Love Blossoms: 7 Spring-Fresh Christian Romances

by Kimberly Rae Jordan

  “Say, did you know all their names rhyme?”

  “Focus, Tam.”

  “Right.” And then and there, Tamsyn lost it. “I thought if we formed Save Old Savannah and petitioned RYUCP to leave us alone, they would go away.”

  “They can’t make you sell your house.”

  “But look at the pressure. Everyone in the city block has given in. I’m next.”

  “You can hold out.”

  “For how long?” After Tamsyn ran out of tears, she reached for the glass of water that seemed to appear in front of her. “Thank you. You’re very thoughtful, Heidi.”

  “No worries,” Heidi said. “Now tell me. Is Ryan Ruttledge the one pressuring you to sell? I can ask Ming to get you some legal counsel—”

  “Ryan? No, he’s not pressuring me. Oh, I don’t know. He hasn’t left town. Do you think—maybe? Maybe he’s here to pressure me.” Tamsyn paused. He had been charming. Sly!

  “Wait. I didn’t mean to suggest it. I’m simply asking, verifying. You know we historians ask a lot of questions.”

  “Maybe I haven’t asked enough.” Tamsyn’s brows furrowed. “From Friday through yesterday, he went on a number of tours with us. I couldn’t turn him away. He was a paying customer.”

  “And you don’t have enough tour guides to let someone else deal with him.”

  “Right.” Tamsyn finished drinking her water. She sat back on the couch, folded her arms tightly around her chest. She wanted to sink into a cave and hide in the dark. But she knew she had to face this head on.

  Heidi didn’t smile. “The way I look at it, both of you have conflicts of interest.”

  “Both of us?”

  Heidi nodded. “His company wants to buy your house, your city block. You don’t want to sell. You two are at opposite ends. How does the tension feel when both of you are on the same trolley?”

  Ironically, Tamsyn enjoyed seeing Ryan. The way Ryan behaved, she thought he might have enjoyed seeing her too.

  Or maybe he was looking for a way to push my buttons.

  Tamsyn sighed. “I don’t have to sell my private property if I don’t want to.”

  “Right. But the pressure is there,” Heidi said. “Now RYUCP has bought every single house on that block except yours while Ryan Ruttledge is touring old town Savannah.”

  “I thought maybe I could convert him, make him see that history is not all that bad. Family history, hometown history, they’re all worth preserving. I wanted to share how easy it is to balance the past and present. It needn’t be one or the other.”

  “And?”

  “I thought he might come around.” Tamsyn’s lips tingled as she remembered their moment on the tall ship. What had happened there? Was it genuine?

  “Something happened? Something unexpected?”

  “Yes.” Tamsyn admitted it more to herself than to Heidi.

  “You two started developing some sort of rapport.”

  “More than that.” Tamsyn didn’t meet Heidi’s eyes. “We sort of clicked.”

  “Clicked in what say?”

  “In a heartfelt way, let’s just say.”

  “Like you’ve moved beyond your videoconference calls.”

  “Something like that.” Tamsyn didn’t want to confess that she had let her guard down. Oh boy, had she let her guard down. “It felt real. He felt real.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “He could be the wrong guy, Heidi.”

  “Is he?” Heidi smiled. “To you, Tam, they’re all wrong guys. That’s why you haven’t dated in years.”

  “Only because I’ve been busy with Tamsyn Tours.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Sometimes God brings unexpected warmth in the middle of wintry cold.”

  Tamsyn stared at her friend. “Is that why Pastor Flores married you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You say the most profound things.” Tamsyn knew what Heidi had meant. She had been alone for a very long time. Perhaps this season, this beautiful spring time, her favorite time of the year, God had brought to her doorsteps a warm love for her.

  “Diego talked to Ryan at church on Sunday,” Heidi said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Twice, in fact. Once before the service, and once after.” Heidi was thoughtful. “I think it was after you went home.”

  “Yeah, Ryan offered to pay for my lunch at Piper’s. It wasn’t necessary. It felt awkward. So I went to lunch elsewhere.”

