“Dance with me?” he asked, extending his hand.
She looked up at him, and the war on her face—the wanting and the knowing and the pain of both—nearly undid him.
“We probably shouldn’t.”
“Probably not. Dance with me anyway.”
She took his hand and let him lead her to the edge of the dance floor, away from the center where Tessa and Dusty swayed and Lacey and Roman held each other close. The trio played something soft and aching, and Eli pulled Kate against him and felt her settle there like she’d been designed for the space between his arms.
“I need to tell you something,” he said quietly.
“That sounds ominous for a wedding.”
“It is,” he confirmed. “There’s a tropical storm building in the Caribbean. It’s expected to become a major hurricane. The models show it could make landfall somewhere along the Panhandle in about a week or so.”
Kate pulled back and looked at him. “How bad?”
“Could be significant.”
Her eyes widened in horror.
“I know.” He held her gaze. “The Summer House is built to withstand a lot, but a direct hit from a major hurricane—I don’t know. And Lakeside is wide open. All the framed houses are vulnerable to being wiped out. And there are a lot of people here that will have to evacuate—we need to find a place for everyone.”
He watched her process this—the scientist running calculations, the mother thinking about safety, the woman who loved this house and everyone in it putting all the variables into an equation.
“I’m not leaving,” she said.
“Kate, you should head back to Ithaca tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “No, I can help. Emma doesn’t start school for a few weeks, and, despite the brave face, she’d love to delay the inevitable.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I’m not leaving before a hurricane, Eli. I’ll stay until it passes and we assess the damage.”
The relief that flooded through him was so intense he had to close his eyes for a moment. She was staying.
“Thank you,” he said. After a pause, he turned her slowly to the music. “But since you’re going to be here for another week or two…can I suggest something?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“Don’t be. It’s right up your alley.” He looked down at her, and the words came out with a clarity that surprised him. “Whileyou’re here, waiting out the storm—do some research. Real research, the kind you do better than anyone I know. Investigate it.”
A frown formed. “Investigate what?”
“God. Faith. The Bible. Everything you think is wrong with what I believe.” He watched her eyes sharpen. “Go find hard evidence to prove me wrong. Read the skeptics, the scientists, the atheist philosophers. Build your case. And if you can prove to me—with data and logic and the kind of evidence that would stand up in a peer-reviewed journal—that there’s no God, I’ll listen.”
She stared at him. “You want me to disprove God.”
“I want you to try. Honestly and thoroughly, the way you’d approach any hypothesis.” He pulled her closer. “I’m not afraid of what you’ll find, Kate. I’m actually curious.”
He wanted to add that many people who’d done that research had ended up somewhere other than they’d expected, but he didn’t want to scare her off the idea.
She studied his face with the focused intensity he loved—a look that meant her mind was fully engaged and running at capacity.
“What gave you this idea?” she asked.
“Not what, who. Your daughter.”