Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(22)

“Hello, Geoff,” Dave said, holding out his hand. He knew the young man casually. They’d talked once or twice after Martha Evans’s death. Allan Harris had been in charge of Martha’s legal affairs; he was a man the older woman had trusted.

“Pastor.” Geoff got up, his own hand outstretched. A moment later, Dave turned to a row of pegs and hung up his coat.

Geoff was a likeable young man with a firm handshake. He dressed professionally in a suit and tie, and his demeanor was low-key, unthreatening. A good attribute for someone in a small-town legal practice, Dave thought.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Harris phoned a few minutes ago and is tied up in a meeting,” Geoff said. “He didn’t think he’d be more than fifteen minutes. Would it be possible for you to wait?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Wonderful.” Geoff rubbed his palms together. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks, anyway.” Dave strode over to the small waiting area and sat down. No one else was in the office. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee and reached for a three-month-old issue of Sports Illustrated.

“Actually,” Geoff said, following him. “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Dave closed the magazine. “How can I help you?”

“I don’t know if Allan mentioned it or not, but I’ve recently become engaged.” The young man’s lips tilted in a pleased smile.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” Geoff’s smile grew wider. “I feel like the luckiest man alive because Lori Bellamy’s agreed to marry me.”

The Bellamys were major landowners on Bainbridge Island. Dave had heard the name any number of times through the years because of the family’s many philanthropic projects. If he remembered correctly, the Bellamys owned a theater and various prime pieces of waterfront in the downtown area of Winslow.

“When’s the wedding?”

“June,” Geoff said.

“Perfect month for a wedding.”

“Yes.” Geoff lowered himself into the chair next to Dave. “Lori said something about premarital classes. What’s your feeling about those?”

“I highly recommend them.”

“I don’t know.” Geoff didn’t sound convinced. “She seems to think they’re important, but…”

Dave tried to reassure the young man. “They help alleviate problems later on, Geoff,” he went on to explain. “It’s crucial for a young couple to establish the lines of communication before they say their vows.”

Geoff shifted a bit and looked away. “Are these classes expensive?”

That was a tricky question. Dave didn’t charge anyone in his congregation for counseling, whether individual or in a class; however, he couldn’t speak for other churches. “I don’t believe they are.”

“Lori’s family are willing to pay for them—along with everything else.” This last part was said with some bitterness. “I don’t mind them picking up the cost of the wedding—that’s traditional—but for the rest, I believe Lori and I should pay.”

Dave approved of his attitude. He speculated that while Geoff made a decent wage as a legal assistant, he couldn’t handle an extravagant lifestyle. But Dave liked the young man’s sense of honor, his determination to pay his own expenses.

“If you want, I could set you up with a couple of sessions,” he offered. “You and Lori can meet with me and we’ll see how it goes.”

“What would that cost?”

“Nothing.” Dave shook his head. “You can make a donation to the church later if you decide it was worth your time.”

Geoff looked shocked. “Really?”

“Of course. I want you to start your marriage on the right foot.” He paused, thinking a moment. “It’ll probably be more convenient for you to do the sessions in Cedar Cove, anyway, rather than on Bainbridge Island, since you’re working here. What about Lori? Does she work in the area?”

“She has a part-time job at a dress shop in Silverdale. This should be good for both of us,” Geoff said. “I’ll talk to Lori and get back to you.”

“You do that.”

Geoff returned to his desk, and Dave picked up the magazine again. He hadn’t read more than a few paragraphs of an article about steroid use in professional sports before the front door opened and Allan Harris exploded into the room. He was a burly, energetic man.

“Dave, Dave,” he muttered, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

Dave placed the magazine on the nearby table and stood. “No problem.”

Allan shrugged out of his wool overcoat and hung it on the peg next to Dave’s. “Did Geoff offer you coffee?”

“Yes. I’m full up, thanks.”

Allan lifted the glass coffeepot, which sat in an alcove next to his office, and poured himself a cup. “It’s colder outside than a witch’s—” He stopped abruptly. “Beg your pardon, Pastor.”

Dave didn’t bother hiding his amusement. People seemed to assume he’d never heard or uttered a swearword in his life, when in fact, he was as fallible and as prone to weakness as anyone else.