And SunKissed! has to be shot outside.
Walking over to my phone, I see that it’s after eight. Stephen must be taking Phoebe to school.
Why didn’t he wake me?
My tongue moves along my lower lip as I think of his kisses. I cross my arms, my hands warming my arms like his did mine last night.
This man has invaded every moment of my thinking. I want to be mad at the rain for ruining my day, but thinking of Stephen doesn’t let me.
Thinking of Stephen makes everything okay. But just in my thoughts. He’s not in my real life. He’s in my pretend life.
The one I’m living here.
Pretending to be a designer and photographer instead of a model. Pretending to be engaged. Pretending to be a woman who goes to church.
Honestly, can I think of anything truthful that is going on at the moment?
My desperation.
Oh, there is that.
Sitting on the edge of the bed I can’t help but think about the bit of relief that I felt at the sound of the rain.
While I think Ann is the perfect model, what if the clothes don’t show well? What if the colors don’t mesh? The designs aren’t practical?
What if I take horrible pictures?
I rest my head in my hands, mentally pushing images of failure from my mind. You can’t fail if you don’t try.
Raising my head, I slide off the bed, refusing to wallow in this all day. When Stephen returns from dropping off Phoebe, I’m going to ask to borrow his SUV. I need to buy Ann a gift for modeling the clothes and pick up a wedding gift for her and Brett.
Deciding coffee can wait for a little while, I shower and dress. The warm water relaxes me, but I already have the beginning of a headache when I do make my way into the kitchen.
The kitchen’s void of Stephen, but not coffee. The half-full pot is still warming. Opening the cabinet, I grab a cup and pour.
“Sleeping beauty awakes.”
Stephen’s voice startles me and I turn in a too-swift movement. “Ouch.” Coffee sloshes over my hand, onto the counter and subsequently the tiled floor.
I set the mug down and take the paper towel Stephen has torn off the roll. “I’ll get it.”
He’s trying not to smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He doesn’t understand that his whole being startles me all the time. “It’s okay.”
It doesn’t take but a minute to wipe up the spilled coffee. It takes much longer to absorb Stephen. His presence.
Might as well get the favor asking out of the way. “Do you mind if I borrow your SUV this morning?”
“Not at all.” He sets his keys on the island. “Where are you off to?”
“Shopping.”
“Ah. Since the shoot is off you are going to drown your sorrows shopping.”
“I’m actually buying a wedding present for Ann and Brett. Can’t show up at the wedding empty handed.”
Stephen taps his finger on the island. “Good point. I was going to give them the standard guy gift. Cash. But I guess I still need a card, huh?”
“Yes. Unless you just slip Brett the cash in a handshake. I’ve seen that, too.”
“Yeah. Not going there. Why don’t we go together?”
Great. My morning trying to escape Stephen is not going to be successful. “Sure. I’m going to call Ann and see when we can reschedule. Do you know what the weather is supposed to be like tomorrow?”
“Rain should let up by this evening. Everything should be dry by tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I take my coffee with me. After a quick conversation with Ann, and a touch-up of my makeup, I grab my purse and head back to the kitchen.
“Okay. She’s on for tomorrow morning,” I say to Stephen. “If we can’t do it then, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Whatever is supposed to happen, will happen. Come on.”
Stephen doesn’t see me roll my eyes at his words because he’s already headed to the garage.
With a hand from Stephen, I climb into his SUV. It’s black, big and rain-streaked from his morning trip to Phoebe’s school.
The scraping sound of his windshield wipers serenades us into town. Stephen pulls into a parking lot of an outdoor mall.
“Which store?” he asks.
“How about something knick-knacky?”
“Knick-knacky?”
“Yeah. Vases, home décor, stuff like that.” I have no idea what to buy as a wedding gift.
“You tell me where to stop when you see one of those stores. I think I’m still on the card agenda.”
“I wanted to pick her up a little something for doing the shoot, too.”
“You aren’t going to pay her?”
“A little. I don’t have much. But still, these circumstances are skewed. A gift would be cool. Oh, here’s a good store.”
Stephen whips into a parking spot. I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out of the car. He meets me and shuts my door as I pull my shirt down. “I guess you help Phoebe in and out of that thing,” I say.
“That thing is an expensive thing,” Stephen says. “And yes, I do help Phoebe. I’d help you too, but you’re too fast, Cheetah.”
“I don’t have time to be wasting.” Besides, his touch drives me crazy, so the less time I’m in those situations, the better off I am.
“The weather has you a little feisty today.”
Since I didn’t bring an umbrella, I pull my hood over my hair in an attempt to keep from becoming drenched. “I’m no different today than I am any other day.”
“Watch out.”
He grabs my arm as a horn honks. The driver I was about to walk in front of motions us across the street. I whisper a “thank you,” to Stephen as we hurry our steps out of the way of the traffic and make it to the sidewalk.
“Maybe if you’d push that hair out of your eyes, you’d be able to see cars clipping along at a decent speed.”
I try to talk over the loud Christmas music playing above. “It’s a parking lot. He shouldn’t have been going very fast.”
