It didn’t help that she drove him insane with her erratic schedule. Up all hours of the night, the movement in her apartment kept him awake more than he slept. But like clockwork, every morning at seven she bounded down the steps for a run.
He realized the sound of running water had been replaced by absolute silence. He glanced up and wondered with star-struck, romantic imaginings what she might be doing now.
God, help me.
More desperate plea than rational prayer, he couldn’t help but smile when the newspaper landed at his feet with a thud and brought him back to reality.
“Jesus, I don’t know what it’s going to take for this woman to agree to an interview, nor can I seem to get her out of my mind long enough to finish that last review. I’m running out of time here, and I’d sure appreciate it if You open a door.”
A chuckle echoed in his mind, mocked. Jason wondered if God was laughing at the predicament he’d gotten himself into, or if the sound stemmed from the devil ridiculing his faith. He picked up the newspaper and his now-cold coffee and trod indoors to see if he could take up where he left off in her latest novel. Perhaps a raving review would lure her out of her shell, or cave, and she’d grace him with a few words that he could polish to create an interview.
Or, maybe once he finished the review, he could actually ask her opinion of it before he sent it to his editor. Then, if she saw that he really did do quality work, that he admired her and didn’t want to do her harm, she just might give him that interview.
Hope beat a tattoo in his heart as he poured a fresh cup of coffee and placed his laptop on the table.
****
Kylie twisted her hair into a thick braid. Refreshed from her run and subsequent shower, she prepared a light breakfast and took it onto the balcony which overlooked a huge meadow flocked with wildflowers. Bees and butterflies danced among the Columbine, Milkweed and Larkspur. She nibbled on her toast and let the peaceful scene soak into her spirit while her mind roamed idly along the trajectory of her career and circled back to her current work in progress as she considered and discarded solutions to the corner her characters had written themselves into.
What am I overlooking? I know there are holes in the subplot but can’t begin to see where they are.
The wailing cry of a cat followed by the opening and closing of a door jerked her back into the present moment and thrust her into the quagmire that had hindered the flow of words onto the page for weeks.
Her usually placid temper jumped into a simmer.
And it’s Jason Stockwell’s fault!
She’d recognized the shy, geeky guy from college when he emailed her after her first novel hit the charts. During college, she’d thought he was cute, so she didn’t mind sharing the occasional email over the years. In fact, she was flattered that he was one of her biggest fans, and had wondered why he never asked her out. His initial request for an interview came as a pleasant surprise…until she found out what publication he wrote for. She did not want to be associated with a gossip rag.
She’d avoided him since then. When she discovered that she’d inadvertently moved into his apartment building, she’d almost forfeited the first-last-and-deposit money she’d forked out, and found another place to live. Had the place not been such a great location, she might’ve been able to swallow losing the small fortune…or maybe not. Her career was on the upswing, but throwing money down the drain just to avoid a reporter—college mate or not—was silly.
Raking her chair back from the table, she rose, picked up her plate and went into her apartment. She rinsed her dishes and wandered into the living room.
Something’s gotta change.
On a surge of inspiration she mixed some cleaning solution in a bucket of water and decided to clean and rearrange her entire apartment. Hopefully the physical cleansing would somehow erase the cobwebs from her creativity.
****
Jason’s optimism vanished. Peace and quiet—and the flow of thoughts and words—ended with a thud from the upstairs apartment, followed by the thump and bump of loud music that he swore was a herd of elephants doing the rumba. The occasional scrape and grind of furniture across the floor interrupted the dance.
Trying to concentrate, he turned on a white noise app, switched to earbuds and eventually resorted to ear plugs, all to no avail. An hour later, he flung back from the table with such force the chair toppled. Quick thinking and narrow vision enabled him to see and catch his laptop as it slid toward the floor. A low growl sounded in his throat as he stormed out of his apartment and up the stairs. Past the point of a civil knock, he banged on her door. She opened it with a flourish. He stormed through without waiting for an invitation.
