by Noelle Adams
He gave an exaggerated groan. “What do you have to do now?’
“I have to give you this.” She handed him the papers she’d just stacked together, the ones she’d just printed off.
“What is this?” he asked with a frown.
“Read it.”
He had absolutely no idea what the papers might be, and his eyes widened as he read the first few sentences.
“No,” he said hoarsely.
“Yes.”
“I was going to quit.”
“I know you were going to quit, but you didn’t want to, and I didn’t want you to. So this is what I thought of.”
“But it’s too much,” he rasped, still staring down at the top sheet of what was evidently a business contract, giving him a thirty percent partnership in Balm in Gilead. “You can’t. You’ve worked so hard—”
“You’ve worked just as hard as I have to make Balm in Gilead what it is. I’ve told you before that I never would have been able to do this without you. I meant it then, and I mean it now. This place wouldn’t be the same without you. I want you to have this.”
“But I don’t want it just because we’re dating.”
“It’s not just because we’re dating. Maybe I should have done it a long time ago.”
“No, you shouldn’t. I don’t have anything to offer—”
“You have years of hard work to offer. This isn’t spontaneous or arbitrary, Zeke. And it’s not just a gesture to make us both feel better. You deserve this. I don’t want to keep running this place without you, and you just can’t work for me anymore.” She paused, taking a slightly ragged breath. “You deserve this, Zeke. Please believe me.”
He met her eyes, his hand shaking a little as he held the contract. “Okay,” he managed to say.
She stiffened. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. But maybe we can make it ten percent instead of thirty percent. Thirty seems too much.”
She gave a little laugh. “Uh, Zeke, you have no idea how much money it takes to run this place. We do make money, but it’s not a huge amount. Ten percent of the profits is probably less than you’re earning now.”
He blinked. “Oh. Maybe thirty is all right then.”
She laughed again, and this time he laughed too.
She reached to take the papers out of his hand. Then she took both his hands in hers. “So you’ll be my partner?”
“Yeah,” he said, gazing at her and wondering how God had blessed him with someone like her when he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve it. “I’ll be your partner.”
“Good.” Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were very soft.
He adjusted their hands so he was holding hers in a firm grasp. “I’ll be your partner in any way you want, for as long as you live.”
He saw her swallow hard, and then she whispered, “Me too.”
He knew his heart had finally changed at last because he believed her.
He wanted Cecily to his partner in every way, and he believed she wanted that too.
Epilogue
“I can’t believe you married Zeke!”
Cecily recognized the phone number and the voice as belonging to Vivian Harper of Faith and Fabulousness, one of her former guests. She chuckled at the enthusiasm in Vivian’s voice. “I just sent out the invitation. Are you on email every moment of the day?”
“Don’t you start. I get enough from Jeff about always being on my phone. But seriously! I can’t believe you’re married. That must have happened quickly!”
“Almost two weeks ago. It was really quick.” Cecily was smiling as she sat at her dining room table with her laptop, alone in her apartment and wearing her pajamas.
“So how did it happen? When we were there this summer, I might have seen a few looks between you and Zeke, but you both were clutching your internal No Trespassing signs pretty tightly.”
Cecily laughed again at the analogy. “We’ve only been together for a few months. We had one month of trying it out, and then we dated for real for a month. Then we were engaged, and I was starting to plan the wedding and…” She paused self-consciously before she admitted, “Planning a wedding takes time, and we just didn’t want to wait that long. We’re both in our late thirties, and we know what we want. There’s no reason for a long engagement.”
She didn’t add it out loud, but one of the main reasons they’d decided to move the wedding up was she and Zeke hadn’t been sure how much longer they were going to be able to wait before they had sex. It had been getting harder and harder for them to say good night every evening.
Vivian didn’t need to know that however.
Cecily continued, “So we got married the next week. It was really small—just my sister and her husband and a few friends from church on the fishing pier here at sunrise. And so we’re having the big reception next month and inviting everyone to that. You and Jeff really don’t have to come all this way.”
“Oh, we’re definitely coming! You couldn’t keep me away,” Vivian added in a stage whisper. “Are you going to get Zeke into a suit?”
Cecily giggled. “That hasn’t been decided yet.”
“Well, Jeff and I are coming either way. I just had to call and congratulate you. I’m really happy for you both.”
“Thank you. We’re pretty happy too.” She glanced over when the front door to the apartment opened and Zeke came in, his purple T-shirt soaked with sweat and his hair and beard damp with it. She felt a familiar little shiver of pleasure at his appearance as she said goodbye to Vivian.
Her husband, in all his sweatiness and ugly clothes.
She still couldn’t really believe it was true.
His eyes went hot as they ran up and down her body. She wasn’t dressed in anything sexy—just a camisole and cotton pajama pants. But Zeke clearly liked what he saw.
As he strode over intentionally, she stood up and put her hands out to stop him. “No way! I just took a shower. You’re not going to touch me when you’re all sweaty like that.”
