by Teri Wilson
With each slow step down the aisle, she closed the gap between them. When at last she reached him, Goldie handed her bouquet of pink roses and calla lilies to Eve. Joe wrapped his strong hands around Goldie’s and she realized she was trembling. The shaking subsided when Joe brought her hands to his lips and grazed her knuckles with a tender kiss of assurance.
Pastor Paul began to recite the words of the ceremony, words Goldie and Joe had gone over time and again. Goldie was suddenly very glad they’d pored over the verses and vows, because now the time was finally here, everything was happening so fast. Even if the pastor spoke in slow motion, she would have been unable to focus on exactly what he was saying because she was lost in Joe’s gaze. In the entire history of weddings had a groom ever looked at a bride quite that way before? Goldie didn’t think so. She could see every ounce of love he felt for her pouring through the warm brown glow of his eyes. And when he spoke his vows, his voice never wavered, but held steady and true. “I Joe, take you Goldie, to be my wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish ’til death do us part. And hereto I pledge you my faithfulness.”
Goldie repeated the words back to him, willing herself not to cry. “I Goldie, take you Joe, to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish ’til death do us part. And hereto I pledge you my faithfulness.”
Goldie had been to her fair share of weddings in the past and, like many people, the vows had always been her favorite part. They’d always sounded so dreamy and romantic. But now, since living through the death of a loved one, she knew these weren’t mere words. And she still meant them with all her heart. She would stand by Joe in sickness, even in death.
“By the power vested in me by the State of North Carolina, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Pastor Paul’s voice rang with joy, and Goldie finally tore her gaze from Joe to look at the clergyman. His eyes twinkled with mischief and he said, “Joe, you may now kiss your bride.”
Goldie held her breath with sweet anticipation as her husband lifted the fine lace veil away from her face. She wondered if her grandmother’s heart had beat anywhere near as fiercely as hers was now when Grandpa removed this same veil from his own bride’s face so many years ago. She hoped so.
If only every wife could feel this way about her husband. Even for just a moment. Thank you, Lord, for blessing me so.
As the lace came up over her head, Goldie said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t be the last bride to wear this veil. Maybe someday Eve would wear it. Or perhaps Joe and Goldie might have a daughter or granddaughter of their own. Goldie felt herself glow from the inside out at the very thought.
Joe took a sharp intake of breath as he lifted the sheer fabric and unveiled Goldie’s features. His gasp made her heart pump even faster. “You are so, so beautiful.” He cradled her face in his hands, and as he tilted her chin to kiss her, he whispered, “My wife.”
The kiss was tender at first, but as the emotions within Goldie swelled to the surface, their lips moved with greater intensity. Goldie thought she had experienced the best of Joe’s kisses before now, but she was wrong. Dead wrong. She clutched at the fabric of his tuxedo jacket and hung on for dear life, lest she melt into a puddle at his feet in front of all their closest friends and family. Joe sighed when he finally pulled away.
They turned to face their cheering guests and, as they made their way back down the aisle, Goldie leaned in and gave Joe’s earlobe a little nibble. “Do you think we’ll have time later today for you to kiss me like that again?”
Joe pulled her closer against him and breathed against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a riot of shivers up her spine. “Don’t you worry, Bashful. Now, we have all the time in the world. And I fully intend to spend a good portion of it kissing you. Capeesh?”
Goldie smiled, wrapped her arm around her husband’s waist and leaned into his embrace. “Capeesh.”
Cup of Joe
Inspirational romance, Christian romance, Christian fiction, romance novel, christian romance novel, teri wilson, white rose publishing
The dog melted into the crook of Goldie’s arm, a warm bundle of soft fur. Goldie thought perhaps she would let the pup sleep with her in the pink room tonight. Then she realized that for the first time since her grandfather died, she would no longer be alone in the house where she grew up. Before she could stop it, a lone tear of gratitude fell from her lashes.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
Joe nodded and his gaze glowed with understanding. Not pity, or even sympathy. The expression his coffee eyes bore was one of shared grief. “My pleasure.”
Goldie sniffed and shifted from one foot to the other. She really needed to hold it together. But she had to ask him one last question before the two of them went inside and she lost him in the whirlwind of all the other guests. “Why?”
Joe looked up from the dog with a questioning glance. “Why what?”
“Why are you doing all of this for me? You hardly know me.” Her voice cracked with emotion.
Joe’s fingers wrapped around the shiny silver tag on the dog’s pink collar. He turned over the tag, ran his thumb over the engraving and showed it to Goldie. “Because something told me this might be exactly what you need right now.”
Bliss.
The dog’s name was Bliss.
Cup of Joe
Inspirational romance, Christian romance, Christian fiction, romance novel, christian romance novel, teri wilson, white rose publishing
Chapter Two
Joe eyed the paper cup topped with a generous mountain of something that resembled whipped cream. He held it to his nose and took a whiff. It smelled, and looked, much more like a dessert than a coffee beverage. “What is this again?”
