by JoAnn Durgin
Lexa took hold of her hand, squeezing tight. “Sure you can. You’re one of the most level-headed, together women I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t ask anyone else to go into partnership with me, you know. Watching you with Chloe the last few years has only made me love you all the more. You’re independent and strong and you look to the Lord to help you.” Her eyes softened. “I know it can’t be easy being a single parent, but you make it look easy. I only hope I’m half the mother to Joe you’ve been to Chloe.”
Winnie leaned into her hug, choked with emotion. How she loved this woman. Lexa was the sister she’d never had, a woman who sometimes seemed her conscience personified. She and Amy were her dearest friends, and she thanked the Lord for them every single day. Together with Chloe, she was so blessed. “Thanks. That means more to me than you’ll ever know. But now, it’s time to get started.” Inhaling a deep breath, she tried to regain her equilibrium.
“One last question.”
“What’s that?” Winnie poised her pen above the list of ingredients.
That familiar, slow grin creased her friend’s lips. “Since when did you start using strawberry-flavored lip gloss?”
Busted.
Chapter 23
Saturday, Early Afternoon
True to his word, Adam pulled in front of the house at the precise moment he’d promised. How he must hate airline flight delays where he’d have no control over the schedule. Watching as he got out of the car and strolled up the front walkway, Rebekah smiled. He was wearing khakis with a maroon striped, button-down shirt and navy blue sport coat. Her eyes trailed to his feet. Shiny leather loafers. The only concession to informality was his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. British to the core, at least he wasn’t wearing one of those little scarves—an ascot or whatever—tied at his neck. With his dark hair and strong, masculine features, he looked exactly what he was—a dashing British aristocrat.
Adam always dressed to kill but—except for church—Kevin almost always wore jeans and a workshirt or polo, depending on the season. But the man worked in a lumberyard. She couldn’t imagine Adam going to a picnic. He wouldn’t be comfortable with the informality or know how to make casual conversation, preferring to skip a picnic altogether and drive to the coast for dinner. Maybe she should invite him to one of her church events. That would be interesting, although she shouldn’t have to “test” him. That wouldn’t be fair. Maybe it was the discussion with Trina, but she couldn’t seem to stop the comparisons between Adam and Kevin. She startled, hearing the rap on her front door.
She opened the door with her best smile, stepping aside for him to enter her living room. “Hi, Adam.”
“Oh good. I was afraid you were going to stand there peering at me from behind your curtains all day.” Adam chuckled and swept her into his arms after planting a quick peck on her cheek. “My, don’t you look absolutely spectacular today, Becks.” He was the only person who called her that, along with his lovely endearment, his personal variation on the standard British “love.” Lowering her, he took a step back and appraised her pastel pink designer dress and heels with an appreciative eye.
“Thanks.” She gathered her things and after locking the front door, Rebekah accepted his hand as they walked down the front walkway. “Hello, Mrs. Michelson,” she called with a small wave. Her elderly neighbor watched, holding weeds in her hand. She nodded her head before turning back toward her house, mumbling something unintelligible. As many times as she’d tried to be friendly, the woman seemed to have a permanent scowl of disapproval etched on her face.
As he opened the car door for her, Rebekah gasped in surprise when she spied a bouquet of a dozen yellow roses on the passenger seat. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.” Leaning into the pungent blooms, she inhaled their sweet scent and smiled. One of the most romantic stories she’d ever heard was how Sam proposed to Lexa at the Alamo with an armload of the yellow blooms in-tow. Snapping out of her trance, Rebekah forced herself back to the present as he climbed into his seat.
“They remind me of the sunshine in your smile,” Adam said, caressing her cheek with one hand before leaning back against the driver’s seat, watching her. “I’ll give you a quid for the thoughts in that beautiful head of yours.”
“A quid, eh?” she said, giving him a sidelong grin. “I’m remembering something I heard once about yellow roses. It’s a very romantic story, so I’m sure you’d rather not hear about it.” She loved yellow roses, although red were her favorite—something Kevin always remembered. Still, the sentiment was there, and Adam’s thoughtfulness pleased her.
