Hearts Communion

by Marianne Evans

  Jeremy laughed. “With an expert’s precision you have absolutely and shamelessly allowed me to dominate this chat session.”

  “Chat session? Gee. I thought you and I were on a date.”

  He didn’t allow that mischievous jab to gain traction. “C’mon. It’s your turn. And then some. Can I have your story now?”

  Monica lifted her glass and sipped—stalling, thinking, considering. Mostly she wondered: How can I dodge the question? How can I dodge this man?

  The answer came in short order. She couldn’t. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to—baggage and all.

  “If it helps any,” he said, “I’ll freely admit to the fact that you fascinate me. I’m not asking out of casual interest.”

  The intoxicating smile that accompanied that whammy left Monica dizzy, deliciously carried away. “What’s behind this?” she whispered. “Don’t you wonder about that a little, JB? Where’s this…this stuff between us coming from?”

  He leaned forward and distance evaporated. Firelight burnished the angles of his face. “Call it chemical. Call it magnetism. I don’t know—but I’m on board. You fascinate me.”

  She let the words sink in and the flutters die down. She watched him across the small table, wrapped up by soothing, courting atmosphere and flirty sensation. The silence lingered, and lingered … but that was completely OK.

  Jeremy softened, went tender. In his eyes alone, she found warm protection, safety and care. So tempting, she thought. Such a call forward into every wish, every dream I’ve ever held. “So. Jellybean. What about your story?”

  On the inside, deep at her core, Monica began to shake, tremors working through her system in subtle, but unstoppable ripples. Soon, her hands would be trembling and he’d see much more than she cared to reveal. “Well. You already know I own and operate Sunny Horizons.” Nerves got the better of her. She slid a lock of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat to steady her voice.

  “Yeah. It’s amazing. I give you credit. The place bustles like mad. Seems like a happy place, too. Can’t be easy.”

  “Never,” she agreed.

  “Know what I wonder?”

  “What’s that?”

  “What on Earth do you do when you have a headache?”

  Monica’s laugh bubbled.

  “I’m not kidding! I can’t imagine that level of activity, noise and the degree of focus you have to maintain. What happens when you’re not functioning at one-hundred percent?”

  “Believe me, I understand what you’re getting at.” She shrugged. “When you get hit, all you can do is survive. I suppose it helps that I pay attention to being healthy, and fit. I teach ballet once a week, so that keeps me in shape.”

  Jeremy gave a victorious nod. “I knew it. You’re a dancer.”

  “I used to be. Especially in high school and college. I love it.”

  “OK, then, I have a stumper for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Tell me about your favorite moment on stage.”

  The question caused Monica to sit back, and ponder for a moment. He seemed so comfortable in his own skin that he inspired that same level of comfort from the people around him. It was a formidable attribute, especially when Monica considered how to continue avoiding the one, key topic that left her reeling with literal emptiness. Disconcerted by her natural guard and reserve being tipped upside-down, she was grateful when their waitress approached the table.

  Jeremy welcomed their entrée of grilled sausage, steamed potatoes and the cucumber, dill and onion salad they both favored. They promptly dug in.

  “I’d have to say it was when I competed in a state-wide competition for classic ballet my senior year of college. It was Christmas, and I danced to Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. I took second, and never dreamed I’d get that far. It was amazing.”

  Jeremy stopped eating. He paused, fork in hand, and watched her with genuine admiration. “That’s incredible.” A momentary pause moved past, and he shook his head. “I’d love to see you dance.”

  How long had it been since a man made her blush? Ages. Jeremy inspired the reaction without breaking a sweat—mostly because his manner was so heartfelt. So real.

  “So you teach.” He had just finished a bite of food; he wiped his mouth and resettled his napkin. “That means you love dancing enough that you’re still active. I think that’s great.”

  Monica nodded, loving the mix of flavors that burst on her tongue when she crunched into a chilly, crisp cucumber, mixed with sour cream and a tangy slice of onion. “I teach pre-school ballet at the Saint Clair Shores Community Center. We have two recitals a year, one at Christmas and one in the spring. It keeps me in practice.”

