by Emma Miller
She sat down, hugging her knees to her chest as she held the stick over the orange embers.
“I’m Alex.” The words jumped out of his mouth of their own accord, shocking even him.
Her eyes flashed up toward him, wide with surprise before they narrowed again. “Alex for real?”
The question held an inexplicable weight. “Alex for real.” He felt exposed for no reason. He stared at her, wondering if she’d share her own name. Any such wondering was squelched when his marshmallow burst into flames, a tiny black torch burning against the darkening sky.
“JJ,” she said as he blew it out. The thing was too burned, even for him, but he knew he’d eat it anyway. Alex wondered if he’d ever know what JJ stood for or why such a thing should matter to him at all.
“You’re not really going to eat that, are you?” Behind her scowl was the barest hint of a smile.
“Blackened. The best kind.” Alex smacked his lips for emphasis as he squished the lavalike confection between the cracker and chocolate. “Savory.” He bit into it, tasting nothing but burned sugar. “And crunchy.”
JJ assembled hers with the attention of a chef. She ate it just as carefully, in strategic bites, whereas he’d just stuffed the whole thing into this mouth in one gooey-black splurge.
“You’re a careful person, aren’t you, JJ?”
She bit another precise corner off with an assessing glance. “You’re not.”
They went on for hours. Talking about little things—ice cream flavors, whether or not barista coffee was really worth the cost—and big things—why nature calmed the soul, what was going to happen to little places like Gordon Falls, why the high school version of who’d they’d be when they grew up had proved to be nothing close to the truth. The subjects seem to go deeper as the last traces of sunlight faded. Without ever speaking of it, they’d come to some sort of no-detail pact between them. No last names, no careers, none of that stuff. Wonderfully, effortlessly mysterious. A dark, luminescent bubble in the middle of nowhere.
“Alex,” JJ began, and he found himself wallowing in how she said his name, “why are you here?”
That could require another six hours of conversation. How do you explain being confounded by success, losing focus when focus was once your stock and trade? Really, what kind of person gets weary of their own supposed genius? Part of him was ready to spill it all, and part of him felt like he’d emptied out half his soul already. “I’m trying to figure out why it doesn’t all fit together anymore and what to do about it.” It was true, but nowhere near the full of it. He was here to figure out if he had to lay down Adventure Gear, the business he’d once loved and now hated. Only he couldn’t tell her that. To speak it out loud would bring that mess here, and he wanted all those problems to stay far away.
He looked at her, pleased to feel so startlingly close to her despite not even knowing her last name—or even what JJ stood for. “Why are you here?”
She sighed and looked out over the water. It was now full dark, and a perfect crescent moon cast sparkles on the water where she swished one foot into the river. “Because I don’t feel like I belong anywhere else. Anywhere at all, actually.”
He laughed softly.
She scowled. “It’s not so funny, you know.”
“No, it’s just that I’ve felt like I belong everywhere for so long, that actually sounds nice. I know it’s not—I mean, not for you—but isn’t it crazy how God skews the world for each of us?”
JJ hugged her knee again and propped her chin up, looking childlike and elegant at the same time. “So you believe in God, huh?”
Alex leaned back on his elbows and took in the glory of the sky. “I’ve seen so many amazing parts of the world that I can’t help but know He’s there. The big, grand creation stuff has always been easy for me to believe in.” He rolled his head to catch JJ’s eye. “It’s the up close and personal stuff that seems to have come unraveled lately. I’m not a guy who does well with questions and doubts.” He was grateful she didn’t ask for an explanation.
After a long pause, JJ offered, “I did, once. Believe, I mean.” Her voice was quiet, almost weary. “At least I thought I did.”
“And then?” He rolled over so that he was on his side facing her. She was fascinating. There wasn’t another word for it. Alex felt like he could stay up and talk out here for weeks.
“And then I saw too many things that made it hard to keep believing.” He knew not to press for anything further, but some part of him was grateful when, after a long pause, she added, “I was in the war.”
