A Side of Faith, Hope and Love: The Sandwich Romance Novella Collection

by Krista Phillips

  The next morning after a quick breakfast of cereal and coffee, Tilly slid into the passenger seat of Adam’s Lexus and crossed her legs at her ankles. After a long night of arguing with herself about the wisdom of spending the afternoon with her husband, she'd finally given herself a pep talk. It was only a few hours. She was a grown, forty-year-old woman. She could do this. “So, where are we going?”

  “Somewhere.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Anxiety crawled across her stomach. “Do you not remember that I deplore secrets?”

  He glanced at her as he pulled out of the driveway onto West Center Street. “Do you not remember that I love them and delight in annoying you with them anyway?”

  How could she forget? He’d been the expert secret keeper for birthdays and Christmas and even date nights.

  He’d always come up with the most creative stuff, even though their budget was nil. Like their first wedding anniversary. He’d conned the janitor into letting them in the high school on a Friday night. Adam had set up a candlelight picnic dinner right outside their old lockers where they’d met for the first time their freshman year. Their meal had consisted of pizza from Gene’s—a real splurge on their meager budget—but she’d enjoyed every moment of it.

  Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she tried to push away the memories better left buried.

  But then she remembered when they’d gotten carried away kissing after the meal, only to be interrupted by the janitor clearing his throat and telling them to get a room, a non-school one.

  Tilly had blushed hotter than a ghost pepper but Adam had only smiled, packed up the picnic, swept her off her feet, and carried her out the door to the car. He’d sped all the way home in order to follow the janitor’s suggestion.

  Her heart doubled its speed, remembering what followed in all its passionate glory. The night had been—

  “Tilly?”

  She blinked and inhaled a shaky breath, returning to the present, twenty years later. “Yes?” That sounded normal, right? Her voice only squeaked a little.

  He reached over and grabbed her hand. “You okay?”

  She snatched it back and rubbed her fingers against her pants, trying to get rid of the tingling that remained. “I’m fine.”

  A frown burrowed in his brow as he pulled up to a stop sign. “Your hand's sweaty. You’re not getting sick, are you?”

  He moved to put his palm against her forehead, but she swatted it away. “I’m fine. Just don’t like surprises.” She gulped at the half-truth. She really didn’t like surprises.

  His frown remained, but he took the left turn and crossed over the railroad tracks. “It isn’t all that glorious, I promise.”

  “Good.” Kinda. It was good, right? She didn’t need glorious. Didn’t want it.

  But the word glorious brought her mind back to thoughts from moments ago—

  She shook her head. No. She would not go there. No. No. No.

  “I have a medical bag in the back, you know.”

  Clenching her fist until her nails threatened to pierce her skin, she offered him a teeth-clenched smile. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

  His expression turned from worried to curious to a little wicked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were—”

  "Why are we headed for Somonauk?” A bead of sweat formed on her forehead. She really didn’t want to know what she looked like right now.

  “We’re not.” He slowed the SUV and took a left into Dave’s Mini-Storage. “We’re going furniture shopping.”

  “Huh? It’s not—” Understanding finally sunk into her not-functioning-well brain. “No. I told you, my things are fine.”

  He pulled into a parking spot and turned toward her. “Your things are old and falling apart. My things are new and expensive. I’m not saying trash your stuff and replace it all with mine. I’m just saying, let’s see if there’s anything we can use instead of letting it sit here gathering dust. What we can’t use, maybe we can have a garage sale next spring and sell.”

  His extreme use of the word we grated on her every nerve. She hadn’t figured out how she was going to do this, but in her eyes, their living arrangements were still very temporary. He would need his stuff and she hers. “I’m not throwing away my furniture. It was my parents’.”

  “Okay. Then we’ll switch them and put the pieces we replace in the storage unit. Then we can figure out the rest in the spring.”

  “Fine.” That gave her plenty of time to kick him out. Him and his fancy furniture.