“Just because I’m a bloke doesn’t mean I don’t like romance. Remember that,” he told her with a meaningful glance as he fastened his seatbelt and made sure hers was secure before pulling away from the curb. It was always disconcerting, yet rather fun, riding in the left seat since the steering wheel was on the right side in his British import. As they drove toward the highway, Rebekah noted how slow the man drove, like an old man instead of a young one with a fancy, high-priced sports car wired for speed. He even planted both hands on the wheel in the ten-and-two o’clock position like in the driver’s manual. People actually do that?
Adam asked about her week and what was new in her life, never taking his eyes from the road as he listened. Her eyes widened in surprise when he told her about a new London-based project he helped organize to rebuild homes destroyed by recent storms in Wales. “It’s somewhat like your TeamWork organization,” he said. “Most of the workers are from the local churches in London—a number of them Americans. It’s an opportunity to put their Christian faith in action wherever it’s needed.”
“How wonderful!” She loved that he was part of such a worthy project, and admired his confidence, business acumen and leadership abilities. It was also one of the few times he’d ever mentioned anything about putting faith in action. But his faith or the faith of others? She shook her head. Maybe she wasn’t playing fair.
He smiled, still not taking his eyes from the road. “I thought you might like it.”
Something about that comment didn’t sit right, but she chose not to dwell on it. When she asked him a question about his work, he launched into another familiar how-fascinating-it-is-to-be-an-international-investment-banker story. She’d learned from experience to nod and murmur a “that’s nice” or “really?” every now and again.
As he drove them down the highway, her thoughts strayed again to Kevin. He was a very normal driver in that big truck of his, safe but not overly cautious. He usually had both hands on the wheel but positioned lower, and he sometimes reached for her hand when they were on a straight stretch of road. His truck was a necessity in the lumber business since he was always hauling wood around somewhere.
She wondered what Kevin would think about Adam’s car. No doubt he’d think it pretentious when the money could be better spent on the investment of a home or some type of ministry. Settling back against the soft, supple leather of the seat, Rebekah smiled. It felt luxurious to be in Adam’s car, but she loved climbing into Kevin’s truck just as much. She’d never thought much about it until now.
“Where are you taking me for lunch today?” she asked, breaking into his rundown of the top stocks on the Dow the past week. She could tell he was surprised by her lack of manners and rude interruption. “Sorry,” she mumbled, sticking her nose in the roses and giving him her best humble pie smile.
“Not a problem. I suppose all my talk of stocks and bonds can get boring for you. We’re going to a new restaurant called Limoge. It’s French, and I hear it’s quite wonderful. I hope that’s fine with you, lovely.”
The “lovely” nickname was starting to outwear its charm. The first hundred times she’d heard it, it was unique and special. Adam also seemed to have a predilection for all things French, even though she’d heard how some French reprobate cheated him out of something or other when he was in Swiss boarding school. Probably something to do with chess or some other highbrow thing. How the man staye
d so fit stymied her since he always turned down her offer to go jogging, cycling or hiking. Maybe she should suggest eating gourmet food while running?
When she’d first started dating Adam, he’d taken her to museum galas and charity events. Their recent outings were more infrequent and usually involved lunches in expensive restaurants. If it were anyone else, she’d think Adam was preparing to break off their relationship but when he was with her, he was more attentive than ever.
Blocking her thoughts, Rebekah closed her eyes, enjoying the smooth hum of the car as Adam wound his way down the freeway, toward Baton Rouge. She felt his eyes on her but pretended to be a bit tired. Why was it every time she closed her eyes, all she could see were deep blue eyes and a loopy grin? Shaking her head, she attempted to rid her mind of visions of the lumber man. This was her special time with Adam, but she was inordinately distracted.