  They ate for a bit in silence.

  “So, kids. They’re certainly center stage in your life.” Jeremy winced. “Pardon the pun.”

  Monica laughed, but the sound came out false, and she knew it. Her hands clenched in reflex. She held her fork way too tightly and fought hard against the fear of turning him off, of losing his interest by virtue of being an incomplete woman. “Yes. I graduated from Central Michigan with a degree in child development. You might say it’s my calling.”

  “Sounds to me like you’ll make a great mother someday, Monica. Seriously.”

  Oh, dear Lord above, if only that could be true. A boulder rolled straight over her heart and pressed it down. Unwittingly, Jeremy had struck the bulls-eye.

  Monica bit her lip so hard she could have sworn she tasted blood. She needed to call a halt to this conversation. Pronto. He had moved, swift and clean, past every single one of her defensive barriers. How? The one-word question raced through her mind.

  She struggled, inside and out; this time she couldn’t hide that fact. Somehow, Jeremy had worked his way inside chambers she had left barricaded. She tried to eat another forkful of their perfectly prepared meal, but the food tasted like sawdust now. She even tried to garner a casual, agreeing smile, but failed miserably.

  “Hey…you OK?” Of course, he’d picked up on her mood; this man was both keen and caring.

  “Sure I am. Yeah.”

  “Liar,” he teased, smiling gently to temper that mild reproach. They eyed each other in momentary suspense. “I’m really sorry if I said something wrong, Monica.”

  She found her hand swallowed up by his; he held on, bringing their joined hands to rest on the tabletop. In an automatic way, he began to thumb-stroke her wrist in light, feathery strokes that made the flutters and tingles go crazy all over again. This man possessed just enough strength of heart, just enough appeal, to make her want to believe again. A night in his company left her wanting, desperately in fact, to leave fears and misgivings behind.

  Almost…but not quite.

  So Monica fell back on poise, and the veneer of a half-truth. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”

  “Well, just for the record? The questions, the interest, aren’t just superficial. This isn’t causal first date stuff, Monica. I think I’ve made that clear. I like you. I already know I want this to be the first of many dinner dates. So have faith. Relax.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Looking into his eyes, absorbing the satiny tenor of his voice, Monica allowed herself the luxury of sinking in and enjoying. She used her free hand to lift the goblet of ruby-red merlot and she took a deep sip.

  Jeremy Edwards went to her head far more quickly, and efficiently—and with more real impact—than anything she had ever known, and she needed to find a way to move forward in a manner she could control and be comfortable with. After all, Jeremy was solid electricity to her, a heart-call she couldn’t resist.

  She definitely wanted more of him, so, she silently vowed to come up with a way to shore up her guard—to shield her own ‘unhappy stories’ and at the same time keep his interest and build on this budding—in fact flourishing—relationship.

  Hearts Communion

  6

  Jeremy whistled a tune as he unlocked the front door
of his townhome. He grabbed the day’s mail, paging through a couple of bills and store ads. Then, he spied something a lot more interesting—a large, cream-colored vellum envelope with the return address of Grand Haven, Michigan. Rebecca Tomblin’s wedding. Jeremy smiled to himself. His cousin. And she was a sweetheart. Last year had been a blockbuster for her: a move to the west side of the state, a meeting, courtship, and engagement to an up-and-coming executive at a pharmaceutical firm located in Grand Rapids. Now came the wedding, and it promised to be a blast.

  After hanging up his coat, he tore into the envelope and pulled out the invitation. For the time being, he stood in the entryway. Just as he started to peruse the details of the event, his cell phone went off.

  His smile only increased when he checked caller ID. “Hey, Mom.” He could swear the woman had radar when it came to her kids.

  “I miss you.”

  “Opening salvo delivered, and duly noted. PS? I miss you, too.”

  “Ahhh, but do you miss me enough to stop by the house so I can feed you? I’m sure you’re starving.”

  “Me? Starving? Never.”

  His mom snorted. “OK. Where is my son, and what have you done with him?”