  “If you want, I can ask Diego to call Ryan and speak with him.”

  “About what, Heidi?”

  “To see what he’s up to.”

  “Uh… No, I think I can handle this myself—with God’s help.” Tamsyn prayed to God that Ryan would turn out to be a good guy. “I sure hope there’s no conspiracy to get me so distracted with his charm and charisma while his business partners buy up the rest of the city block, thus leaving me without support for my cause to save Rosa Pendegrast Lane.”

  “Who knows?” Heidi clasped Tamsyn’s hands. “Let’s pray and ask the Lord to show us what to do.”

  Tamsyn nodded. “You pray.”

  “Okay.”

  They both closed their eyes. Heidi took her time. She prayed scripture back to God.

  Outside the sunroom, the loud roar of waves seemed to calm down. Perhaps it was psychological, Tamsyn thought, but she was more apt to believe that God’s peace was upon her.

  “In Jesus Christ we have the peace of God,” Heidi was saying. “No matter what happens to us—or to the properties and stuff we own—we know that our souls are eternally secure in heaven. Thank You, Lord, for the heavenly perspective for our earthly problems.”

  Yes, Lord, I need Your perspective.

  After they prayed, Heidi pointed to a wall clock that showed it was almost time for them to eat their salad dinner and then go to Riverside Chapel for their Wednesday night church activities.

  “Thank you for praying for me,” Tamsyn said. She followed Heidi into the kitchen to help her get plates out of the cabinet.

  “I’m glad it worked out,” Heidi said. “Diego usually works at home Wednesdays so we can drive to the midweek service together, but this afternoon he has several counseling sessions. It’s nice of you to give me a ride so that Diego and I don’t need to drive separately tonight after church.”

  “What are friends for?”

  Heidi closed the refrigerator. “Most of all, I do remind myself that no matter what people say, we need to do things God’s way. God’s wisdom is the key.”

  “You have a verse for me.”

  “God has a verse for you. Search the Bible and ask God to show you an anchor verse that can help you through this time of uncertainty.”

  “I will.” Tamsyn put down the plate. “In fact, I’ll do it right now.”

  Very quickly, she searched her Bible app on her phone for the verse. She would much rather read a printed Bible, but when looking for verses, her Bible app made the search process go much faster. She would underline the verses in her study Bible, which she had left in her car parked outside.

  At home, she preferred to read Mom’s Bible, but that Bible never left the house. It was too fragile to be carted around to and from church.

  “Here’s one.” She bookmarked it.

  “Let’s hear it.” Heidi tossed the dark leafy green salad in a big bowl.

  “It’s from Proverbs 16:20. ‘He that handleth a matter wisely shall find good: and whoso trusteth in the Lord, happy is he.’”

  “Good one. How about we both memorize it and see what God will do with it?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Tamsyn felt better already. Someone other than Dad sympathized with her problems. She loved her friends at Riverside Chapel. They genuinely cared for her.

  Thank You, Lord, for loving me. You’re all I need.

  Take my house, if You so choose, Lord. I give it to You.

  Chapter Ten

  Ryan Ruttledge
found one parking spot several blocks away, put some coins into the slot, and doubled back to Rosa Pendegrast Lane. He had seen the aerial view of this area, and watched some videos of the changes from the end of its glory days in the seventies until today. He had read how various revitalization advocates had urged the city of Savannah to blot the decaying blight from its landscape.

  Yet, the homeowners prevailed.

  Once, there had been more city residents—and even tourists and visitors—who had stood up with the homeowners, but in recent years, the number of supporters had dwindled to just the homeowners and local historians and preservationists. Lately, the support had been reduced to the fledgling Save Old Savannah group more active on social media—as they chatted amongst themselves—than they were in real life, preserving old structures.

  Surely that support would vanish now that only one unsold house remained on Rosa Pendegrast Lane: Tamsyn’s house. As far as Ryan was concerned, the house wasn’t worth saving if it couldn’t even make it to the National Register of Historic Places.