He scowled at her as only Zeke could. “But the other day you seemed to like—”
“That was the other day,” she interrupted, giggling slightly as she slipped away from his reach. “I’m nice and clean now. No touching until you’re clean too.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh as he wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt, baring his very fine flat abs and a trail of dark hair leading down under his waistband. “Fine. Who was that on the phone?”
“Vivian. I just sent out the email invitations, and she got it and just wanted to congratulate us. She and Jeff are going to come to the reception.”
“Good,” he grunted. “I guess there will be a lot of people.”
“Probably. I didn’t realize how many until we put the list together, although I’m sure a lot of them won’t come.” She studied his face carefully. “It’s okay that it’s big, isn’t it?”
“Of course. Big parties are never going to be my thing, but I’ll get through it. Tons of people love you. They’ll want to come celebrate.”
Her eyes were soft on this face. He’d come so far in just a few months, and he was trying so hard to not be so isolated. It wasn’t easy for him, and he was never going to be a big people-person, but he’d come out of his cave more than she’d ever imagined he would. “A lot of them will be there for you too.”
“Maybe a few,” he admitted gruffly, his eyes glinting warmly for just a moment, belying his tone.
She chuckled, feeling very fond, but she held up her hands again when he reached out for her. “Shower first.” She pointed him toward the bathroom. “I’ll look for something for dinner.”
He grumbled loudly as he disappeared into the bathroom, but she suspected he wasn’t unhappy.
She searched through the pantry as she heard the shower going, vaguely hoping something easy and delicious would miraculously appear on one of the shelves.
She was settling on pasta—since they had some fresh vegetables and chicken in the refrigera
tor—when she heard Zeke come out of the bathroom.
Surprised he was emerging so quickly, she turned her head, her eyes widening when she saw he was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. “Aren’t you going to put on any clothes?”
“No.” He was in the kitchen now, advancing on her.
“Okay. Whatever. I was thinking about pasta for—” She squealed when he grabbed her, turned her around so she was trapped against the counter, and kissed her hard and deep.
Panting when he finally pulled away, she said, “Zeke, what are you—”
“You said I could touch you when I took a shower.”
“Yes, but what about dinner?”
“Dinner can wait. Sex first. Then dinner.” His eyes were like blue flames, making her hot and breathless.
She felt pleasure and excitement clench between her legs. “Okay. I guess that’s a reasonable comprom—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence because Zeke was kissing her again. Then he was cupping her bottom and lifting her up so her legs could wrap around his waist and he could carry her out of the kitchen.
He carried her into their bedroom and laid her down on the bed, dropping his towel on the floor and moving on top of her, his expression hot and intense and deep and loving and nakedly excited.
She was sure she would have enjoyed sex with Zeke—just because she loved him—but for the past two weeks, he’d seemed to make a special effort with her, spending a long time on foreplay, making sure she really enjoyed it. Tonight though, he seemed more urgent and impatient as he kissed and caressed her, and she had to admit she liked him that way.
She felt the same way too. Like she just couldn’t wait to feel him inside her, like it was the most important thing in the world. She gasped and arched and clutched at him eagerly until he was finally moving inside her. Her world had narrowed down to the weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the roughness of his beard, the deep emotion in his eyes, the hardness of him inside her.
He kept kissing her clumsily, muttering how much he loved her, even as he took her hard and fast. She moved with him, wanting it just as much as he did. And it wasn’t long before pleasure was breaking inside her and she was crying out from the power of it. He came right after her, as if he simply couldn’t hold it back, and they held on to each other as they came down, panting and sated.
She smiled up at him when he finally lifted his head. Their bodies were still tangled together. “Well, that was… something.”
His eyes searched her face as if he were reassuring himself that she’d enjoyed it. Evidently seeing what he’d wanted to see, he smiled back at her. “Something is one way to put it.”
She stroked his bare back. “I’ve got to admit it, it’s nice to be able to do that now.”
“Damn right.”
She was smiling like an idiot, but she just couldn’t help it. “So are you ready for dinner yet?”
“Soon. I’m not sure I’m ready to move yet.” He pressed a soft kiss on her lips.
“You’re looking kind of sappy, you know. Are you going to say anything romantic?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You have a great ass.”
She burst into laughter and pulled him down into another kiss. “I love you, you big caveman.”
“Good. I love you too.”
They stayed in bed for a few more minutes, but both of them were hungry, so Cecily washed up and put back on her pajamas. Zeke pulled on a pair of sweats, and they went to make pasta and chicken together.
They talked about plans for their wedding reception. Then they talked about future plans for the center.
And it was sweet—so sweet—that she could plan a future with him. That God’s grace extended beyond salvation, that it offered daily joys, giving strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. That love and faith and work and community could coexist this way, making up a life here where she’d always wanted to be.
At Balm in Gilead.
***
This is the last book in the Willow Park/Balm in Gilead sequence. If you haven’t yet read them, the Willow Park series begins with Married for Christmas about Jessica and Daniel Duncan.