  He led the way to the ten-by-ten storage unit, unlocked it, and rolled up the door. “Well, here it is.”

  Tilly's eyes grew wide, and she tried not to gawk.

  She’d expected tacky, modern pieces. Not sure why. Maybe it was that he came from California and the whole rich-people-with-weird-taste stereotype came to mind.

  She should have known better, though. Thus far, his living hadn’t resembled extravagant from the little she could tell. Even his monstrous bed was more solid than glamorous.

  No, the furniture inside was all classic and tame. Sturdy. Two solid gray couches with splashes of blue in some pillows she saw tossed to the side. A black, rectangle coffee table sat on the ground. There was also a small glass kitchen table with four chairs. The back of the unit held boxes stacked to the ceiling.

  Adam stood to one side, his eyes on her and not the storage unit. “So, what do you think?”

  She gulped down the lump in her throat. “I guess we can switch out the living room furniture with this. For now. But I think the tables we have now work better. ”

  He nodded, his expression not cocky, as she’d feared, but accepting. “Agreed. I’ll load up the furniture this week and get it all switched. Okay, now for the boxes.”

  “You expect us to go through all the boxes?”

  “No. But I was hoping to take some with us. I have books and clothes and some other things I’d like with me, if that’s okay. I had the movers put them here for now. It’ll take a minute to sort through them. You okay with helping me?”

  No. She wasn’t. “Fine. But remember, I still have to work tonight.”

  “It’s only one in the afternoon. We have plenty of time.”

  Just peachy. An afternoon fighting off memories and feelings better left buried.“Where do we start?”

  He squeezed a path between the furniture and plucked a box off the top, then handed it to her. “Let me know what’s in it and I’ll let you know if I need it or not. If we’re both looking, it’ll go quicker.”

  “You didn’t label the boxes?”

  He hesitated and scrunched up his face. “Uh, no. That would’ve been smart, huh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “And imagine, you are the doctor and college graduate.”

  “I thought you’d be impressed I packed my own boxes instead of hiring the movers to do it.”

  Impressed wasn’t quite the word for it. Ignoring him, she opened the first box. “This one has books. Keep or bring it with?”

  “Bring it. Some of those I’ll take to the office with me.”

  They continued working, only talking when necessary. Most of the boxes stayed, but a few of them Adam hauled to the SUV.

  Tilly picked up the last box while he was taking a box of clothes to the Lexus. She bent at her knees and opened the criss-crossed box lids.

  Her breath lodged in her throat as she surveyed what was inside.

  “Okay, Til. I think that’s probably all of—”

  She turned to see Adam staring at the box of memories. “You kept all this?”

  A light pink tinged his cheeks. “You’re not the only one who’s sentimental.”

  So many things in the box called to her. Silly gifts she’d made for him. A packet of letters, probably the ones she’d wrote him throughout high school during her summers away, if the one on top was any indication. She picked up a tiny, square box that lay on top and opened it with shakin
g hands. A thin, gold band was wedged between the velvet pillow. “Your ring.”

  “I wore it for the first few years. All through college, in fact.”

  The fact slapped her in the face. She’d taken hers off the day he left and put it in her jewelry box. She’d only moved it once, the day she moved into her family home, when she’d put it in the safe in the basement. It’d been the cheapest diamond they could find at the Pamida department store back in the day, but she’d still not been able to throw it away. But neither had she worn it.

  “I—I can’t believe you wore it.”

  His mouth pulled into a sly grin. “It helped me study better.”

  She blinked, not understanding. “How?”

  “It kept the girls away, for one, but was also a reminder of what I’d stupidly given up. My education came at a cost much higher than any college tuition. It cost me you.”

  Picking up the gold band, she caressed it between her fingers, remembering keenly the moment she’d slipped it on his finger. “Do you regret it, Adam? I mean, look at you now. Had you stayed, who knows where we would have been. Probably still two poor paupers.”