Cinnamon rolled her eyes. “A latte macchiato.” An exasperated sigh followed the eye rolling. “With foam.”
He took another whiff, then a tentative sip. “This is phenomenal.”
She grinned from ear to ear. “I told you I knew what I was doing. Honestly, it’s shameful you’ve never had one of these before.”
“I mean, it’s really, really good.” Then he just had to ask, “Are you absolutely sure there’s coffee in here?”
Cinnamon jammed her hands on her hips. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it has espresso in it.”
“Hmm, no kidding?” He took another sip. He would have never guessed something as strong as espresso. Sure enough, there was a hint of coffee mixed in with the creamy caramel goodness. But it was subtle. Subtle enough that someone who didn’t drink coffee just might like it, too. Someone like Goldie.
“This is perfect. Let me get a lid for this one…” His voice drifted off, and he cleared his throat.
Cinnamon shot him an amused grin. “What was that?”
He felt his face redden and he squared his shoulders. Why should he try to hide his feelings? Cinnamon may have a nosy streak at times, but she was his employee. “I said, can you please make another one? I’m going to take it to Goldie. She’s got a tough day ahead of her.” He looked straight at Cinnamon, willing himself not to wince, and waited for what he knew would probably be a teasing remark.
Instead, her expression softened. “That’s really sweet, boss.”
Joe shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Having prepared himself for teasing, he almost felt even more uncomfortable with her sincerity. “Um. Well, she might not like it. She’s not a, uh, coffee drinker.”
“Yet.” Cinnamon pointed at her new creation. “If she doesn’t like that latte macchiato, I’ll be shocked. But don’t worry. If she doesn’t, we’ll find something she likes. I’ve got more delicious recipes up my sleeve.” She winked at him knowingly, and he ran his hand through his hair as he always did when he was nervous.
How in the world had he ended up in this situation? Taking l
ove advice from a young girl with a nose ring?
“OK. Well, thanks.” He added for good measure, “And, good job.”
“No problem, boss.” She flicked a lever on the shiny espresso machine and a loud hiss filled the air.
Less than half an hour later, Joe stood on the now-familiar territory that was Goldie’s front porch. In one hand, he gripped a fresh, warm latte macchiato and in the other, the end of Java’s leather leash. He looked down at Java. The dog’s pink tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth. “Behave, OK?”
Java just blinked. Joe wondered, once again, if he should have brought the big Husky along. It seemed more than a little presumptuous. But Cinnamon had absolutely insisted on it. Take Java, she’d said as she shoved the leash into his palm. Chicks dig dogs.
Joe glanced up at the blue morning sky.
Forgive me, Lord.
At once, he regretted ever letting Cinnamon figure out how smitten he was with Goldie. Now, his genuine attempts to cheer her up, to take away at least some of the grief dragging her down, felt wrong. Like he was taking advantage of her sadness, which he never, ever would do.
He was half-tempted to turn around and walk back to the coffee shop, but he couldn’t. He’d made a promise to her grandfather. A promise he intended to keep.
So, instead of slinking back to the coffee shop, he rang the doorbell with the hand that held the whipped coffee confection. Java sat completely still and let out a dramatic yawn. Joe wished he felt half as calm as his dog.
“Who is it?” Goldie’s monotone voice was barely discernable coming from the other side of the door. But at least she hadn’t pretended not to hear the bell. It was progress, right?
Joe spoke loudly enough so she could hear him through the door, but not as forcefully as he had yesterday. He didn’t want to seem pushy before she even laid eyes on him. “It’s me. Joe.”
The door opened a crack. Through the tiny sliver, he saw her groggy eyes widen as she took in the large dog standing next to him. Joe held his breath in anticipation. And as Java’s tail wagged and beat against the wooden steps of the porch, Goldie’s features flickered to life. Then, to his utter astonishment, she actually smiled. “Who’s your friend?”
Joe had never seen such a glorious vision as that subtle smile. His heart leapt to his throat at the sight of her standing there, dressed in black for her grandfather’s funeral, smiling as she pat his dog on the head. Yes, it appeared Goldie did, in fact, dig dogs. Cinnamon was right. And if Java brought her even a moment of happiness on this solemn day, he was glad he listened to Cinnamon’s advice. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks. “This is Java.”
The smile lingered on her lips, faint as a whisper. “He’s so sweet. Is he yours?”
“Yep. I adopted him a couple of years ago.” He watched as Goldie scratched Java behind the ears. She looked like a ballerina, elegant and lovely, in her sweeping black skirt and ballet flats with tiny bows on top. A vision of grace and beauty. But she was dressed this way because today she was going to bury her grandfather. He wished he could take her place, and she could climb back in her Sponge Bob pajamas and fuzzy slippers and spend all day curled up on the sofa.
“So, I brought you something.” As he spoke, her gaze flitted to the paper cup in his hand. Her bow-shaped lips lifted into a subtle upturn as she saw the cursive letter G drizzled on top of the whipped cream in caramel sauce. Another smile!