My next book is Christmas with a Prince, which will be coming out in November. You can find an excerpt from it on the following pages.
For news on my sales and releases, as well as updates to the serial novel I’m writing, you can sign up for my newsletter here.
Excerpt from Christmas with a Prince
The first time I saw Prince Henry of Villemont, I knew he was trouble.
I didn’t know he was a prince then, and there was no reason I would have recognized him. Villemont is a microstate in the Alps that most people in the U.S. have never heard of. I might have learned the name of the tiny country in a long-ago geography class, but I’d never given it a second thought in my life.
I lived in downtown Minneapolis, after all. I certainly wouldn’t assume some random guy in blue jeans and about two-weeks’ growth of beard was a member of a European royal family.
I knew he looked like trouble, however, as he sat on the floor with a circle of kids in my community literacy program, holding a children’s book open on his lap. He had dark blond hair and steel gray eyes and very fine shoulders. His shoes were Italian and expensive.
He also had a little smirk on his face when he glanced up and saw me staring at him.
No matter how unimpressive he was trying to appear, I could immediately see that he was the kind of spoiled rich boy I’d been trying to stay away from for the past three years.
He was trouble. No doubt about it.
I am April Northam, and I guess my life is kind of clichéd. My father is a multi-millionaire, and I’m his only daughter. My mother took off shortly after I was born, and my father spent every waking hour at work and didn’t know what to do with a daughter. So he threw money at me and let my nanny raise me.
I did what almost every over-indulged, neglected child of wealth does.
I misbehaved.
When I was thirteen, I had my first drink at a wild party in a classmate’s penthouse.
When I was fourteen, I lost my virginity in the back of a limo.
When I was fifteen, I got arrested for drug possession, although my dad made sure the charges were dropped and nothing ended up on my record. I wasn’t even taking the drugs—just holding on to them for my boyfriend.
When I was sixteen, I crashed the pretty red car I’d gotten for my birthday.
When I was seventeen, I went to rehab for the first time—an ultra-exclusive center that was more like a resort.
I went back two more times before I was twenty-one.
When I was twenty-two, I made all the tabloids for dancing naked on the yacht of a hot young movie star. There were photos and everything. The whole world saw them.
When I was twenty-three, my father almost died from a heart-attack, and I finally turned my life around. I went to a different rehab center—one less like a resort—and this time it finally clicked.
I stopped drinking. I stopped partying. I stayed out of the tabloids. I finally finished college, started graduate school in philosophy, and spent the rest of my time on volunteer work, trying to give back in any way I could. For three years, I actively avoided anyone who might drag me back into my old lifestyle.
All this to explain why trouble in the form of a hot, entitled stranger was the last thing I needed.
For one thing, he wasn’t even supposed to be here right now. For two hours on weekday afternoons, the community center building was used for the after-school literacy program I managed, and I approved and supervised all the volunteers. This guy wasn’t one of them. That was reason enough for me to walk over and ask who he was.
My tone was firm but scrupulously polite, which was how I always dealt with situations like this. “I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?”
He looked up to where I was standing above him, and his eyes ran up and down my body in a way that made me shive
r.
The shiver was annoying, and it wasn’t like me at all—at least not for the last three years. Falling under the sway of good-looking guys who paid me much-needed attention was how all my trouble started as a teenager. I knew what kind of thoughts had flickered through this one’s mind as he gave me that leisurely once over.
I’m not a beauty queen, but I guess I’m pretty enough—small and slim with big brown eyes and long chestnut brown hair I always wear in one long braid down my back. I have no problem with a man appreciating my body in appropriate contexts, but this guy was leering at me instead of answering my question.
“I’m a volunteer,” he said at last.
“You’re not an approved volunteer, so you aren’t allowed to be here. I have to ask you to leave.”
Before you start to think I was being rude to him for no reason, you have to understand that all our volunteers went through strenuous background checks. We couldn’t take any chances with these kids, and any random man entering the premises without authorization would immediately be dealt with, no matter who he was or what he looked like.
Predators can be young and good-looking, and I wasn’t going to let a creep anywhere close to my kids.
Plus, this guy scared me—tempted me in a way I hadn’t been tempted in a really long time.
“All right, boys and girls,” I said in a different tone, smiling at the circle of six kids who were watching our conversation with interest. “Why don’t you head to the kitchen and see what Jenny is making for snack today.”
This was a compelling enough suggestion that the children in the circle all ran into the kitchen without argument. The guy stood up and smiled at me. “I’m Henry.” He had perfect teeth and adorable little creases at the corners of his mouth when he smiled. He needed to shave, and he needed a haircut, but he was still almost unbearably good-looking.
“I don’t really care who you are. If you don’t leave now, you’ll be escorted out.” I nodded toward where Stan, the security guard, stood at the entrance. He was watching me, as if waiting to see if I needed help.
“I’m supposed to be here.”
