where I started.

I was hopeless. I shook my head at my own weakness. Absolutely hopeless.

I slid the baking sheet into the oven, the warmth washing over me as I closed the door. The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of cinnamon and sugar. I leaned against the counter, letting minutes pass as I stared, unseeing, through the oven window as the dough slowly began to spread and rise.

The stillness of the moment allowed my thoughts to wander, considering my next steps. Could I really continue this dance with Eli, or was it time to finally put our complicated past to rest? Just the thought of walking away from him had my heart wrenching in my chest.

I grabbed a dish towel, wiping my cinnamon-sugar-covered hands as I wrestled with the questions that had plagued me since I was a teen. If it wasn’t for this stupid feud, the answer would be easy. Why couldn’t Dad just tell me what happened? I tossed the towel aside with more force than necessary. It wasn’t like I was asking for state secrets. Just a simple explanation for why the Wells and the Putnams couldn’t play nice.

The family feud loomed over everything, an ever-present shadow that tainted even the sweetest moments. I couldn’t help but wonder how different things might be if our families weren’t locked in this ridiculous cold war. Would Eli and I have had a real chance in high school? Or were we doomed from the start, star-crossed lovers in a small-town soap opera?

Great, now I was quoting Shakespeare. Next thing you know, I’d be writing angsty poetry about firefighters and a rose by any other name.

But as much as I tried to laugh it off, the weight of unanswered questions pressed down on me. What could have possibly happened to drive such a deep wedge between our families? And why did it still matter so much, all these years later?

I glanced at the oven timer, ticking away the minutes until the cookies would be done. If only solving the mystery of the feud was as simple as following a recipe. Add one cup of truth, a tablespoon of forgiveness, and bake until golden brown and drama-free.

I took a deep breath, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon filling my lungs. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too confiningfor the storm of emotions brewing inside me. Without really thinking about it, I found myself moving toward the quiet corner by the window, where the afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the worn wooden floor of my apartment.

It was time to call in the big guns.

I lowered myself to my knees next to the couch, clasping my hands together and bowing my head. It had been a while since I’d prayed like this—really prayed, not just the quick “please don’t let me be late for work” kind of prayers. But desperate times called for desperate measures, right?

“God,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper, “I could really use some guidance here.” I paused, struggling to find the right words. “This feud... it’s tearing everything apart. My family, my relationship with Eli... even my sanity at this point.”

I let out a shaky laugh, realizing how ridiculous it all sounded when laid out like that. But as I continued to pray, pouring out my fears and frustrations, I felt something shift inside me. A warmth that had nothing to do with the oven’s heat spread through my chest.

I just wanted to know what to do.

A tear slipped down my cheek as my prayer poured from my heart. I wanted the truth to come to light. Could God help me uncover the truth? And… give me the wisdom to know what to do with it. I loved Elijah… And I didn’t want to walk away from him. But I would, I admitted shakily, if I needed to. Was I supposed to honor my father and mother in this? Or should I walk away from them and start my life with Eli? What was I supposed to do? It felt like there was no right answer.

As I finished my prayer, I remained kneeling for a moment, soaking in the stillness. The constant whirl of thoughts in my head had quieted, replaced by a sense of calm determination. I had to find the truth, and suddenly, I knew exactly where to find it. I stood up, brushing off my jeans and squaring my shoulders.

I surveyed the kitchen. Flour dusted the countertops, and a stack of dirty mixing bowls teetered precariously in the sink. My movements became more purposeful with each swipe of the sponge. I attacked the dishes with the same determination I planned to use to unravel this decades-old feud.

Grandma would likely be surprised to see me. But probably not as surprised as she’d be when I started grilling her about ancient history.

The thought of my sweet, silver-haired grandmother being interrogated like a suspect on a crime show made me snort with laughter. But as I dried my hands and hung up the dishtowel, a whisper of anxiety crept in.

What if Grandma Rose didn’t want to talk about it, either? What if she shut me down like Dad always did?

I shook my head, banishing the doubts. This was my only hope of finding out what really happened. And it was the only way I would be able to move forward with Eli with a peaceful heart. Not that I wouldn’t do it either way… I just loved him too much to walk away. Something I needed to tell him as soon as possible.

Memories of cozy winter evenings spent at Grandma’s feet, listening to tales of Minden’s past, flooded my mind. I could almost smell the cinnamon and nutmeg from her famous apple pie.

Maybe I should bring a peace offering. I eyed the freshly baked cookies cooling on the rack. Nothing loosened lips like sugar, right?

As I carefully packed a dozen cookies into a tin, my heart raced with anticipation. What secrets would Grandma Rose reveal? Would her stories finally explain why Dad tensed up every time he saw Mr. Wells at the grocery store? Or why Mrs. Wells always crossed the street to avoid talking to Mom?

But as I grabbed my car keys and headed for the door, I couldn’t quite silence that nagging voice. Whatever Grandma Rose had to say, I had a feeling it was going to change everything.

CHAPTER 19

Elijah

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