Page 55 of More Than This Land

By the time he stood to turn off the desk lamp and walk to bed, he hadn’t found a resolution, but he had peace.

He was going to ask her.

Chapter Fourteen

The community dinner had been on the calendar for six weeks, but hearing about the dinner and seeing the buildup in action didn’t arrive until Claire walked into the fellowship hall to help set up and found five stacks of folding chairs waiting to be arranged.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, taking stock.

Ruth and a few others Claire didn’t know by name moved around the room. They stopped at a table and chatted, hands waving, before nodding and moving on to a stack of folding tables near the kitchen.

The hall gave off a faint aroma of coffee and cinnamon, mingled with whatever they’d used to clean the tables and a dry flower smell that she recognized from the time she’d helped vacuum. Rachael Bennett walked in from the door at the other end of the hall, a giant bouquet of flowers almost obscuring her vision. She set it in the middle of a table already covered in a white cloth and dusted off her hands.

Someone had strung warm lights along the ceiling beams, and in their glow the fellowship hall looked less like a church annex and more like the kind of place she’d find in someone’s backyard.

“Claire.” Ruth spotted her and rushed over, handing her a stack of tablecloths without breaking stride. “Left side first, then we’ll center the round tables once Jennifer arrives with the centerpieces.”

She unfolded the first tablecloth and snapped it out over the nearest table. Margot appeared at the other end, catching it before it overshot.

“Good reflexes.” Claire smoothed her side flat.

“Thirty years of community dinners.” Margot’s eyes crinkled with her smile. “You develop instincts.”

They worked through the setup with the rhythm that Claire had been learning all spring. Jennifer arrived with centerpieces, along with her sister-in-law Brynn, who turned out to be funny in a dry-wit kind of way.

Jennifer waved off one of her comments, which caused Brynn to retort that life was too short for performance.

The food started arriving exactly on time. Dishes from different families filled the tables, all of them designated by Claire and the spreadsheet she’d built after posting a signup sheet in the church lobby.

Ruth rubbed her hands together and elbowed Claire lightly in passing. “Most organized potluck I’ve ever seen. Nice work.”

Her cheeks shouldn’t heat with the praise, but they did. Working out details for clients was one thing. They paid her for good work.

Being told she’d done a good job for something she’d done in her own time and way hit harder.

By six o’clock, the hall held food and people and a noise level that suggested everyone had arrived in the mood to stay late. Claire moved between the kitchen and the serving tables, tracking what needed refilling, which dishes needed serving spoons, and what they’d do if the coffee pot decided it was done with this whole thing and gave up the ghost.

She was also, without particularly deciding to, watching the door.

She knew the ranch’s Friday schedule thanks to all the hours she’d spent poring over every detail of Luke’s life. Evening feeding ran late this time of year. Luke typically finished evening rounds somewhere between six-thirty and seven.

The details slotted themselves into place without her permission, making perfect little files in her mind the same way the serving spoons nestled together in the drawer.

She enjoyed learning new things. Like which families needed gluten-free options, making sure they were available and well-labeled, and directing the families to the food without making a big deal out of the whole thing.

But nothing prepared her for the sudden, inexplicable knowledge that she longed to be with Luke.

The thought settled in her chest, firm and unfamiliar.

She’d spent the week trying to find solid ground on the question of Billings. Knowledge was power, so she’d pulled up the listing for the office space on South Rouse Avenue three times to study the square footage, the lease terms, and the view of a parking structure that the photos somehow made look aspirational. She even had an interview on Tuesday.

She’d told Granny Mama about it at breakfast. Granny Mama had refilled her tea and said nothing.

Brynn set the tray on the counter and turned to face her. “Something in the food I should know about?”

“What? No.” Claire slid the spoon into a meatloaf. “Why?”

“Cause you’re making a weird face.” Brynn shrugged. “Just thought I’d check.”