“Excuse me, Mr. Stockwell, but you’re not welcome here!”
“Well, excuse me, Ms. Erickson, but you’re the most inconsiderate, stubborn, self-centered woman I’ve ever met. How do you expect me to get any work done with the racket going on up here?”
She whirled away with a snort and turned down the music. “I wouldn’t deign to call what you do work. But there, are you happy?”
“I’ll be happy when you treat me like a person and be as respectful of my time and work as I am of yours.”
“Person? More like passive-aggressive stalker. Half the time you act like you can’t wait for that interview and the other half of the time you act as if it would take an act of God for you to even speak to me.”
Passive-aggressive Stalker? “You want assertive-aggressive, instead? I’ll show you, lady.” He pulled her into his arms and his lips swooped over hers in a scorching kiss. Within moments everything about the embrace softened. When the kiss ended she was plastered against him, her fists curled into his hair.
After a few moments of stunned silence, she pushed herself out of his arms. Her palm connected with his cheek in a resounding slap. Jason stepped back and used every ounce of self-control he possessed to refrain from touching her again. He turned and strode from her apartment and down the stairs into his own. He plopped in his chair and started to write.
Peppered with adjectives like, selfish, stuck-up, and eccentric, words poured forth with scathing clarity. Within moments he had not only a raving review, but an interview as well. He’d get her with this for sure!
His editor would absolutely love it.
His finger trembled over the ‘send’ button.
****
Kylie paced, careful to be quiet. Three days had passed since her neighbor stormed into her apartment, swept her well-ordered life into turmoil and left her schedule in shreds. She never believed in writer’s block or anything like it. Nevertheless, the nasty cloud of stymied imagination hung over her head. Every time she sat at the computer, her mind froze, fingers locked up tighter than a…she shook her head and flushed at the analogy that came to mind. Even her thoughts were not her own! She closed her eyes to pray but all she saw, all she felt, were those blistering eyes and scorching lips.
Why had she not stopped him? Why hadn’t she called the cops? The guy had practically forced himself on her!
OK, maybe not. She had kind of provoked him with her insults, and even though he’d grabbed her, she never actually felt…accosted…but…but still, that didn’t give him the right to—
No one had ever devastated her with a single kiss before and for the life of her she couldn’t get past it. He’d touched some place deep inside, a part she’d never allowed anyone to touch before. The cute, shy guy from college, the one who could barely say two words to her, had scaled the walls of her heart in a way she would not have normally let pass. What was wrong with her?
A sob shivered through her. Why God? Why him?
Why not?
The words echoed in the depths of her soul.
Because he’s a…a parasite! He writes for a rag mag for goodness sakes. I want a man who respects me, respects my craft, not someone who uses that craft to write gossip and ruin people’s lives.
In other words if a writer isn’t a big comm
ercial success he isn’t really an author, right? Who made you the judge of talent, a gift I give out?
She felt the chastisement from the depths of her being. A flush climbed in her cheeks. Her heart trembled with shame.
Oh, Lord, I never thought of myself as that, but I guess that’s what my actions have shown all along. I’m sorry.
Kylie knew God wasn’t the only one she should apologize to. Without hesitation she marched downstairs and met Jason on his way up.
“I….” they began at the same time. A dark flush crept up his neck. Jason ran a hand through his hair and insisted she speak first.
“I wanted to apologize for not being considerate of your work schedule. Just because I can’t seem to write a single word doesn’t mean I should make everyone around me miserable too.”
He smiled and her heart skipped a thud.
“I was on my way to apologize also. Barging in and kissing you that way is no way for a gentleman to behave toward a lady. I should’ve treated you with more respect. I promise I’m not usually that neanderthal. In fact, I’ve never actually done anything like that before.”
As shy as he’d always been before, she believed him, and the fact he still considered her a lady only succeeded in making her more ashamed of her judgmental attitude. She knew what she had to do.
