Another gust of wind shook the windows. She had never seen a storm like this before. The sky had grown dark from the invading clouds, and the view of the ocean out the window displayed waves bolting to shore at a powerful pace. Sierra couldn’t imagine anyone attempting to surf those screamers, and from where she was standing, she couldn’t see anyone trying.
She wondered if Jordan had any trouble getting into her car. He had been gone awhile. It seemed like enough time to grab her suitcase and return.
Sierra heard the sound of feet tromping up the stairs on the side of the house and could tell by the stomping sounds that he was almost to the small landing at the top. She left the beach towel on the floor and went to open the door for him. As soon as she did, a huge gust of wind blew from behind the house and the rickety wooden steps cracked loudly.
Jordan had just reached the top step and put Sierra’s suitcase on the landing when a second crunch sounded.
“Look out!” Sierra cried.
The wooden planks broke loose just four steps below where Jordan was standing.
“Go inside!” he yelled at her as he lurched up onto the landing.
Instead of retreating, Sierra instinctively reached for him and circled her arms around his middle. He wrapped his arms around her in response, and for a moment they clung to each other in the rain, watching the stairs crash to the cement walkway below.
“Quick! Get inside.” Jordan pushed Sierra into the apartment and followed right behind her with her suitcase. He slammed the door and stood in front of her, dripping wet.
For a few seconds neither of them spoke. They stared at each other, blinking.
“Are you okay?” Jordan wiped back the rain from his face with the wet palm of his hand.
“Yes, I’m fine. Here, this towel is fairly dry.” She handed him the beach towel. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” He blinked. “Wow.”
“I know. Wow,” Sierra repeated.
“I better call the rental agency and see if they can get somebody over here to fix that.”
“They’ll probably tell you to wait until after the storm has passed.”
“Right, but did you see how much of the stairs broke off? We can’t get up or down until that’s fixed.”
They stared at each other again as the reality set in. They were trapped together and had to wait out the storm.
“Do you have any more towels?” she asked, not knowing what else to say.
A crooked smile rose on Jordan’s face. “I think we’re down to two washcloths and a pineapple-shaped pot holder.”
Sierra loved his quirky comment. “I’ll go with what we have then. Mind if I use your bathroom?”
“Go ahead. It’s through the bedroom.”
He followed her, carrying her suitcase inside the small bathroom and ducking out quickly to give her privacy.
Leaning against the back of the closed bathroom door, Sierra shut her eyes. Her heart was beating in a steady rhythm. Outside the storm was raging. Inside this small space and inside her heart, she felt an unusual sense of calm, as if she were in a hurricane’s eye. And Jordan Bryce was in that place with her.
Chapter Seventeen
Grabbing a dry T-shirt and pair of shorts, Jordan took them into the kitchen to change while Sierra was in the bathroom.
I can’t believe she just showed up on my doorstep! Stuff like this doesn’t happen.
Jordan went on a hunt for his cell phone so he could call the property management company. It took him a few seconds to scout around and find that he had left it on the table by his laptop. He scrolled through his address book, found the number, and placed the call.
Then he looked at his laptop and saw the screen saver.
Oh no. I hope she didn’t see that picture. What would she think?
While the call was ringing through to the property management company, he quickly changed the screen saver back to the previous one, which was the prize photo he had taken of Derek last month.
A recorded message played, stating their hours on the mainland and that, if callers reached their number after-hours, they should call 911 for an emergency or leave a message.
Jordan left a message but had no hope that anyone would listen to it or call him back that day.
As soon as he hung up, he looked online for any sort of construction or handyman service he could find on the North Shore. Jordan was into his third unproductive call when he heard the bedroom door open. He turned to see Sierra walking toward him. Her hair was down, and her curls formed a dozen blond ringlets that fell over her shoulders. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts and a navy-blue hooded sweatshirt with the words RANCHO CORONA UNIVERSITY on the front.
Jordan put down his phone and tried to remember where he had seen someone else dressed in a Rancho Corona sweatshirt.
“At the airport,” Jordan said partly to himself and partly to Sierra. “It was you.”
She gave him a confused look.
“Sorry.” Jordan ran his hand over the top of his hair, shaking out the last of the rain. “I thought I saw you at the airport.”
“Which airport?” Sierra pulled out a chair beside him to sit down.
Jordan caught a whiff of coconut-scented lotion. She was so alluring to him in her casual simplicity. He wanted to lean over and kiss her right then and there.
Dragging his thoughts back to reality, Jordan said, “I saw someone in Los Angeles at the airport the other day. She had on the same sweatshirt and was wearing large sunglasses.”
“That was probably me. I was with my friend Mariana. She’s the one I’m meeting here.”
“Was she by any chance speaking a foreign language?”
“Yes, Portuguese. She’s from Brazil.”
Jordan realized how little he knew about Brazil. “Is Portuguese the national language?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. I would have guessed Spanish.”
