by Janet Spaeth
“I understand all of that,” he said uneasily, “but is it enough for me to be committed to the project? Isn’t there more to it? I do have my own financial future to consider. I don’t have a wife and children now, but I hope to someday. I don’t want to go into that relationship in debt.”
The thought of him married and with a family brought a shimmer to Tess’s heart.
“I guess,” she said at last, “it’s like a lot of things in life. You’ve got to have faith. There are no guarantees about how things will turn out, but there you have it. Faith. That’s what it’s going to take.”
His dark eyes met hers. “I bought her at your store, remember?”
She smiled at him, glad for the way the tone of the conversation had quickly lightened. “How could I ever forget?”
“I’m wondering if Faith belongs downtown or if there’s a place for her out on the End.”
She heard the seeking in his words. “Faith can be anywhere, Jake. Anywhere.”
“Even in a coffeehouse on the other end of town? Guarding a roaster that’s held together by a wire coat hanger and duct tape?”
“Even there,” she said.
Chapter 5
Tess put aside her turmoil-bound thoughts and turned her attention to her dinner. The pasta was just as wonderful as she’d hoped it would be, the sauce perfectly spiced with basil and a hint of garlic, and an array of pine nuts sprinkled over the top.
The server brought a tray laden with desserts of all kinds: caramel cheesecake dripping with honeyed sauce, apple pie with a crust that flaked at the slightest motion, and the piéce de résistance: something called chocolate truffle elegance. Neither Tess nor Jake could resist it, but their stomachs ached in protest at the thought, so they agreed to share a slice.
Soon it arrived, a heart-shaped deep chocolate concoction, which Tess realized was exactly the color of Jake’s eyes, dusted with pale pink-tinted powdered sugar and drizzled with an even darker chocolate sauce. Atop it were two cherries perched on a pure white cloud of whipped cream.
“How many calories do you suppose this bite has?” Tess groaned as she reluctantly destroyed the picturesque presentation. “Thousands and thousands?”
“Like you care,” Jake retorted, his eyes dancing. “You probably won’t have to spend the next month at the gym doing penance for this.”
“Well—”
“If you’re about to tell me about the lucky metabolism you inherited, can it, lady.” He growled menacingly at her. “I inherited a metabolism meant to carry me through the endlessly harsh winters of my prairie ancestors when there wasn’t anything to eat but a buffalo tail and a dust bunny. Why, I could live on this little snack alone for a month or two, if I didn’t move too much.”
“ ‘Little snack’? I can’t eat another bite, although it does seem criminal to leave even a crumb. It’s so good.”
He leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, “Wrap it up in the napkin and put it in your purse.”
“That does it!” Tess wiped her mouth and leaned back, trying to stop the laughter that bubbled up.
He signaled to the server, and when she came over he murmured some low words to her that Tess didn’t catch. Undoubtedly something about the bill.
As they stood up to leave, the server returned with a small foil package shaped like a heart. “No way!” Tess cried. “You didn’t.”
“Maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t,” he said, guiding her toward the door where the valet was pulling up with his car. “Just keep that pretty little nose out of it.”
A few people were outside, their voices carrying clearly in the night air. Somewhere in the distance, a cow mooed, and Tess laughed. “A not-so-subtle reminder that we are not alone,” she said to Jake as he held open the car door for her. “No matter how elegant the surroundings, no matter how fluffy the whipped cream atop the chocolate truffle elegance, there will be a reminder that somewhere a big old cow is responsible for that whipped cream!”
Once they had topped that slight rise that constituted the county hill, they were again left in the pool of absolute night sky. Jake drove for a few minutes before pulling over to the side.
“What’s wrong?” Tess couldn’t keep the alarm out of her voice.
“Not what’s wrong—what’s right. Come on—let’s go.” Jake turned off the motor of his car.
“Go? I’m stuffed, Jake! I can’t walk anywhere!”
“We’re not going anywhere. Come on!” He opened his door and stepped out.
“Okay.” Tess undid her seat belt and joined Jake at the side of the car.
“Look at this,” he said, his arm sweeping around them. “Is this magnificent or what? Just look at all those stars. How many are there? We don’t know. All we know is there are lots of them and they’re beautiful, and that’s enough.”
He was right. The stars had never glittered so brightly, she was sure, as they did that night. There were stars behind stars, and the more she looked, the more she saw.
“There’s Orion,” he said, pointing to the row of three stars that made up the hunter’s belt. “And the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper, of course. And there’s Cassiopeia, right over that big tree—can you see it? The celestial queen on her throne.”
She leaned against him as the frigid air crept in around her coat.
“Cold?” he asked.
“A bit.”
“Good.” Jake grinned as he held her closely to him. With his arm wrapped around her, she basked in the warmth of their togetherness.
The sensation of absolute romance swept over her and through her. She felt light-headed, almost giddy, ready to dance, to sing.
How was he feeling right now? She stole a glance at him and discovered he was already looking at her.
“I really want to kiss you,” he said softly.
“Then do.”