  Adam held out a hand to her. She accepted it and let him help her to her feet. “One thing God’s taught me this past year is that looking back is pointless. I can regret all I want, but none of it will change a thing. Our choices brought us to today. Right now. It’s all we have and all we can influence. Hoping to change the past will always end in heartache. Altering the future? That’s another story.”

  She looked in his eyes for the first time since he’d returned. Familiar, yet different. Changed. A very small part of her wanted to hold onto this relic of the past, to accept what he offered. Stability. Love. Hope. A future.

  But what about her?

  She hadn’t changed. She was the same old Tilly, grasping for something solid to keep the world from spinning.

  She may not be able to change the past, but learning from it would be nice.

  His gaze dipped to her lips, and he urged her closer.

  Desire blossomed in her stomach, but no. This was not what she wanted. She pulled her hand away and took a step back. “We should get going. We have a lot of stuff to get done back at home before I leave for work.”

  “We’re not done talking about this, Tilly.” His eyes were kind but determined, his words spoken as a fact and not a question.

  “I know. Just—not now.”

  He nodded, picked up the box of memories and turned to leave.

  She followed him, waiting in the SUV as he locked up the unit.

  The ride back was quiet. Tilly looked out the window at the familiar scenery passing by. She hadn’t been farther than Naperville in years. Hadn’t even gone to Florida to see her mom, even though her mother invited her no less than a dozen times a year. She’d secluded herself in her safe place.

  Maybe it was time to broaden her horizons. Was that the unrest God had put in her heart lately?

  She glanced at her husband who sat beside her, eyes trained on the road.

  Lord, I’m not ready to branch out that much…

  Adam pulled into the driveway and shifted into Park. “Tilly, I think—”

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door. “I have to go get ready—”

  He reached out and took her hand, squeezing as if he was drowning and she was his lifeline. His voice was low and pleading. “Please. Can we talk later? After you get home?”

  She paused with her hand on the door latch. She wanted more than anything to say no. To flee the turmoil that tore through her heart like a tornado. She needed to get away. “Maybe. It’ll be late.”

  He smiled and let her go. “I’ll take a maybe.”

  Ten

  Tiptoeing into the dark house, Tilly eased the backdoor shut behind her.

  She’d spent the whole evening at the Emporium on autopilot. God must have known she couldn’t handle much, as there’d been no irate customers. No complaints about food. Everything had run easy and smooth as it should, which almost never happened.

  Slipping her coat off, she hung it on the hook on the wall of the back porch along with her purse, then quietly moved to the kitchen. She’d skipped dinner, her stomach clenched with all the nerves that ping-ponged in it, but now it was empty and growled in anger at being neglected.

  She opened the fridge and startled at the sight of a Tupperware dish with a sticky note on it. She grabbed the note and told herself not to smile.

  Eat up, Til-girl.

  Peeking under the lid, her heart rebelled a little more. He’d made his spaghetti, the one and only meal he’d known how to make back in the day. Not to mention, the ingredients he used were super cheap.

  It’d been, well, eighteen years since she’d had his homemade concoction.

  Sticking a finger into the chunky, red sauce that covered the noodles, she sampled the now-cold smashed tomatoes.

  She closed her eyes, letting the zesty, garlic-tinged flavor recapture the past—

  Coming home from a long day on her feet to Adam wearing her apron and holding a giant bowl of spaghetti.

  A spaghetti-filled birthday dinner.

  Valentine’s Day dinner.

  And then the one time they’d gotten into an argument and ended up flinging noodles and sauce at each other. The fight had quickly morphed into something much more passionate—

  A throat cleared across the room, and she almost dropped the container.

  “You’re remembering our spaghetti fight, aren’t you?”

  She ignored his question that was really more a statement, and popped the bowl into the microwave. She worked to control her voice and not let the shaky emotion show. “Thanks for leaving me dinner. I’m starved.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you ate at the restaurant or not.”