  “You planning a get-together?” Jeremy walked into the kitchen and set the mail aside. Propping a hip against the long, main counter of green-and-white-veined marble, he opened the stainless fridge and pulled out some ground beef. For dinner, he’d throw a couple burgers on the stovetop grill and boil up some fresh frozen corn his sister-in-law, Stephanie, had given him a while back. One of the perks of being the only remaining bachelor in his family—he was pampered by the women.

  “That’s part of why I’m calling. Sunday dinner this weekend. Can you make it?”

  The question caused wheels to spin in Jeremy’s mind.

  “I’m also wondering if you got the invite to Becky’s wedding, yet.”

  The wheels clicked into position and began to hum in a smooth, promising motion. “Yeah, I can make it to dinner on Sunday, and yeah, I got the invitation just now. In fact, I’m looking at it as we speak.” He picked it up once more. There were directions, an RSVP card and an information sheet on the venue for the reception, complete with photos.

  “Small affair, at a gorgeous-looking Victorian-style bed and breakfast that’s right on the shoreline of Lake Michigan. Should be lovely.”

  The descriptors were received, and then promptly discarded. Instead, he changed the subject. “Hey, Mom, can I bring a guest on Sunday?”

  “Of course. At their own risk, naturally…”

  Now it was Jeremy’s turn to give a growling laugh. “Naturally. Edwards’s clan gatherings do tend to be overwhelming.”

  “Anyone we know?”

  “Sort of, yes. Monica Kittelski.”

  “She owns the daycare center that Jeffrey goes to.”

  Jeremy nodded. Another thing about Elise Edwards? Nothing slid past her notice when it came to her beloved grandkids. “That’s the one.” Dead silence greeted that confirmation. Jeremy could all but see the calculations taking place in a little cartoon bubble positioned right over his mom’s head.

  “Are Daveny and Collin aware of your…interest?”

  “Collin is, so, by the de facto truth of pillow talk, I’m sure Daveny is aware, as well. I haven’t heard about anyone leaping out of tall buildings, yet.”

  “Jeremy!”

  “I’m just kidding, Mom.”

  “I think it’d be wonderful! If she’s brave enough, we’d love to have her join the insanity.”

  Expectant warmth did a neat little slide through his body. “Great. I appreciate it.”

  “This is turning into a real party! Ken and Kiara are joining us as well.”

  Even better, Jeremy thought. The pastor of Woodland Church and his bride of almost two years were extended family to begin with. Secondary to that, introducing Monica to his family, and the importance of his church life, would continue forward motion in the relationship department—something Jeremy wanted to encourage.

  “Sounds perfect. Thanks for letting me include her. My needling aside, Mom, she’s a sweetheart. I’m enjoying getting to know her. I want you guys to meet her, too. I think the admiration society will definitely be mutual.”

  “Wow. This must be serious. You haven’t wanted to include a significant other at a family meal in ages.”

  “Family dinners are reserved for only a few.”

  “In your case, very few. That makes me proud. You’re not cavalier where your emotions are concerned. I think that’s commendable. We need more JB’s on the planet.”

  “That’s a completely scary thought, Mom. Really.” He pulled a batch of romaine lettuce from the vegetable crisper and set it on an inlayed cutting board. Next, he grabbed a knife. “Think about it. I’m the one who paid the most visits to the hospital growing up, and I probably pushed boundaries more than the rest.”

  “Perhaps, but character tells the tale, honey, and you’ve got it.”

  Jeremy squirmed as he began to dice up lettuce, but deep inside, the praise vindicated his decisions and way of life. Praise, or disappointment, from the parents was more than enough to lift him high, or chop him at the knees. “Thanks, Mom. My love to you and Dad. See you Sunday.”

  “Love you back, and I can’t wait.”

  Jeremy ended the call, lost in thought for a bit while he completed his salad. His gaze settled upon the elegant invitation with its raised, scripted black lettering. He picked it up, tapping it against the palm of his hand. The inner envelope was addressed to Jeremy Edwards and guest. The wedding was six weeks away. Plenty of time to get a more definitive handle on this lightning strike of a situation with Monica.