“Just because he shouldn’t have doesn’t mean he wasn’t. And he was.”
He reaches around me making a move toward my hair. “You can tuck it into that hood.”
“I’m fine.” I’m used to walking with my head down, hair hanging in front.
“You know, all that hair draped across your face begs more attention than your scar does.”
“I’m not sure about that.” I refuse to alter my look because of his opinions.
“You have a grunge look about you. With your torn jeans, your hoodie and your loose hair.”
I sigh. “That assessment clearly states you have no idea what grunge is.”
“Hey, I live in the wilds. What can I say?” His tone is playful.
“Nothing. And maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Funny, Jenny.”
I wonder what motivates him to call me Cheetah or Jenny. He switches it up and I have no idea why. “I’m not trying to be funny. Here’s the store. Are you going in or waiting outside?”
He looks at the sky. “Might as well go in.”
“All right, bull in the china shop. Let’s do it.”
He doesn’t even look put out as we walk in. Not too many things ruffle Stephen. The mention of a male photographer helping me out stirred something in him. Oh, and me announcing that I’m his fiancée. That did some ruffling.
Ruffling he still hasn’t undone.
“You probably have no idea what you are looking for, do you?” he asks.
“It’s one of those I’ll-know-it-when-I-see-it type of gifts. I just know it has to look good.”
“Of course it does.” He slips past a rack of crystal glass items.
Not really wanting to buy anything Christmassy, I have to look past all the holiday decorations. Even items that aren’t holiday oriented are draped with red scarves or greenery of sorts. A few sprigs of fir sit here and the
re.
In the midst of all the festive décor, I spy a vase that in no way, shape or form reminds me of Christmas, and hurry over to where it sits. “Now this is beautiful. The colors are amazing. What country are they missionaries in?”
“Peru.”
“These colors look Peruvian, don’t they?”
Stephen smiles slightly and laughs softly. “I have no idea what Peruvian colors are. If they are bright, then you’re on the right track.”
“It’s festive. And fun. And gorgeous. What else do you need?”
“What else, indeed,” he replies.
I lift it up to see how much it is selling for. I swallow hard at the high price, but decide it’s worth it. And since Stephen is lending me Millie, that’s one expense I don’t have to worry about.
“All that money for a couple you barely know? Can I tell you when my birthday is?” Stephen asks.
“Now you’re the funny one. Beauty is worth paying for. This is probably an original. I bet I can negotiate at the register for a lower price.”
The negotiations at the register don’t go well and I end up paying full price.
“At least I tried,” I say to Stephen as we leave the store.
“Is that the wedding gift or the thanks-for-helping-me-out-in-a-pinch-when-I-needed-a-model gift?” he asks.
“This is the wedding gift. I’ll buy some lotion or good smelling stuff for the other gift. Card shop coming up.”
We’re barely in the door when Stephen stops. “Well, well. Look at what we have here.”
He points down an aisle at the end cap. There sits the vase I bought. The same exact colorful vase.
“Really?” I say.
“Wanna know if you got a deal?” His has a mischievous look on his face.
“No, not really.”
“I want to know.” He starts walking toward the vase.
Like the proverbial train wreck I follow him. “If you don’t say anything, then I’ll know I didn’t get such a good deal. If you smile, then I’ll know I did.”
“Smart girl. Except I don’t give stuff away. You’ll never know.”
“Try me.”
He picks up the vase. True to his word his expression is void as he sets it back down. “Come on. Let’s look at the cards.”
Draping his arm over my shoulder, he turns me and we walk to the other side of the store where racks and racks of cards are for sale.
I can’t concentrate on buying the right card. And it’s not that I want to run back to the aisle to see if I got a good deal. It’s more that Stephen isn’t giving anything away.
The fact that he can show no emotion one way or the other is somewhat bothersome. Does he hide all his feelings? He’s not shy about kissing me, but what do those kisses mean? Nothing?
Is his heart as flat-lined as his expression was when he set that vase down?
“This is a good card.” He grabs an envelope. “Did you find one yet?”
“Uh, no. I haven’t. Give me a little more time.” I force my lips into a smile.
It’s probably because my heart isn’t in a good place right now, but I’m having a hard time finding a card. I barely know the couple, so that nixes about half the cards as they walk down memory lane.
Generic cards have a cold edge to them.
“You know, we could share a card.” He offers the suggestion casually, like it’s normal.
Once again he catches me off guard. “Share a card?”
“Yes. Both sign it.” He holds his card in the air. “This card can be from both of us. Yes? No?”
“The wedding isn’t until Friday.”
“And?” His expression clearly states he and I aren’t on the same page.
“Aren’t we supposed to be broken up long before Friday?” I hadn’t even connected the two events until now. Would a couple, who has just broken off an engagement show up at a wedding together? Not in my world.
“So we’ll break up Saturday. No big deal.”
That’s the problem. It’s no big deal to him. Apparently pretending to be engaged to me doesn’t affect him like it does me. Somebody needs to interject some reason here. “Okay. So what’s going to happen at a beautiful Christmas wedding on Friday night that would have us breaking up the next day?”
He shrugs. “We’ll think of something.”