“No. I wish it were. I know a little bit of Spanish from high school. I’ve been in Brazil four years, and I still haven’t picked up Portuguese.”
“Four years?” Jordan was even more intrigued with Sierra. “What have you been doing there?”
“I’ve been working with a mission organization.” Sierra looked down. “I’ve done a variety of things, helping out wherever they need me. At the moment I’m in a transition.” She looked up and added, “I’m supposed to be here on vacation, relaxing, so I can figure out what’s next. What about you? Have you been a photographer for a long time?”
Jordan couldn’t believe he was marooned in the middle of a tropical storm with this amazing woman.
“I’ve been pursuing photography as a profession since I graduated from college, but this is actually my first paying assignment.”
“Nice.”
Jordan nodded. “I went to Westmont College, by the way, so I guess that makes us rivals.” He knew that anyone who had gone to Rancho would recognize the name of another Christian college in California. He also thought it might help her to feel a little more at ease to know they had something in common.
Sierra’s expression brightened. “You did? I have friends who went there.”
She named a few people Jordan didn’t know, and then she narrowed her eyebrows and lowered her voice, “I have to ask you something.”
“Sure.”
“Does any of this seem bizarre to you?”
Jordan nodded.
“I mean, here we are with all these overlapping pieces in our lives. We were both at the wedding, and now we’re renting apartments at the same house. I’ve never been in a situation like this.”
“Neither have I.”
“Doesn’t it feel like too many coincidences?”
Before Jordan could stop himself, he popped out the thought that came to mind. “Not if God is trying to tell us something.”
Her eyebrows lifted, and their gazes met. Jordan felt an unexpected confirming sense of certainty. He couldn’t remember feeling this sort of
calm assurance with any woman. Something inside him rumbled a defining thought as he looked at her: it’s you.
A gust of wind rattled the windows on the back side of the house, and both of them turned that direction, even though they couldn’t see the windows that were being affected. The rattling broke the intense moment between them and prompted Jordan to remember the project before him of finding someone who could fix the stairway.
“I called the property management company,” he said, lifting his cell phone. “But they only have a recording; so I’m trying to hunt down someone local who can help us out.”
“Have you had any success?”
“Not yet. I have a few more numbers to try.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Sierra asked.
“I don’t think so.” Jordan felt the awkwardness returning like he had felt when he was fumbling with all the towels just after Sierra showed up. He made another attempt at being hospitable. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”
She seemed to think for a moment before she said, “I could eat something. How about you? Are you hungry? I could make something for both of us.”
“Sure, I could eat something too.” At the moment Jordan wasn’t sure if he was hungry. Giving her something to do while he made the calls seemed like a good idea. “I have a few groceries in the kitchen, if you want to see what you can find.”
“Okay. Any preferences? Food allergies?” She got up and added with a playful tone, “Do you like the crusts cut off your bread?”
“No, I’m not particular. Except for corned beef and cabbage. I can’t eat that. I can’t even stand the smell of it. My grandmother used to make it, and when I’d go over to their house and she had it on the stove…”
“Pretty bad, huh?”
“Yeah, pretty bad. But it was my grandfather’s favorite so it seemed to be on the menu every time we went there for his birthday or any other holiday.”
“Was your grandfather Irish by any chance?” Sierra washed her hands in the sink and looked around.
“Yes, he is. Are you looking for a towel?”
“Hard to believe that I need another towel, isn’t it?”
Jordan jumped up and opened the cupboard underneath the sink. “I have some paper towels. I don’t know why I put them away instead of leaving them out.”
Sierra opened the wrapper and pulled off a towel. Jordan opened the refrigerator, giving a verbal summary of the inventory. “Sorry that I don’t have a lot to choose from. I could make us some eggs. I don’t make very good omelets, but I’m not bad at scrambled with a little cheese on top.”
“I can do this if you’d like to get back to the phone calls.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll leave you to figure out what to make and see if I can get somebody over here.” He returned to the table and positioned himself so that he could nonchalantly watch Sierra in the kitchen as he made his calls. She had an elemental sort of gracefulness to her movements.
When he had been in Costa Rica, he remembered watching the local cook as she worked in their rudimentary, camp-style kitchen. She worked with the same uncomplicated motions, as if she didn’t require a lot of sophisticated cookware or ingredients to prepare a meal. Jordan had taken pictures of the woman in Costa Rica as she stirred sauce in a blackened pot and patted tortillas with her hands. The lighting wasn’t good, and none of the shots had turned out well. He kept them because they reminded him of the cook’s contentment in the kitchen as she worked. He liked the photos because the cook, in her simplicity, reminded him of his mother.
He saw that same effortlessness in motion as he clandestinely watched Sierra.
The ringing he had been listening to on his cell phone while lost in his thoughts was interrupted by a voice on the other end. “Hello?”
Jordan sat up and looked at the computer screen to remember whom he had called. “Hello. Is this Island Fix It Man?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m at Sunset Beach in a rental, and we just lost the stairway that leads up to the apartment where I’m staying. I’m wondering if you’re able to come fix the stairs.”
