Sweet Surprise: Romance Collection

by Wanda E. Brunstetter, Kristin Billerbeck, Kristy Dykes, Aisha Ford, Birdie L. Etchison, Pamela Griffin, Joyce Livingston, Tamela Hancock Murray

  “Glad you could come. I’m enjoying the evening with you.”

  “Same here.” She paused. “I’ve told you a lot about me, but you hardly told me anything about yourself.”

  He shrugged. “Not a whole lot to tell.”

  “Try me.”

  “I grew up in Nine Cloud. I went to elementary school, middle school, and high school here.”

  “Did you play any sports?”

  “Basketball.”

  “And after you graduated, you…?”

  “I went to University of Florida. I wanted to go to our denominational college, but UF was my father’s alma mater, so I went there to please him. When I finished school, I came home to help run our family business—”

  “Which is…besides Main Street Café?”

  “We’ve run the café into the third generation now. But we dabble in other things…we have some land…and some citrus groves…things like that.”

  She’d heard they owned a large chunk of land that bordered Nine Cloud to the east and west. People in town called it the Jackson land.

  “Dad’s had me involved in several of our businesses since I was a kid.” He smiled. “I’ve picked my share of oranges and grapefruits, believe me.”

  “Someday, when I own a home in Nine Cloud, I want an orange tree in my yard. And a tangerine tree, too.”

  “I have a trio of citrus trees in my yard—orange, tangerine, and grapefruit. And my grapefruit are pink grapefruit. The best and sweetest.”

  “The best?” She scrunched up her nose, thinking of the sour fruit that didn’t appeal to her, cook though she was. “I guess pink grapefruit is the way to go, if you’ve got to eat grapefruit.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Well, let’s just say it’s not my favorite citrus fruit. It’s so sour, and you feel like you’re wrestling with an alligator to get the meat out of the membranes.”

  “If I ever fixed one for you, you’d like it. It’s all in the cutting and serving of it.”

  “Okay. You’re on.”

  “All right. As soon as my grapefruit’s ripe, I’ll fix one for you.”

  “Deal.”

  He stopped on the beach and she stopped, too. “We’ve walked a long way.”

  She glanced behind them, saw the lights of restaurants and hotels far down the beach. Above them, a full moon shone down. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “We need to head back,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  They turned and started up the beach. Angel was chilly, but she’d be willing to stay out here for hours to be with him. Thankfully, he’d already led them out of the water, and they were now walking on dry, powdery sand.

  “I told you about my school life,” he said. “But I didn’t tell you about my church life.”

  “I’d like to hear it.”

  “My mother accepted Christ when I was a kid. I’ll never forget that time. It was like somebody gave her a gold mine. She was that excited. I guess she needed some joy.” He shook his head. “My father was an alcoholic.”

  “Oh my.”

  “He wasn’t a down-and-outer, though. Our family’s enjoyed financial success for generations back. But he was a social alcoholic. And that’s as bad as the other kind because he always had a drink in his hand. Or at least it seemed that way. Ever seen those old comedy videos of Dean Martin clowning around with Frank Sinatra?”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “You know who Dean Martin is, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve seen them all my life. My father loved Frank and Dean. Anyway, on these videos, Frank’s always cutting Dean down about his drinking, and Dean’s always cutting Frank down about his carousing with women.” He drew a deep breath and slowly released it. “You could safely say Dad was a combination of the two of them.”

  Angel didn’t know what to say. Her father had treated her mother like a queen. They’d enjoyed the love of a lifetime, a unique and sacrificial love. A faithful love. She’d been raised in a safe, secure, and loving environment. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  He reached for her hand as if he needed the touch of a human being. He grasped it firmly in his. “It wasn’t a good life for Mom. Of course I didn’t know about these things when I was growing up. She kept them from me. But I knew things weren’t good at our house. A kid’s no dummy. He can sense things. There were arguments, though Dad was the main one doing the arguing. And when he wasn’t arguing, he was away. And there was the weekend drunkenness, and my mother not being able to count on my father for anything, it seemed. And then…and then she left him—”

  “They divorced?”