Meteor showers probably fell that evening. That would explain the brilliant flashes and fireworks Tess saw, even through closed eyes.
“We’d better go,” Jake said at last as the kiss finally broke. She nodded, trying unsuccessfully to keep her teeth from chattering as the cold reasserted its icy grip.
He led her around to the passenger’s side of the car, and when she got in, he leaned over and fastened her seat belt.
“One more,” he said. “Just one.”
And he reverently laid a light kiss on her lips.
Conversation seemed unnecessary on the way back to town. He selected a radio station that played mellow orchestral music, which fit her mood precisely, and she rested her head against the glove-leather seat.
He had kissed her.
Over and over her mind replayed the scene, and with each replaying it just got better.
He had kissed her!
She was so engrossed in her happiness that she was surprised when the car came to a stop.
“Home, sweetheart.” His voice shook her back to reality.
He opened the car door for her and walked her to the side door of her house. He waited patiently as she fumbled in her purse for the key. On the other side of the door came a plaintive meow and frantic scratching.
“I think somebody missed you,” he said, his voice low in her ear.
“Usually she’s not this crazed,” Tess said as her fingers finally closed around the elusive key. “I hope nothing’s wrong.”
She opened the door, and the cat launched herself—not at Tess, but at Jake.
“What in the world is up with her?” Tess wondered aloud. Cora had never acted like that. She reached out to prevent the cat from attacking Jake, but to her astonishment Cora was rubbing against his arms and shoulders.
“Here, I’ll try to pry her off you,” she said. “She’s usually not like this. Actually she’s never been like this. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”
He tossed her the foil-wrapped package from the restaurant. “Maybe it’s something she’s hoping to get into her.”
“Chocolate?” Tess asked. “She’s a
cat. She can’t have—”
Cora jumped down from his grasp and pawed at Tess’s knees.
Tess opened the package and laughed. It held bits and pieces of salmon. “Would you by any chance like some salmon, sweetie?”
“They’re fillets that fell apart before cooking and couldn’t be used,” Jake explained, “so I asked them to save them.”
“That’s amazing. I didn’t know they’d do something like that.”
“Well, I may not own the place, but I do know the owner, and he’s a cat lover from way back. He saves these portions all the time. You just have to know to ask for them.”
He was extraordinary, no doubt about it.
“This is so sweet of you,” she said to him.
Jake cooed at the cat as he fed her the scraps. “Nothing but the best table scraps for this exquisite cat, right, Cora?”
The cat gazed lovingly at Jake.
Tess had to smile. “I have never seen that cat look so googly-eyed before, not even with a major dose of catnip under her belt.”
“I’m just trying to buy her affections. She’s an amazing cat, you know. I think she has definite celestial connections, and, let’s face it, we can use all the help we can get on that end.”
“I prefer to get my help through more traditional means,” Tess said quietly.
“More traditional means? Like what?” The question seemed almost throw-away; he asked it so offhandedly.
“Prayer.” The single word was barely more than a whisper.
“Ah.” He nodded but didn’t volunteer anything else. He toyed with Cora’s ear thoughtfully.
“It works.” She sounded more defensive than she had intended to so she tried to soften it. “It really does, you know.”
“Oh, I believe that.”
“I’m still somewhat befuddled,” she confessed. “Are you telling me you’re a Christian?”
“Of course I am,” he said. “I’ve been baptized, confirmed, the whole nine yards. I can still recite the Apostles’ Creed from memory. We had to learn it in membership classes in sixth grade.”
Her mind spun. She’d never been challenged like this before. Usually her conversations about religion were with people from Nativity, where everyone agreed on their terms.
“Are you active in your church?” she asked, teasing a salmon-stuffed Cora into activity with a fuzzy ball.
“No. Much of weekly trade comes from the post-church crowd, which begins early and lasts until shortly after lunch. I couldn’t make it to any of the services in town, I’m afraid, and definitely not to the ones at the church I grew up in.”
She asked which church that was, and when he named the largest, wealthiest church in town, she nodded. It was known for the strength of the pastoral care and its outreach projects specially designed to reach generally underserved groups; those targeted to college students, young parents, and single mothers were the best known among their many programs.
She had met the minister several times and had been impressed with the care he expressed about his congregation. She’d never seen him be depressed or sad for long; he was a man truly uplifted with joy by his knowledge of Jesus Christ.
“Don’t they have midweek services there, too?” she ventured as a faint memory floated to the surface of her mind.
Jake shrugged. “I suppose so. I just don’t get over there very much.”
She didn’t respond.
“Okay,” he said, “I haven’t been there for a long time. This Thanksgiving at Nativity was the first time I’ve set foot inside a church—any church—in probably fifteen years.”
“You’re right—that is a long time,” she agreed.
As much as she longed to scold him for not going to church, she didn’t. Perhaps if she kept quiet, he would lead himself back into the church. And, sure enough, he continued to talk.
“I liked what I saw of Nativity,” he said, filling the unbearable silence, “and Reverend Barnes seems like a very inspiring person. What are your services like?”