It explained so much. Her hard edges, the way her eyes assessed things, the weariness that seemed to inhabit every part of her. Suddenly every response he could think of sounded trite and placating.
“Yep,” she said, twice as wearily as before. “It’s always a fabulous conversation killer.”
“No, it’s just...”
“Please.” JJ held up a hand. “I’m so used to it by now. I’ve heard all the standard required replies and silence is actually a nice change.”
“I don’t know how you come back from something like that.” His own weariness, how globetrotting for adventure had lost its luster seemed downright ridiculous now.
“I suppose that makes two of us.” She got up to leave.
Alex scrambled upright. “Don’t. Please don’t go like that. Not now.” Her eyes looked a thousand miles deep, boring into Alex the way they did right now. “Two minutes. Just stay two more minutes.”
She stayed two more hours, still lingering when it started to rain. They got past the awkwardness, settling into a companionship that was as startling as it was soothing. Even soaked to the skin, it was the best night of his life.
Copyright © 2013 by Alyse Stanko Pleiter
ISBN-13: 9781460321874
REBECCA’S CHRISTMAS GIFT
Copyright © 2013 by Emma Miller
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A Family For Christmas
Alone and pregnant with twins is not how Laura Holland wants to spend her holidays. So she seeks out the only person who’s never let her down: old college friend David Presley. David now runs a bookstore in a small Alabama town, but he’s never stopped loving Laura since he first laid eyes on her in school. So despite his store’s shaky finances, he offers her a job. When they work together to help boost business, Laura begins to see that the friend she’s always depended on could be the husband she’s always prayed for.
“Why aren’t you dating anyone?” Laura blurted, then wished that she could push the words back in.
But the widening of his eyes and the slight drop in his jaw said that there was no going back now. David had heard what was on her mind, and he looked…more than
a little surprised. Well, she had lost some of her filter for saying what she was thinking over the past few months. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones in action, or maybe it was simply the fact that she didn’t understand the bizarreness of her old friend, her attractive and kind and nice—okay, a little more gorgeous than she remembered—old friend being so single.
When he didn’t readily offer a response, Laura couldn’t stand the silence. “Sorry, I was being nosy.”
“Sometimes that’s what friends do, right?” He leaned against the bookshelves and looked mighty nice doing it. “We are still friends, aren’t we, Laura? Or…are we something else?”
Books by Renee Andrews
Love Inspired
Her Valentine Family
Healing Autumn’s Heart
Picture Perfect Family
Love Reunited
Heart of a Rancher
Bride Wanted
Yuletide Twins
RENEE ANDREWS
spends a lot of time in the gym. No, she isn’t working out. Her husband, a former all-American gymnast, co-owns ACE Cheer Company, an all-star cheerleading company. She is thankful the talented kids at the gym don’t have a problem when she brings her laptop and writes while they sweat. When she isn’t writing, she’s typically traveling with her husband, bragging about their two sons or spoiling their bulldog.
Renee is a kidney donor and actively supports organ donation. She welcomes prayer requests and loves to hear from readers. Write to her at [email protected], visit her website at www.reneeandrews.com or check her out on Facebook or Twitter.
YULETIDE TWINS
Renee Andrews
Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.
—Luke 6:38
This novel is dedicated to and inspired by
the precious twins I met 24 years ago,
Amber Gonzales Harrington and
Angel Gonzales Stroop. I’ve watched you grow into young women with beautiful families of your own. You’ve touched my heart and my life.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Laura Holland climbed out of her jam-packed Volkswagen bug and squinted toward the windows of the bookstore across the Claremont town square. During the entire four-hour drive from Nashville to this tiny North Alabama town, she’d attempted to convince herself that she’d made the right decision. Staying with her parents, especially with her mother threatening to leave again, was out of the question. But now she wondered what made her think she could show up here, reconnect with her old friend and somehow convince him to give her a job?
What if David sent her packing? Then where would she go?
Laura took a step toward the bookstore but halted when an elderly gentleman made his way to the entrance. He stood out from the other shoppers with his slow and steady gait. A shadow passed in front of the window as someone went to greet him when he entered.