  “She should’ve divorced him, I guess. But when I was ten, she told him she was leaving for a while to think things through. She took me with her, and we went to the coast. She and Dad had a condo on the beach, and that’s where we stayed. It was during the summer, so she didn’t have to worry about school.”

  He let go of her hand as they walked. “A neighbor in the next condo struck up a friendship with Mom. Mom and the woman—Kendra—started having coffee together a few mornings a week, and Kendra started talking to Mom about spiritual things—”

  “Did your family go to church before that?”

  He shook his head. “Mom had a vague knowledge about God, but she’d never experienced a relationship with Him. One day Kendra told her you could know you would go to heaven when you died, that you didn’t have to just hope you did. And then she explained salvation. Mom later told me no one had ever done that for her. It was like a lightbulb went on in her head. All of a sudden, she had an overwhelming desire to know God—”

  “Sounds similar to my mother’s experience.”

  “Kendra asked Mom if she’d like to invite Christ into her heart, and she said yes. Mom came over to the sofa where I was sitting and grabbed my hand. Tears were pouring down her face. We knelt down in front of it, and Kendra led us both in prayer, and we asked the Lord to be our Savior. It was like a sunburst of joy hit Mom’s soul, and I could tell from that moment she was a different person. And I was, too. I remember the feeling distinctly, even though I was only ten at the time. It was like a ton fell off my shoulders. The weight of sin.”

  “Wow.”

  “We moved home the next day, and Mom told Dad what happened. At first, things didn’t change—for him, I mean. He still drank, though he didn’t leave for trips as often. And he still had a quarrelsome nature. But Mom had this newfound joy— and hope—and so our house was different. Anointed, I’d call it. Mom started going to church and got involved, and I did, too. We attended Sunday school, and I joined the boys’ program on Wednesdays.”

  “What about your dad? Did he mind?”

  “No. He said he didn’t care. He said since her religion made her so happy, he was all for it. And what I’m about to tell you next may sound dramatic. Or it may not sound dramatic. I’ve heard all kinds of conversion stories. I’ve heard of people seeing visions of Jesus…and I’ve heard of people visiting revivals and being changed by the power of Christ….”

  Angel nodded. She’d heard—and seen—stories like those, too.

  “And then there are stories like Mom’s—of someone sharing the truth in love. But Dad…well, one day Mom and I got in the car to go to church, and she was backing out of the driveway…and Dad comes running out of the garage and jumps in the passenger seat. She told him we were going to church, and he said, ‘I know.’ She didn’t say anything, and I didn’t either. He went to church with us—to Sunday school, too—get that. And at the close of the pastor’s message, Dad walked to the altar and told the pastor he wanted what my mother and I had. Dad prayed for Christ to come into his heart. From that day to this, he’s never drunk a drop of liquor. And he’s lived a life for the Lord ever since.”

  “That is dramatic.”

  “It’s a miracle.”

  “For sure.” Angel marveled at the story. It was amazing.

  “There’s no telling wha
t would’ve happened to our family if Kendra hadn’t told Mom about Jesus. I don’t know where I’d be right now. I might be just like Dad was.” He paused, as if deep in thought. “That’s why I tell everyone I meet about the love of God. That’s why I’m sold out to Him—hook, line, and sinker.”

  They reached the place where they started walking on the beach earlier, near Jack’s Crab Shack. Looking over a sand dune and toward the parking lot that was lighted by streetlights, Cyril could see his car in the nearly deserted lot. It was late.

  He opened the car door for Angel. “Have a seat, and stick out your feet.”

  She laughed. “You’re a poet and don’t know it.” She proceeded to do as he said.

  He chuckled. “I’ll be right back.” He walked to the trunk, then came back to her door. He poured water from a jug over her feet, handed her a towel, and waited while she dried them.