She told him about the structure of a traditional Sunday service at Nativity and gave him a brief overview of the congregational belief.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Come to church with me,” she offered. “We’d all be delighted to have you join us for worship.”
“Thanks. Maybe someday I’ll take you up on that.” He rubbed Cora’s nose.
“I was raised in Nativity,” she said, quietly remembering Sunday schools with dedicated teachers who painstakingly taught her the Ten Commandments, the Lord’s Prayer, and, yes, the Apostles’ Creed.
“We—Grandma, Grandpa, and I—would dress in our finery every Sunday morning and walk the half block to Nativity. Grandma carried her white leather Bible, Grandpa his great black one, and I’d proudly tote my pink one with my name on the front. My grandparents got that for me the Christmas I turned five.”
“May I see it?” he asked, his question catching her by surprise.
“Honestly, no. I don’t have it anymore.” She raised her eyes as she spoke.
He leaned back, clearly shocked by her revelation. “Why not? I’d think someone as religious as you are and as admiring of your grandparents would hold on to that Bible until you died.”
“I gave it away.”
“You what?”
“A woman and her two children came into our church one very cold, very wintry day about two years ago. Their home had burned to the ground, with all their belongings in it. Poor woman. She was a widow whose husband had been shot during a convenience-store robbery, and she was trying so hard to hold it together for those dear children.”
She smiled a bit at the memory. “Reverend Barnes made her a little apartment downstairs at Nativity—actually, the dining area where we served Thanksgiving dinner—until she could put her life back together.”
“And the Bible …?” Jake asked.
“The little girl sat by me on Sundays and called it the pretty pink book. She liked to look through it during the service and study the pictures. Her favorite was the one of Jesus surrounded by the children.”
“So you gave it to her.”
“Sure. Why not?”
He shook his head in amazement. “It still astounds me. Couldn’t you have given her another Bible, maybe a new one? That would have worked as well.”
“No, Jake, it wouldn’t have. I wasn’t just giving her a book. I was giving her more than that. See, the mother had decided to go into church service, and this was my way of supporting them when I wasn’t there to give them a hug or read them a story.” The more she tried to explain it, the muddier it sounded to her. “I was giving her my love, my confidence in her, my support.”
“It’s wonderful,” he said. “I think that Bible has gone deeply into places no other book, no other copy of that book, could go. I’m sure it went directly into their hearts and souls and took up residence. And,” he added softly, “the greatest compliment they could give you would be to give the Bible away again, right?”
“I occasionally have twinges of nostalgia about that sweet old Bible. But now I carry Grandma’s when I make my weekly pilgrimage to church, and Grandpa’s is in the place of honor in the house, over the mantel in the living room.”
Out of nowhere a yawn overtook her. With great embarrassment she covered her mouth and tried to stop it, but it was too late.
“It’s almost midnight,” he said. “It’s time for me to go anyway.”
He ran his hand over Cora’s smooth fur as the cat slept peacefully between them, her stomach distended with the salmon scraps.
“She’s snoring!” he said softly.
“She does that when she’s overindulged herself,” Tess said lovingly.
“Well, here’s to a snoring night for all of us,” he said, standing up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m still stuffed.”
“Me, too.”
She handed him his coat. “Thanks for taking me to dinner. I apologiz
e for the conversation getting so serious here at the end.”
“No need to apologize. I’m just delighted to be getting to know you.”
He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “Good night, sweet angel. I’ll call you later.” His lips barely brushed the top of her head before he turned and left.
She couldn’t help herself. She yawned widely and openly.
It had been a wonderful and strange night. And it was clear to her that she was falling for this man more quickly than she had ever imagined possible.
Did people fall in love this rapidly? It was one question too many for her overworked brain.
“Come on, Cora,” she said to the slumbering cat. “Race you to bed.”
Even stopping to brush her teeth and wash her face, Tess won the race easily. Cora didn’t, in fact, try. Instead Tess padded downstairs in her robe and slippers, picked up the slumbering cat, and carried her upstairs.
The two ladies slept, their tummies full of gourmet salmon. And both snored softly.
Chapter 6
Saturday. Tess was usually up and around every day of the week by seven, but this morning Cora had to notify her the day had begun without her breakfast. Some loud meows in her owner’s ear and a few well-placed swats with a thick furry paw, and the situation was well on its way to being remedied.
Tess was awake—sort of.
She ambled downstairs in her robe and fuzzy slippers, yawning in the bright sunshine that flooded the dining area as Cora followed her, reminding her of her very important errand.
She dumped a can of Meow Meals into Cora’s bowl and was met with disdain. Had the cat actually sniffed with haughty contempt over her food?
“Come on, Cora—you’ve had Meow Meals every morning for three years. Are you all right?” Suddenly filled with concern, she knelt and put her hand on the cat’s brow. Maybe that wasn’t the way to test a cat for a fever. She’d never seen a veterinarian do that, at any rate.
The cat gave her one long annoyed look and, turning her back to Tess, began to scratch the floor around her dish as she pretended to bury the food.