Warmth flooded her cheeks. She gazed at him a full moment. “Thank you. If you’re still interested, I’ll agree to the interview.”
His entire face lit up when he smiled. “I’d really appreciate that. I’ve already got an outline, perhaps we can discuss it over dinner? Tomorrow night, six o’clock?”
Kylie swallowed the hard knot of nerves clogging her airways, and nodded.
“Great! I’ll see you tomorrow then. And Kylie? Thank you, too. You won’t be sorry. I promise.”
I hope not, she thought as he turned around and headed back down the stairwell.
The next evening she stood at his door, heart pounding, hands shaking. She pushed the doorbell and heard a harried response. When he opened the door, her thundering heart punched its way into her throat then lunged to the pit of her stomach. The towel wrapped loosely around his waist confirmed she’d interrupted his shower. His damp hair lay plastered against a perfectly shaped head. The dark mass, also moist, which curled up his chest, had her fingers hankering to reach out and stroke. Gold flecks danced in crystal green eyes. “Oh, uh, am I early?” she sputtered.
“I’m sorry, I’m running a bit behind.”
Kylie opened her mouth to speak but no more words came. She stuttered, flushed then forced the lump of emotions down her dry throat, and tried again. “I’ll go back up.”
Jason hesitated a moment then opened the door in invitation and waved toward the small kitchen table. “Nonsense. Have a seat. I’ll be right out.”
She followed as gracefully as possible on legs that felt about as solid as wet pasta. Questions rolled around in her head. What on earth am I doing? What kind of questions is he going to ask? I’m so nervous I doubt I can stomach the slightest morsel. Maybe we shouldn’t go out, what kind of signal will dinner give him? God, help me. Shivers shook her entire being as she sat, but all she knew was she had to be obedient to the still, small voice inside whispering encouragement.
A meow snagged her attention, and she bent to pet the fluffy calico that rubbed against her legs. Her gaze landed on a wadded-up piece of paper beneath the table. She picked it up, smoothed it out as much as possible and read. The blood drained from her face and gelled somewhere in the region of her feet at the sarcastic words contained within the review.
When Jason strolled into the kitchen she couldn’t bear to look at him, but when she finally raised her gaze to his, her eyes swam with tears. She blinked hard to stop the floodgate from bursting, stood, and held the paper toward him, hating the way her hand trembled.
“Looks like I’m too late, you’ve already ruined me with this.”
“Kylie, wait.”
She shook her head to ward off his words. On a sudden burst of emotion she crumbled the paper and threw it at him. “I hope you enjoy your revenge. And that you choke on it. I can’t believe I fell for your sob-story apology,” she muttered and turned to leave.
“Kylie, wait,” he said again as he gently caught her by the arm.
She twirled around to face him and his hand slid down her arm, his loose grip holding her around wrist. Though technically, he’d grabbed her again, she could tell he was striving to be gentle. His other hand slid up her side to cup her face.
“Sweet Kylie, that’s not the review I intend to publish. That’s the one I threw into the trash. Nosey has a habit of digging out balls of paper to play with. Would you like to see the finished, well almost finished version?”
Warmth from those green eyes seeped into her heart, stole the angst from her mind. Judge not lest ye be judged. The scripture floated through her soul. She nodded. He brushed his lips across her forehead, released her and moved away to pick up a legal pad off the table beside his computer. She skimmed the review unable to tear her eyes away from the page. Flowery adjectives replaced every scornful word she’d read in the crumpled up paper. The sweetness of his glowing prose rendered her ineffective in stemming the tears this time when Jason cupped her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers in a tender embrace.
****
One year later The Sparkling Star Report headlines read:
Celebrity Wedding Announcement!
Sources reveal former-contributor to The Sparkling Star Report Jason Stockwell and best-selling author Kylie Erickson exchanged vows Thanksgiving Day in an intimate and very private ceremony on a moonlit beach beneath a blanket of stars. The couple is reportedly honeymooning in Star City, Ireland.