  So there, Tam. What do you say about that?

  Ryan stopped in his tracks.

  Did I just call her Tam?

  Whoa. Getting too personal there?

  Ryan brushed it off. He reached the street corner across from Tamsyn’s house. He would have come sooner had he thought it wouldn’t intrude into his friendship—or developing relationship—with Tamsyn.

  But here he was.

  He wanted to see for himself what would be lost.

  “There’s not much to see,” Ryan said aloud. No one was around him.

  The hundred-and-thirty-some year old Queen Anne was rundown. Its heyday was over. The old yellowish-and-brownish paint job on the gingerbread style trim covered the entire house. The roof looked new, but the wraparound porch—the veranda—was worn and weary. The house had some brick features, but it was mostly made of wood, particularly the veranda and the second floor.

  He had expected more substantial brick in this house, but he hadn’t been too familiar with the Victorian period. Another miss in history, he supposed.

  The two houses that RYUCP had purchased were situated very close to the backyard of Tamsyn’s house. In fact, only a magnolia tree and some trimmed azalea bushes separated the lots. The magnolia tree was as tall as Tamsyn’s house, spread out, and took up most of her backyard.

  Ryan crossed Rosa Pendegrast Lane.

  There were very few people out and about this time of day. Ryan figured more people were at work. This side of town wasn’t a tourist spot, after all.

  He walked along the low hedges separating the sidewalk and the front of the house. The flower garden was pretty and had gobs of azaleas everywhere, but compared to all other azalea gardens in Georgia, this garden was ordinary at best. Perhaps Tamsyn was too busy with her tour company to do anything beyond the basic maintenance. Perhaps her business didn’t earn enough for her to fix up this house and spruce up the garden.

  All in all, there was nothing remarkable about this property.

  Ryan had seen better buildings than this. In fact, older private homes, lovingly restored, would have a better future than this rundown has-been.

  And yet Tamsyn held on to it. Why?

  She must really like the old world charm.

  Ryan, on the other hand, preferred modern and minimalist architecture with fewer bargeboards hanging off roofs. Give me sleek, clean lines. Marble, steel, glass.

  Nothing ornate, please. And nothing this old.

  He stood at the low gate leading up to the front door of the house. Tamsyn was probably at work, knowing her, and he was in no danger of being spotted.

  As he slowly strolled the sidewalk, he surveyed the house again, looking for fault lines, for leanings. Surely the house was leaning somewhere. Against the blue sky, the chimney stood as stately as its creaky old self could.

  “Look at all that efflorescence on the brick,” Ryan mumbled. It was interesting that Tamsyn had left the whitish swaths on the old chimney. They reminded him of patina on copper steeples.

  Such things didn’t appeal to him at all.

  Ryan counted four oak trees surrounding the house. It would be a shame to cut them down. Perhaps they could keep the garden.

  Yes, he’d talk to Jared and Hiroki about keeping the garden.

  Get rid of that beat-up house. Keep the azaleas and the live oaks.

  It would be the green thing to do.

  Ryan stopped at the corner. Up on the second floor of the Victorian were a couple of oeil-de-boeuf, round windows that looked like portholes on a cruise ship.

  There was nothing more to see beyond that. It was a small house on what could have been prime city lot, had the neighborhood not been in such a poor condition.

  That was where Ruttledge Yamada Urquhart Commercial Properties came in. They would fix up this entire area in no time. The mixed-use properties, new shops and condos, sports complexes, community fields, open green spaces, and whatever else investors could afford would certainly change history.

  Meanwhile, this old house had to go.

  “I’ll bet it’s grimy inside the house. Hundred-year old grime.” Ryan suspected there might even be asbestos and lead in there. Maybe even mold and fungus and other disease agents.

  Give me sterile houses any day.

  “No historical germs for me,” Ryan concluded.

  He was about to go back to his car when he saw the front door open. Out walked Tamsyn Pendegrast. She came to a screeching halt at the edge of her porch and stared straight at him.

