A Town Called Valentine(89)

“That won’t accomplish a look into his eyes.”

“Well, there’s a family portrait in the lobby of the inn. Do you want to see that?”

“Yes!” Emily’s frustrated disappointment turned into eagerness. Maybe she’d have an answer sooner than she thought.

After parking, they walked across the long porch, where baskets of impatiens hung like Christmas decorations. Inside, the “lobby” must have been the original front parlor, now decorated with a collection of antique stained-glass lamps on mahogany furniture. A wide staircase led up to the next floor. The front desk resembled an old-fashioned bar, where a young man waited on guests. On the far side of the lobby, she could see the elegant restaurant through closed French doors.

But it was the portrait that captured her interest, and she didn’t need Brooke to point it out. It dominated the wall just to the right of the entrance, a huge sprawl of many generations of a family. They’d been photographed outside against a backdrop of green bushes and trees, making them look like a colorful flock of birds—very happy birds.

Scanning the several men in the photograph, Emily whispered, “Which one’s Joe?”

Brooke silently pointed to a middle-aged man, lean and fit. The Stetson was tipped back on his head, just revealing blond hair lightened white. Above his confident smile were Paul Newman blue eyes that made Emily gasp.

“I thought his eyes might be blue,” Brooke mused. “But I didn’t want to get you excited for nothing.”

Emily nodded and kept studying his open face, the contentment she could sense beneath the surface. There was family all around him, and she wondered if the dark-haired woman beside him was his wife, and which were his kids. But always her gaze returned to his face, while her heart beat an excited yet terrified rhythm to her thought of Are you my dad? Is this my family? My huge family?

She backed away from the portrait, knowing that Brooke was studying her closely. “We can go now.”

Though Brooke started to talk about the Sweet family on the drive back to the restaurant, Emily stopped her, still too dazed.

In the flower shop, Monica was in the workroom, arranging cut flowers in a wet foam base in a basket. She looked up and smiled. “What have you two been up to today?”

Emily eased onto a stool. “I . . . I think I may have found my father.”

Monica gasped and listened avidly as Emily and Brooke recounted their adventure.

“You don’t want to look into Hal’s eyes?” Monica asked.

“I already did once, and I certainly wasn’t blown away. I don’t even remember them. But a high-school girl gushing about blue eyes—Joe Sweet was the perfect target for that.”

“What’s next?” Brooke asked, rubbing her hands together.

“I guess I’ll go introduce myself eventually, hear what he has to say. But not yet. I’ve got a name—let me just absorb it.”

“I think you need a distraction,” Monica continued. “I’m taking my sister to a hockey game tonight.”

“A hockey game?” Emily echoed in surprise.

“There are lots of rinks in these mountains, and a lot of leagues. I need to amuse my sister with something that doesn’t involve me hearing about her running from protestors in the Middle East.”

“It sounds like a dangerous job,” Emily said.

Monica sighed. “It is. And I know she’s brave. But it’s not the only kind of job. So wear some warm clothes. We leave at six.”





Chapter Nineteen



After a lunch shift at the flower shop, Emily worked on the damaged finish to the restaurant bar, glancing at her cell phone too much. Nate was working all day, she knew. He certainly didn’t need to call her right away. But she was surprised how much she longed to hear his voice, how much she wanted to feel his arms around her and bask in the admiration he so openly showed her. She hadn’t felt so excited in years, and it was wonderful and scary all at the same time. She found herself hoping the hockey game would end early, so she could meet up with Nate.

She got a text from Brooke at six sharp, and met her and Monica in the alley. All of them wore jeans and long-sleeve shirts and carried fleece or denim jackets.

“I thought your sister was going?” Emily said to Monica.

Monica rolled her eyes. “She’s coming. She didn’t bring the right clothes for a rink, so she’s going through mine.”