Pulling up to the entrance, he stopped at the valet station. He stepped out of the car, straightening his jacket while a valet waited. Another valet opened her door, but Adam hurried around the car. “I’ll assist the lady,” he said, his voice firm. Grasping her fingers in his, he helped her from the car. As he steered her toward the front door, his arm slipped around her back and his hand rested on her waist. She didn’t mind although it seemed a bit territorial.
A hostess held the door open, nodding with a smile as the maître d’ waited with an ingratiating expression. “Ah, Mr. Martin and the lovely Miss Grant.” Rebekah cringed. Was there no other word in the English language people could use? At least they should say it in French in this restaurant. Maybe Adam tipped the man and requested he use it. Now you’re being ridiculous.
Following behind the maître d’, Rebekah stopped in the middle of the restaurant, making a slow turn. It was dimly lit and romantic. The tables were covered with pale linen cloths, arrangements of fresh flowers and a shimmering candle in the middle—in the early afternoon on Saturday.
Where are all the other patrons? Did he rent out the entire restaurant? “Adam, why are we the only ones here?” Heart pounding, she forced her feet to keep moving. Surely he’s not going to ask me to marry him today.
The maître d’ ushered them to a table for two in the middle of the room. “I trust this is suitable, Mr. Martin.”
“Perfection. Thanks, Andre.”
Rebekah’s eyes widened. Suitable? That was one of the more ridiculous statements she’d heard considering the restaurant was otherwise empty. She glimpsed folded currency passing hands before Adam assisted her as she took her seat.
With the candlelight reflected in his eyes, he leaned over and kissed her. “You taste good.”
Kevin always said lipstick tasted like soap, and she rarely wore it when she was with him. Enough with the comparisons. She busied herself studying the menu even though Adam usually ordered for them both. Her mind swirled with thoughts, not the least of which was how she’d answer the question should he ask before the afternoon ended.
Please, Lord, don’t let him ask.
“The wine must match the style of the food,” he said after a short consultation with the waiter. She didn’t drink alcohol, but he liked to order wine with his meal. She didn’t mind since he never overindulged and was always in total control of his faculties. It certainly didn’t make him drive any faster. Although she nodded, her thoughts were far away. Seemed to be a recurring thing, this daydreaming. Amy Jacobsen was the daydreamer in the TeamWork bunch, but she’d been doing enough of it herself to warrant the title, based on current behavior.
“Why the frown, lovely?” Adam looked up from his perusal of the menu.
“I missed something at church this morning,” she said. “I was tired and couldn’t seem to pull myself out of bed.”
“I’m sure God understands if you want to skip out on services every now and again.” He squeezed her hand before returning his attention to his menu. Clearly, he’d already dismissed the topic.
“It wasn’t a service, but it was something special for some of the preteen and teenage girls. I should have been there.” Rebekah struggled to maintain her calm since she was irritated with herself, not the man across the table. Still, the words “skip out” rankled her with the implication she’d purposely disregarded the event. She’d signed on for a fun “spa” event at Kevin’s church based on I Samuel 16:7 about how man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. It had been an important verse her mom taught her the first time she’d been dumped by Jake Mahoney, the high school quarterback who only liked her because she’d been voted Homecoming Queen.
The purpose of the morning’s session was to encourage the girls to focus on feeding the soul, helping them understand good nutrition and developing a healthy body image. As much as anything else, Rebekah wanted them to gain confidence in themselves and their relationship with their Heavenly Father instead of trying to achieve what the rest of the world perceived as physical perfection. Kevin knew about her plans and she hoped he wouldn’t ask about it. If he did, she’d feel awful telling him she’d “skipped out.” As much as she hated the terminology, that’s pretty much what she’d done. Even worse, she’d told some of the girls at the youth service she planned on being there. It was a commitment and she’d blown it. She’d tossed and turned half the night, the whole thing with Kevin giving her a whopping headache to the point where she couldn’t get out of bed in time. Then again, she had no one to blame but herself.