“You lost the whole stairs?”
“Yes. All but the top three or four steps, and the landing by the door still is attached. We’re trapped upstairs here. There’s no other way to get in or out.”
“Auwee! You got big problems, brah.”
“Yes, I do. Can you help me out?”
“Not today. Not in this storm. You gotta wait it out. Give me your address. I’ll come in da morning.”
Jordan gave him the address and asked, “What time do you think you can be here?”
“In the morning.” Then he hung up.
“Did you find someone?” Sierra asked.
“I think so. He was the last one on the list, but at least he answered.”
“That’s good.”
“There’s one problem, though.”
Sierra turned her full attention to Jordan. He tried to deliver the news casually. “He said he wouldn’t come during the storm. We need to wait it out. But he can be here tomorrow morning.”
Jordan watched Sierra carefully. For a moment she didn’t move. Then she picked up the spatula and turned back to the stove to flip what looked like French toast. “These are almost ready. Would you like to eat at the table or here at the counter?”
Jordan decided that her response was a good sign. She was flexible in the midst of an inconvenient situation. She didn’t freak out. And the French toast smelled amazing.
If his brain hadn’t yet issued the obvious command, his heart was now repeating it loudly so that he could feel a ringing in his ears. Whatever you do, don’t let this one get away.
Chapter Eighteen
Sierra drizzled the thick coconut syrup over the sliced bananas on top of her French toast. She adjusted her position on the counter stool where she sat only a few inches away from Jordan. Everything about this moment felt surreal, and yet at the same time it felt natural, as if she had cooked lots of spontaneous meals in this tiny kitchen.
The familiarity could have something to do with the compact space, which was similar to the places she had lived in during the last few years. It wasn’t unusual for her to meet new people and share meals with them. But the string of people she met in Brazil were rarely Americans, were hardly ever good-looking guys to whom she was attracted, and never once did she calmly eat beside a stranger in the middle of a tropical storm while unable to exit the building.
“Wow, this is good. Where did you find the coconut syrup?” Jordan asked.
“In the refrigerator next to the ketchup and mayonnaise.”
“It must have been there from the last tenant.”
“That was convenient.” Sierra took another bite. “This did turn out pretty good.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I haven’t made French toast in a long time.”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever made French toast, so thanks for getting creative with the limited resources.”
Sierra knew Jordan was looking at her, but she kept her attention on her breakfast, cutting small pieces of the toast and chewing them slowly. She had been aware of his long gazes from the moment he had opened the door to her. As crazy as the situation was, she still felt calm.
Sipping her orange juice, Sierra thought about how Jordan had said these circumstances weren’t such a coincidence if God was trying to tell them something. Could that be true? What exactly was God trying to say?
“So, you went to Rancho Corona,” Jordan broke into her thoughts. “And you’ve been in Brazil for four years. What exactly do you do for the ministry there?”
For some reason the answer to this question embarrassed Sierra. She hadn’t done much of anything measurable, in her estimation. Her last few years had been filled with a lot of this and that and serving wherever she could, but she hadn’t accomplished anything noteworthy.
Taking her time to chew the French toast, Sierra considered how to fr
ame her answer. “I worked in a couple of different cities. The headquarters for the ministry are in Rio de Janiero so that’s where I spent most of my time.” Sierra tried to describe some of her various experiences to him. He seemed interested in what she had to say, so she kept talking, telling him about the different churches she had been connected with, the girls group at the school, the women who were now making beaded jewelry independently, and the administrative office position she held a little more than a year ago.
“Not exactly a one-page résumé,” she joked.
“It sounds like you’re an entrepreneur.”
Sierra gave Jordan a skeptical gaze. “Is that what I am? I’ve been trying to figure that out.”
“From what you said, you enjoy helping to start new projects and doing what it takes to keep them going.”
“I guess you’re right. I don’t think I’ve ever broken it down like that before. I was really bummed when one program I was helping to develop at a school was discontinued. It had so much potential to expand, and it was providing lots for the teen girls. I’m still sad that it was cancelled.”
“It sounds like you’re a motivator too.”
Sierra thought about that description as well. “I do like to encourage people and motivate them to find ways to help themselves.” She tried to imagine how those strengths would be used if she accepted the new “Maria von Trapp” position as a teacher.
Sierra stood and automatically headed toward the sink to rinse off her plate. At the apartment where she lived they had a continual problem with tropical bugs and tiny ants. Everyone washed all dishes right after they were used and took out the trash every evening.
“I can do that,” Jordan said, getting up.
“I don’t mind. There’s another piece here, if you would like it.”
“Do you want to split it?”
“No thanks.”
Sierra watched as he harpooned the piece of cooled French toast and put it on his plate.
“Do you want it warmed up?”
“No, this is fine.” Jordan poured on some syrup and broke off a corner piece with his fork. Leaning against the counter he said, “So you’re here to take it easy and make some decisions about what’s next. Is that right?”