  Promptly her face came to life in his mind—and heart. There was that sassy, girl-power posture, her natural glow, those sparkling, warm blue eyes. And her smile—her smile alone packed enough power to send his pulse into overdrive.

  I’m hooked, Jeremy thought, without a trace of chagrin. I want to bring her to Sunday dinner and have her meet the family. I want to take her to Becky’s wedding. I want to keep moving forward with her.

  His mom’s comment was true—he enjoyed dating, but didn’t allow many women into the sanctuary of his deepest heart, where his strongest emotions, his most precious beliefs, and his family, resided. The way he looked at it, some places in the soul were simply too precious to share in an arbitrary manner.

  He whipped up dinner, ate, then toyed with a bit of romantic strategy while he unwound from the workday to the strains of ESPN. How best to ask Monica to a family dinner? The thought of dinner had his gaze tracking to the kitchen.

  Hmm. Maybe that was it. Maybe he could test the waters by making her a dinner of his own.

  ****

  Rule one of courtship and male-female interaction: women love flowers. That in mind, Jeremy purchased a bouquet of white, pink-tipped roses. While the store clerk wrapped them in green tissue paper and boxed them perfectly, Jeremy penned a card.

  Monica:

  I hope you enjoy the enclosed. These flowers are meant to be an enticement to madness, chaos, and fun. Call me if you’re at all intrigued.

  JB

  Directing delivery to Sunny Horizons, Jeremy could now do nothing but wait for her response.

  During the next several hours, he lost himself in work. Easy enough, because today’s assignment was a kitchen remodel in Grosse Pointe Woods that featured high-end materials, a tight deadline, and a high-maintenance client who lived in a massive, white brick number positioned along the banks of the Detroit River.

  “Thanksgiving will be here before you know it! I’m opening my home to the entire family, and they’re so particular. It’s my first big holiday gathering, and all I see right now is chaos. It’ll be complete, right? I have your word, right? You did promise—”

  “The ceramic floor tiles will be installed today,” JB assured her. “Once that’s situated, we’ll install the wall and base cabinets and the islan
d, all of which arrived yesterday and are set to go. When that phase is completed, all that’s left is placing the appliances. Those are shipping out the middle of next week, to conclude the project. We’re operating on schedule, so I don’t want you to worry.” Calm and confident, Jeremy set about reassuring the nervous young wife of his client.

  “My in-laws are lovely people, but they’re so used to perfection, and the best of the best.” Still obviously nervous, she looked around skeptically. “I never should have taken this on right now. I’ll let everyone down.”

  Her slender form sagged a bit as she eyed tarps covered by dust, and workmen bustling through a large space that suddenly went small when equipment and supplies rolled in. Jeremy felt sympathy for this society darling. Obviously, she carried a heavy burden, and he wished he could find a way to help her see past outward appearances to the simple joy of hosting a family holiday celebration.

  “I know remodels look messy, and we’re at the point right now where you may feel like the dust will never settle, but we’re in great shape, Mrs. Whittmore. We’ll be done in plenty of time. You have my word.”

  Morning passed to afternoon. Despite pleasing progress on the remodel, Jeremy became increasingly edgy, waiting for a reply from Monica. When lunch break ended, he decided to check the delivery tracking information he had been given along with his order receipt. It was then that Monica’s call came in.

  “Hey, Jellybean,” he teased. Her laughter tickled his senses, left him smiling, and relieved. Connected. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up? Well, right now about two-dozen gorgeous looking, long-stemmed roses. In a vase. On my desk. And I’ve been presented with somewhat of a riddle.”

  “Really? Do tell. Perhaps I can help you solve it.”

  “Bet you can.”

  Jeremy grinned, strolling slowly into the welcome silence and privacy of a massive, perfectly appointed dining room.

  “It seems,” Monica continued, “I’ve been invited to—now how did your note put it? Madness, chaos and fun. No further elaboration, though.”