  “Thanks.” She handed him the towel. “That felt good.”

  “What? Walking on the beach with me? Or rinsing your feet?”

  She laughed. “There you go again with your poetry.”

  He chuckled as he made his way to his car door, gently shaking the towel in the breeze, got in, rinsed and dried his feet, then cranked up the car.

  “I did enjoy walking on the beach with you.” Her voice was soft as she reached down and slipped on her shoes. “It was…wonderful.”

  “And so is this…” He reached for the basket in the backseat, then put it between them. “Let’s eat your pie now, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “But let’s get some coffee to go with it. That all right with you?”

  “What goes better than pie and coffee?”

  You and me. He wheeled into a small restaurant, dashed inside, and in a jiffy was pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway, two cups of coffee sitting in the built-in cup holders near the dashboard. “You don’t mind if we go to one other place before we head back, do you?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “The condo I was telling you about earlier? Where Mom and I found the Lord? We walked past it tonight. We still own it.”

  “Your old stomping grounds.”

  “Yes. I guess that’s why I love the beach so much. It holds happy memories. I’m going to show you another place we own.”

  “Another condo?”

  “No. A house.” He sipped his coffee as he drove for a good ten minutes. He turned onto a narrow, private road. At the end of the road, he pulled up to a house that fronted the ocean, the headlights allowing them to see in the darkness. The house was weathered and beaten looking, and the yard was full of sandspurs. “Dad bought it the first of the year—for the land really. It’s a little run-down—”

  “It looks like a wonderful place to retreat to. Sort of like a hideaway.”

  “We’re not sure what we’re going to do with it.” He cut off the engine, rolled down the electric windows, and turned the radio to a soft level. “We’ll either remodel it or demolish it and build something in its place.”

  “A little TLC, and it’d be beautiful.”

  He laughed. “There you go again. You and your bright ideas.” He looked at her, then slowly reached up and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, first the right side, then the left. He couldn’t resist. Then his hands were on the bottom of the steering wheel again, but he kept looking at her intently. “I’m getting to where I like your ideas, Angel…” And you.

  She looked down at the basket in her lap and traced the print of the napkin.

  “I apologize for my forwardness,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that—”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  He was surprised at her forwardness. But he liked it. He reached over, cupped her chin in his hand, and gently turned her face toward him, forcing her to look at him. Even in the moonlight, her eyes were as blue as the ocean and just as mesmerizing.

  “I guess I should apologize,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For this—” She reached over and gave him a warm hug, snuggled to him for long moments, then settled back in her seat. “I—I guess it’s the…the beach in front of us… and the waves lapping gently…and…and the moon shining down….”

  “Whatever made you do it, I’m glad.”

  Late that night, Angel pulled the sash of her terrycloth robe tightly about her waist, then brushed her hair that was damp from the shower spray.

  She’d taken a hot shower, but it hadn’t been to warm up, as she’d thought about earlier when they were walking on the beach. His nearness in the car had done the job.

  And it not only warmed my heart, it ignited it.

  She remembered the tender moment when she’d hugged him. Then she’d withdrawn from him. He seemed old-fashioned in many ways, and she didn’t want to appear forward—which she wasn’t.

  Hadn’t she hugged him for the reasons she’d told him? Hadn’t the romantic setting pulled it out of her? Yes, but it was more. It wasn’t entirely the romantic setting. It was…him.

  Chapter 5

  I just don’t understand small-town mentality,” Angel complained to her mother as they cooked. “Why these people don’t flock to a French restaurant is beyond me. Don’t they realize the uniqueness? Why, how many small towns do you know of that have French restaurants?”

  “Maybe it’s too much of an oddity to them, hon.” Her mother stood at the stove, stirring a honey-colored sauce. “Maybe you need to adjust the menu.”

  “I’ve already stopped serving rouget—”

  Her mother smiled. “Nine Cloud people couldn’t seem to adapt to whole red mullet staring up at them from their plates—”

  “Wonder why?” Angel laughed. “You’d think rednecks would like red fish.”