Dear Reader,
As Christians we are instructed not to judge our fellow man. But like Kylie, many of us still do. My prayer is, like Kylie, we put aside our judgments and open our heart and mind to the people God puts in our lives.
If you don’t know Him already, I pray you seek Jesus as your Lord and Savior. If you do, I urge you to seek a closer, more personal walk with Him.
As always, THANK YOU for your continued support of my writing – may you find joy in reading.
Pamela S Thibodeaux
“Inspirational with an Edge!” ™
In His Sight
Lorelei Connor scoured the atlas on the coffee table. Her eyes searched far from the small town where she resided. The tick of the clock on the mantle above the fireplace reminded her time ran out.
Fear crawled up her spine.
They had lived in one place for too long. It was time to move on.
She closed her eyes, placed the red marker over the state of Tennessee and let the Lord lead her hand. She gazed down at the circle just southeast of Nashville. Stars Crossing. The name leapt out. She did a quick search on the internet for specifics and clicked on the ‘Real Estate’ link to verify housing was available. A note on the page caught her eye. Handyman needed for maintenance and minor repairs of properties owned by agency. Emailed resumes accepted. Her soul danced in excitement.
She picked up the laptop and rushed into her daughter’s room. “Laurel, I know where we’re going!”
Her child groaned and buried her face in a pillow. “Not again, Mom. Where to now?”
Lorelei climbed up on the bed and elbowed her in a gentle gesture. “Look at this little town in Tennessee I’ve discovered.”
Laurel sat up and glanced at the screen. “Stars Crossing? Who ever heard of Stars Crossing, Tennessee? Stupid name if you ask me. You promised we’d stay here for a while.”
Despondency colored her tone and made Lorelei’s heart ache. “This time for good, no more moving, you’ll see.”
“Yeah, like I haven’t heard that before.”
Lorelei closed the laptop and crawled off the bed with a sigh. Weariness dragged at her. She understood how Laurel felt. She too despaired of the constant moving. Maybe this time she’d find the
peace she craved and a quiet, unhurried lifestyle where she felt safe.
“Pack up your things.”
She returned to the living room and emailed her resume to the real estate agency. Two days later they hit the road, everything they owned in the backseat and trunk of her car. Five days after leaving Wyoming, they arrived in Stars Crossing, Tennessee. Within hours she had a place to live, a job, and Laurel was registered for school.
****
Carson Alexander walked through his classroom and tugged desks into a semicircle around the dry eraser board. One thing he loved about teaching sixth-grade English at Stars Crossing Middle School was that the classes were so small. With no more than fifteen students at a time he could work closely with each one and give them the attention they needed and deserved. Another thing he appreciated was the lack of standard or strict curriculum. As long as the children passed the exams set forth by the Department of Education, he could teach as he pleased.
So far, his kids excelled, maintaining some of the highest scores in the entire school. Pride filled his soul and caused his heart to swell, chest to puff out.
Pride cometh before the fall.
The Voice echoed in his mind, ricocheted through his soul. He shrugged off the warning, walked to his desk and picked up the name tags for each incoming student. He thumbed through the stack, pondered each one and wondered about the child attached to the name….Jenny & Jerry Smith – twins or un-related? One name struck him hard, sent unnamed emotion curling through his system – Laurel Connor.
He hadn’t heard the name Laurel in years and then, used only as a surname or when referring to the small town in Mississippi from whence he came. He moved to Stars Crossing, Tennessee five years ago for two reasons. One, the teaching position and two, the town though smaller, reminded him of home.
Memories crashed through the floodgates he’d built around his heart…..the huge two-story house and two-hundred acre farm where he grew up. His seven siblings, parents who adored him – their eldest son, and the pain of losing everything he held near and dear to his heart.
Love in Season Page 14