  “Go away,” she said.

  “Nice to see you too.” Ryan stared.

  Tamsyn looked feminine standing there in that colorful paisley summer dress. Ryan wanted to go to her, but he didn’t move from the sidewalk.

  “Why are you here?” she finally asked.

  “I’ve never been here before.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Oh boy, her voice is harsh.

  Ryan tried to remain unaffected. “I like those oxeye windows in the back.”

  Tamsyn pursed her lips. She looked kinda cute—

  “I’d better go,” he said.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Why, Ryan?” Tamsyn asked to his back.

  Ryan spun around.

  “Why do you have to destroy the past?” Her voice was low, as if it had pained her to get the words out.

  Ryan didn’t like to hear such a sad voice. “Some things are worth preserving, and some are not.”

  “And my house, with all its history, is not worth preserving?”

  “I’m not saying—”

  “What are you saying, Ryan Ruttledge V?”

  “I—uh…”

  “Do you know what you’re destroying?” Tamsyn snapped. “Memories. Memories of days gone by.”

  “Memories can be preserved regardless of where you are.”

  “This is a place of remembrance,” Tamsyn said. “There are so many Pendegrast memories here, and in one stroke, you will destroy everything.”

  “Surely not everything.”

  “Everything I hold dear.”

  Oh.

  “Then show me what you think you’re losing.” Ryan wasn’t sure why he said it. The last thing he wanted to do was enter an old house. He hadn’t brought any gloves, dust masks, or hand sanitizers.

  “This entire house with everything in it,” Tamsyn said.

  “Okay.”

  “You want to see my house.”

  “I’ve already seen the outside.” Still, Ryan wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to go inside.

  There are historical germs in there!

  He had meant to only walk around this block to see for himself the one last property that would soon belong to RYUCP.

  Soon? Yes. There was no way Tamsyn could hold on to this property.

  Well, ironically, it would be entirely possible for this old house to be the only structure left from the nineteenth century on Rosa Pendegrast Lane.r />
  It wouldn’t be a total loss if that happened. RYUCP still had the other ninety six percent of the block.

  “Yes?” Tamsyn asked.

  “Huh?”

  “Would you like to see this house before you raze it down?”

  “We’ll only do that if you sell the house to RYUCP. You can choose not to sell at all.”

  Tamsyn was visibly moved. “I’m tired of fighting, Ryan.”

  In fewer strides than he had expected, Ryan crossed path and reached Tamsyn.

  “Truth be told, I can’t maintain this house. I’m only a small business owner. I was praying—hoping against hope—that a historical society somewhere would restore this house and preserve it. I would give it up to them, but not to a commercial builder who wants to tear it down. There, I said it.”

  They looked at each other.

  Then Ryan said, “I could use a cup of tea.”

  “Did you just invite yourself into my house twice?”

  “Only if you can make proper tea. Not the tea bag kind, but loose leaf, preferably organic, tea, steeped in boiling hot water in a teapot. If you can do that, then my mother will love you to death.”

  Tamsyn laughed. “Your mother?”

  “She lives in Oxford.”

  “Mississippi?”

  “England.” Ryan chuckled.

  “I didn’t know your mom is English. Or maybe she’s an expat?”

  “She was born and grew up in the Cotswolds, but career-wise, she wrote for a travel magazine and toured the world.”

  “A writer.”

  “Retired.”

  “I would love to visit medieval towns in Europe. Some day.” Tamsyn’s eyes lit up, then fell. “Oh, I forget. You’re not into old buildings and old places and ancient towns of yore. I don’t mean to pry, but your distaste for history… Might that have come from your childhood?”

  “How much does this session cost?” Ryan tried to make light of it. It had been decades since Mother had left him with Dad, and had taken his younger sisters to England with her. Ryan had been little at that time—maybe four or five—and hadn’t understood what went on.

  To this day, Ryan and his sisters were not close. They hardly spoke to one another. Never emailed. They weren’t friends on Facebook. For all practical purposes, it was like they had never been in the same family.