  She shrugged. “It was—uh—really busy.” Kinda. Sorta.

  An awkward silence followed, finally interrupted by the ding of the microwave. Tilly grabbed her food and a fork and settled at the kitchen table, hoping he’d leave and go to bed.

  Instead, he sat beside her.

  Her pulse raced at his nearness, but she ignored it and raised an eyebrow. “You still hungry? Want some?”

  “I was hoping we could talk when you’re done.”

  “For a guy, you sure want to talk a lot.”

  In a very manly gesture, he leaned back in the chair and rested a foot on his opposite knee. “I’m not your typical guy, then. Maybe I’ve gotten in touch with my feminine side.”

  She arched an eyebrow at the blatant lie. Adam was all male, through and through, and he knew it. And so did she.

  Swirling noodles around her fork, she grasped for words that would delay answering his question. All of them jumbled in her head, though, her thoughts as crazy and mixed-up as the spaghetti in front of her. “I—I guess I need time to process everything. Time to pray.”

  Adam slid his hand across the table and covered hers, the pressure of his palm against her skin frightening and yet strangely reassuring at the same time. “Can we pray now? I mean, you’re going to eat. It’s good timing, right?”

  She blinked. Adam had always known Jesus—they’d gone to church together and all that. But praying before meals hadn’t been something normal in their home. This new side of him was one she’d never seen before.

  “I—sure. That’d be nice.”

  She bowed her head and listened to Adam’s husky voice.

  “Lord, thank you. For your blessings of food and for a roof over our head. And—thank you for second chances. For our health. I pray you’d help Tilly and I as we seek your will in our lives. And our marriage. Amen.”

  Marriage…

  Tilly took back her hand and focused on her spaghetti, but her mind was still on that word. Marriage.

  She’d prayed constantly over the last few weeks.

  But her prayers were much different.

  They were full of—

  “God, help me avoid Adam.”
<
br />   “God, I have no clue what to do. Help me.”

  “God, what in the world were you thinking, bringing him back here?”

  “God, I take back my prayer. I don’t need adventure. I’m fine how things were.”

  But Adam was praying for their marriage.

  While she knew full well they were still married, she hadn’t thought of their marriage as a thing to pray for since the day he’d walked out of their house.

  Since you told him to walk out of your house…

  The thought struck her heart like a dagger, twisting and inflicting more pain than she could bear.

  Adam’s voice rumbled beside her. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She blotted a tear she hadn’t realized she’d shed. “They aren’t worth that much, I promise.”

  A mischievous glint sparked in his eye, and he dipped his finger into her bowl and tweaked her nose, depositing a dollop of sauce.

  She blinked and wiped it off with her hand. “What are you doing?”

  But he only answered her with another swipe of sauce, to her cheek this time.

  She narrowed her eyes at him, not knowing whether to laugh or to punch him. “Hey, now.”

  He winked, his face anything but innocent. “Yes?”

  “Stop.”

  He tweaked her nose again. “Stop what?”

  Tilly bit back a smile. He was trying to lighten the mood—extending her an olive branch, spaghetti style. She slid back her chair and stood. “Seriously. No more. I have a full bowl of spaghetti here. You will not win.”

  He stood and stepped closer. “Try me.”

  Less than a foot separated them. She stepped back, but the fridge halted her. “Adam—”

  He took another step toward her, an all-too-familiar gleam in his eye. He leaned down and, before she could object, pressed his lips against her sauce-tinged cheek. his voice rumbled low in his chest. “Yes?”

  Her breath refused to escape her lungs at the feel of his lips tasting her skin. Desire fanned her body, urging her to stop resisting. It’d been so long—

  No. She didn’t want this. She shouldn’t want this. This was Adam. Her husband who’d left her. The man she despised. “I don’t think—”

  His lips covered her mouth, cutting off her protest.