“Is that coffee? Don’t you remember what I told you yesterday?” The smile lingered, giving her words a teasing quality.
“You don’t like coffee. How could I forget?” He clutched his chest in a mock heartbroken gesture. “Just taste it. One little sip. That’s all I ask. Please.”
She took the cup from his hand. “Well, I’m not sure how it will taste, but it’s awfully pretty.”
He had to admit Cinnamon knew more than her fair share about coffee. The caramel G had actually been his own idea. He’d practiced a few times on a napkin before tackling the mountain of whipped cream atop Goldie’s latte macchiato. Penmanship had never been his strong suit, but he’d kept at it until the G was perfect. “So, you’re going to try it, right?”
“OK. But no promises.” She wrinkled her nose as she brought the cup to her lips, red and smooth as a shiny satin ribbon.
Joe held his breath as she took a tiny sip. He relaxed slightly when she took another, longer, taste. “You like it, don’t you?”
“It’s not bad.” She peered at him over the coffee cup and took another sip, decorating the tip of her nose with a small dollop of whipped cream.
Before he could stop himself, Joe reached over and dabbed at her nose with the tip of his finger. “Admit it. You love it, don’t you?”
“Love?” She raised her eyebrows. “Like hate, love is an awfully strong word.”
The blood in Joe’s veins stood still. He knew she was only joking—turning his own words around from the day before. But hearing the word love fall off her lips gave him the strangest sensation inside.
Because he loved her. Yes, he did. And that is why he’d promised her grandfather he would look after her. To make sure she was OK. And one day, God willing, he would actually tell her how he felt about her. Someday…when she was ready to hear it.
“It’s good. Quite yummy, actually.” Goldie ran her tongue over the edge of the cup, capturing the last bit of whipped cream. The simple gesture stole the breath from Joe’s lungs.
It took him a moment to remember what they were talking about. Oh yeah. The latte macchiato. “I knew it. You do like coffee, after all.”
She just took another sip and ran her hand over Java’s pointy ears.
Unsure how to interpret her silence, Joe decided to quit while he was ahead. “Well, I guess I’d better let you get ready for…”
She completed his sentence when his voice trailed off. “The funeral.”
Joe nodded and pretended not to notice that her eyes had suddenly become very bright blue and shiny with unshed tears.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll be there.”
“I’m having a reception afterward. Here at the house, if you’d like to come.” She looked at the ground and sighed, but her fingers remained buried in Java’s fur.
“I’d like that very much.”
“OK then.” Goldie retreated back to the crack in the doorframe, the glow in her face growing dim.
Joe would have drawn the entire alphabet in caramel letters if it would have made the moment last longer. “Bye, Goldie.” As he turned to leave, Java whimpered, drawing her attention once more.
“Thanks Joe. Thanks for everything,” she murmured as she closed the door with a click.
Joe paused on the top step. “It’s my pleasure,” he whispered to Java, to God, and whoever else might be listening.
ef
Goldie’s eyes traveled the length of the dining room table as she tried to remember the last time she’d ever seen so much food all in one place. If only she were hungry. There were deli trays, home baked cookies, fresh fruit and a most impressive assortment of casserole dishes. Seriously.
She blinked at the neat rows of corning ware overflowing with King Ranch chicken, green bean casserole, tuna casserole, macaroni and cheese casserole and hamburger casserole. I’d bet money that Piggly Wiggly is clean out of every variety of Campbell’s creamed soup.
Southerners knew the secret to dealing with grief—comfort food. And it seemed every resident of Turtle Beach who owned a spatula had turned out for the reception at Goldie’s house after the funeral. She eyed the macaroni and cheese and tried to will her stomach to growl. Nothing. Not even a whimper.
“Ohhh. Arrrrg.”
Goldie’s head snapped from left to right as she looked for the source of the sudden groan. It wasn’t her tummy. She wondered for a moment if the table had moaned from the sheer weight of all the casserole dishes. Then she realized where the sounds of agony came from. She just smiled. “Have you had enoug
h to eat, Peggy?”
“I’ve never eaten so much at one sitting in all my life.” Peggy, Goldie’s neighbor, blushed. Her snowy white hair served as a stark contrast to the crimson glow of her cheeks.
“I know. I have no idea what I’m going to do with all this food.” Goldie shook her head and motioned toward the table. The fact that it still stood on all four legs astounded her.
“It’s for you to eat, child.” Peggy patted her on the shoulder with a gentle hand. “That’s what it’s here for.”
Goldie sighed. She knew she needed to eat something, but just the effort it took to lift a fork to her mouth seemed impossible. In fact, the last thing she’d eaten had been the generous mountain of whipped cream atop the delicious coffee drink Joe had brought her this morning. She touched the tip of her nose, remembering when he’d dabbed at it with his own fingertip, and her cheeks flushed ten times redder than Peggy’s.