She lifted her chin and pasted a smile on her face, determined to engage her handsome date in conversation. “So, what delicious dish are you ordering for us today?” Based on his ready smile, that’s all it took to capture his interest. How he did love his French cuisine.
“I’m getting to that,” Adam said with a wink. “First of all, we’ll have an aperitif, of course.”
“Of course,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I was thinking perhaps leg of lamb with pommes de terre—potatoes—or haricot verts—French beans would be good. Then we’ll have le fromage—the cheese platter—Brie, Roquefort and Camembert, followed by a nice tarte aux fraises—a fruit-filled tart.”
His tone reminded her of the way some adults spoke to children, and that annoyed her. When he ordered for them a few minutes later—in fluent French—she turned her head and blew out a prolonged sigh. Today, his self-confident air came across as pretentious and boorish, although she’d always liked that he took charge. Had he changed? Had she?
As he handed the menu back to the waiter, Adam frowned. “What’s bothering the lovely Becks?” He ran his finger around the top rim of his water glass. “Tell me what I’ve done to irritate you.” He looked so earnest that she didn’t withdraw her hand when he covered it with his.
“You’re wonderful.” She forced a small smile. “I’m just out of sorts today. I’m sorry.”
He raised his water glass in a toast, locking eyes with her. “Here’s hoping this delicious feast will appease that temper of yours.”
Temper? Taking a long, slow drink—to quell her temper and all—Rebekah listened as he prattled on about his latest business coup. The little mole to the left of his upper lip garnered her attention, moving up and down every time he spoke. Had it always been there? It was more than distracting. A few days ago, she’d shared a kabob and a potato sack with Kevin. Now she sat in a posh, upscale French restaurant with another man, wearing goop on her face and ridiculous shoes that had already rubbed blisters on her heels.
Adam dropped money for his fancy clothes, meals and trips like he had a limitless supply. Maybe he did. He’d mentioned a trust fund from his grandfather so anything was possible. She’d never seen his home, but she could just imagine what a showplace it was. Why was it—more and more—she had the distinct impression he wanted a token trophy wife even if he had to buy one? Ashamed of her negative thoughts, Rebekah lowered her gaze. “Adam, please tell me you didn’t rent this entire restaurant for the two of us. If you did, it wasn’t necessary.”
Raisi
ng his wine glass, he rotated his hand, swirling the wine and taking a sniff before tasting it. Adam the wine connoisseur made an annoying clicking sound with his tongue for a few seconds. With a smile, he nodded to the waiter. “Very good, François. Merci.”
The waiter darted a glance in her direction before heading to the kitchen. François indeed. She could be mistaken, but he sure looked like Frank from the Albertsons deli where her mother shopped.
“Limoge doesn’t open until six on Saturdays,” Adam said. “The owner is a client of mine and I made him quite a fair sum of money this week.” His gray eyes met hers above the wine glass. “This private lunch for us today is a little bonus—a reward, if you will.”
Rebekah wondered if her relief was visible. “Well, that’s quite a nice perk, isn’t it?” She gave him her best smile and relaxed. She’d been using the words “quite” and “actually” in her daily conversation a lot more lately, the influence of being around him, she imagined. Of course, Josh was the one to point it out. Has Kevin noticed, too? As they ate, Adam filled her in on the whereabouts and doings of his family in England. She took another bite of something but couldn’t remember what it was. Experience taught her it might be rather disgusting so perhaps it was better not to know, although today’s selections sounded rather benign.
As they finished their meal, she looked up in surprise when he reached across the table. Grabbing her hand, he squeezed hard, a grip of possession. “I know you told me you couldn’t go to London with me, lovely, but I want to urge you to reconsider. I’m actually going back in a month or so and I was hoping,” he said, catching her eye, “to take you along. Mum’s been begging me for ages to bring you round and introduce you. She knows how much I adore you.”
Rebekah withdrew her hand and flexed her fingers. Moving them to her lap, she massaged them under the table away from his line of vision. He’d squeezed so hard, her fingers felt numb. “Do you need an answer now?”