Memories of attending other weddings come to mind. All the festivities, the beautiful brides. Flowers. It all seems so happy. What could break into that mindset?
Commitment. That’s what. “I have it,” I say.
“You do?”
“Sure. It’s the whole commitment thing. It comes to life before our eyes. The reality of what takes place. Forsaking all others, until death do us part. Yeah. All that is too much for me and I call it off.”
“Strong Jenny. Doesn’t need a man in her life.”
The sound of “Jingle Bells” bursts through the speakers above us. I wish a springy Christmas song could put me in the mood for Christmas. But it’s not. No “Joy to the World” in my soul right now.
Stephen shifts his weight, his gaze not leaving mine. “I may not have known you long, but I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. Men don’t want to spend the rest of their life with a face. They marry to share heart. Soul. Personality.”
The florescent light above us blinks. So do I. Now he’s talking personality? “You’re trying to make me feel better. Thanks.”
It’s not working, but I can appreciate his attempt.
He shakes his head. “I’m not trying to make you feel better. I’m trying to make you see there’s more to you than your face.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard that before. That’s what most guys want.” Does he think I don’t know about men?
“I’m not talking physical attributes here. Although you do have great physical attributes. I’m talking about what’s on the inside.”
“People don’t see that.” I sound matter of fact because it is a matter of fact. I had a big heart to go along with my overweight body years ago and nobody was interested. But, I’m not telling Stephen that. TMI.
Or EFM. Embarrassing For Me.
Not sure which acronym suits this situation best. Maybe both of them.
“You know I’m right.” My look dares him to challenge me.
His gaze shifts. “I don’t know any such thing. I know what’s important comes from the heart. And I’m sorry if you’ve never met a guy who has portrayed that in your life. After you.” He nods his head toward the register, carrying the together card.
It’s only then I remember the vase, and how I don’t even know if I got a good deal on my purchase. It certainly wasn’t even close to being an original anything.
A feeling I’m beginning to know all too well.
BOTHER
The rain hasn’t relented. In fact it has picked up as I sit in the car while Stephen goes into the school to get Phoebe from her class.
We spent too much time in the card store debating, and by the time we were finished at the outdoor mall it didn’t make any sense to go home only to have to turn around and go back out to Phoebe’s school.
The feeling that settles through me as I see Stephen hurrying out of the doors of the school, Phoebe’s hand in his, her pink book bag bouncing on her back, is a feeling I don’t want to become used to. He’s all male, strength, beauty and single.
Why is this man single?
He says he enjoys spending time in the wilds away from civilization. I wonder if there is more to his story? Sometimes running can say a lot about a person.
He quickly opens the door, takes off Phoebe’s backpack and sets her on the seat before jumping in the driver’s side. Phoebe’s backpack drips water as Stephen hands it to me. I turn and set it on the floorboard of the back seat as I say hello to Phoebe.
“I knew you were here.” She’s smiling and her voice sounds happy.
“Mr. Stephen told you, didn’t he?”
“No. I smelled your hair. It smells good.
I like your shampoo.”
“Thank you.” I brush my hair down in an auto-response to her comment. “It’s pretty crazy looking right now. It’s been shoved in my hoodie almost all day.”
“I bet it’s fine.” She clicks her seat belt into place.
“How about some ice cream.” Stephen looks into the rearview mirror for Phoebe’s response.
“Yay! Ice cream.”
I love seeing her smile. Her cheeks are extremely pinchable.
“Good,” Stephen says.
“I like it when you pick me up from school. I’ll have to tell mommy we need to stop for ice cream some days on the way home. She’ll probably say no, though. She’s always in a hurry to go back to work.”
Stephen’s expression remains solid as he listens to Phoebe. Wet tendrils of hair cling to his forehead even as his fingers reach up and try to tame his brown locks. “I’ll have to give your mom an afternoon off here and there. Then she’ll be able to take you without having to worry about rushing back.”
“She’ll still wanna go back to work, probably. Mommy isn’t very fun.”
I turn and look at her. “You said she tells you stories every night. That sounds like fun.”
“Well,” Phoebe says, “She’s fun sometimes. But not very often.”
“Plus,” Stephen adds, “Moms have responsibilities. It’s always more fun to hang with somebody else, but bottom line is moms are the best. Remember that.”
“I’ll try.” Phoebe shrugs off her comment.
We pull into a parking lot and secure a spot close to the door. A sign that says “seat yourself” indicates we need to find our own table, so we settle at one in the middle of the café.
There are only a couple other tables occupied.
The plastic menus are tucked between a napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers. We peruse their extravagant selection of ice cream.
I peer over my menu. “Phoebe. I’m going to read this list of flavors. Stop me when you know what you want.”
“Okay,” she replies.
“Vanilla—”
“Strawberry,” she counters.
I set my menu on the table. “Phoebe, there are a ton of flavors here.”
“I love strawberry.”
“Maybe you should try something else? Have you ever tried the cookie dough? How about the birthday cake flavor?” I stop looking at the menu and look at Phoebe.
Rich in Hope (Richness in Faith Trilogy Book 2) Page 14