  “Rednecks?”

  Angel sighed. “I was joking. Nine Cloud has lots of sharp people. Only some of them are hicks.” She was thinking of some of the church members. But they were sweet hicks, she had to admit. “And forget the gigot d’agneau with herbes de Provence. That went off the menu after the first month.”

  “Lamb is a little wild tasting, if I do say so myself.”

  Angel giggled. “I’ve got a secret.”

  “You don’t like it either?” Her mother’s eyes danced in merriment.

  Angel shook her head no. “But I wanted it on the menu because it sounded sophisticated.”

  Her mother laughed heartily. “Well, at least the sandwiches sell well.”

  “Those sandwiches are the only thing keeping this ship afloat. But I don’t know for how long.”

  Angel’s eyes misted over, but she willed herself not to let the tears fall. She’d been open since June—for two months. If business didn’t pick up soon, she might have to close Rue de France. And she couldn’t bear the thought.

  Late that afternoon, Angel sat at a table in the dining room, doing office work. She glanced out the window and noted the awning over White’s Hardware Store. It had another tear in it, compliments of last night’s rainstorm and high winds. Maybe now, Mr. White would see the need to replace it.

  “Why can’t you people see the need for progress?” she said through gritted teeth.

  She spotted the peeling paint above the awning. “Decrepit. Antiquated.” She couldn’t think of any more adjectives. In desperate need of repair.

  “Repair?” Into her mind flashed a picture of the pastor at church. Last Sunday, Pastor Kyle had announced he wanted the congregation to take on a different kind of project. He wanted their church to rebuild a destitute family’s house. And he was proposing to do it in a short amount of time with the help of lots of workers. He had put out a heart-stirring plea for volunteers to sign up.

  She would like to help. But there were only so many hours in the day. Rue de France consumed all her time except for the hours she managed to squeeze out to be with Cyril. She smiled at that thought.

  “The church rebuilding project? My plate’s too full for that.”

  Chapter 6


  S tanding between the two back pews, Angel gathered her purse and Bible. She was in her usual hurry to get to Orlando and spend the afternoon with her mother. She spotted Cyril rising from his pew near the front. He’d asked her several times to sit with him. They’d spent a good bit of time together lately, and he said he wanted to be with her in church, as well. But she told him if she sat in back, she could dash out and get on over to Orlando to be with her mother. He understood, he said.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder.

  “Isn’t your name Angel Morgan?”

  She turned around and saw a petite, seventyish lady in the aisle.

  The elderly lady’s clothing cried passé, but her manner made up for it with the sparkle on her countenance. “Sweet thang—that’s what I call my grand young’uns, so I hope you don’t mind me callin’ you that. Anyway, we’re as tickled as can be that you’re attending our church.”

  “Thank you. I enjoy the services.”

  She gave Angel an air kiss on the cheek, then a boisterous hug. “The Apostle Paul says to greet the brethren with a holy kiss, but I’m sure he meant the sistern, too.” She let out a jolly laugh.

  Angel smiled as she breathed in deeply. The elderly lady’s hug smelled like the lavender in the French countryside she’d come to love during her time in France.

  The lady stepped into the pew in front of Angel, plopped down, and turned to face her. “Like I said, we’re mighty glad to have you in church with us. I seen you every Sunday, but this is the first chance I had to say hello. I never can get back here in time.”

  Angel told her about spending Sunday afternoons with her mother.

  “I know. Somebody told me that. That’s right commendable. Well, I won’t beat around the bush. I come back here on a mission.”

  “A mission?”

  “Yessiree Bob. Pastor Kyle asked me to start a new Sunday school class, and I’m wondering if you’d be a member?”

  Angel made a mental note. Put a bouquet of fresh lavender—or some sort of purple flowers at least—in the center of each table in Rue de France.

  “I knew your great-aunt. I visited her regularly after she became a shut-in. I was saddened to hear of her passing.”