Was that David? Laura remembered the tall, dark-haired guy who’d been Jared’s college roommate the entire time he and Laura dated. Nice-looking in a Clark Kent kind of way, David wore dark-rimmed glasses, dressed impeccably and jogged regularly. He would be twenty-five now, merely two years older than Laura, and yet he’d already “made it” in the world, was self-sufficient and running his own business. A far cry from where Laura was now. More shadows passed in front of the awning-covered window, and then a man carrying a briefcase entered. How many people were in the store? And did she really want an audience when she begged for a job?
Spotting a rack of free classifieds outside of the five-and-dime, Laura grabbed a copy and sat on a wrought-iron bench while she waited for a few of David’s customers to leave. If—and that was a big if—David was willing to hire her in her current state, she’d also need somewhere to live.
The unseasonable weather was nice enough that she could probably sit and browse the paper until dark. In Nashville, it’d already turned too cold to spend time outside. But here the first Monday in November felt uncommonly pleasant, with merely a slight chill in the air. Then again, Laura stayed warmer these days due to the extra weight she carried. She wondered if David was still the same big-hearted guy he’d been in college. Would he be willing to help her out? She suspected—and hoped—that he hadn’t changed.
Laura rubbed her swollen belly. She sure had.
* * *
David Presley flipped the page of the quarterly report his accountant personally delivered and saw the nasty numbers on the P&L sheet identifying the sad state of his bookstore. He closed the folder, but the image of those red numbers wouldn’t go away.
“I’ll borrow more from my line of credit.” The muscles in his neck immediately tightened, and he shifted his shoulders to relieve a little stress.
“Can I be honest with you, David?” Milton Stott had inherited the bookstore’s account when his father retired, in much the same way David had inherited A Likely Story when his grandmother passed away. However, Milton’s inheritance gave him the accounts of most everyone in town, so it wouldn’t be all that terrible if he lost the bookstore as a client. David’s inheritance, on the other hand, plopped all of his eggs in one basket. A basket that was, based on these numbers, almost empty.
Somehow David managed a smile. “I’d love to think that you weren’t being honest and that those numbers were lying, but I know I can count on you giving me the truth. And since you’ve already delivered a painful dose, you might as well add the rest.”
A noise in the back of the store caused Milton to turn. “You have a customer?”
David nodded. “Zeb Shackleford, but he wouldn’t spread news of my financial state even if he heard it.”
Milton heaved a sigh. “Okay, then. I’m going to tell it to you straight. Your grandmother barely got by with the store. I told Vesta she should sell the thing before she passed away so the family wouldn’t be burdened. Your parents weren’t interested in it....”
“They were pretty excited when Dad got the job opportunity in Florida.” David’s folks had been thrilled about the potential for a year-round warm climate, but even if they hadn’t been tempted by the beach, they wouldn’t have taken over running A Likely Story. They’d never appreciated the old store on the square the way he had.
“Well, Vesta knew they didn’t want it and insisted you could breathe life into the old place. Back then, I told her that probably wasn’t possible,” Milton said, then added somberly, “I’m sorry that it appears I was right.” He placed his copy of David’s financials back in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “I don’t see how you can keep the place open more than a couple of months, and that’s only if you get enough holiday business to boost your numbers.”
David swallowed past the bitterness creeping up his throat. He’d tried so hard to make the bookstore work, but Milton was right. He lost money every day the doors were open. He scanned the m
ultitude of shelves lining the walls, the tiny reading corners his grandmother had insisted on having for customers to sit and enjoy their books—all of them persistently empty—and his sole customer, Zeb, gingerly perusing the packed shelves. “I’m not ready to give up,” he told the accountant. “My grandmother thought I could make this place work, really believed it could be done, and that I was the one to do it. You said so.”
“I also said that it probably wasn’t possible,” Milton reminded.
Zeb rounded the end of one of the stacks and held up his plastic basket. “Found some good ones today,” he said with a grin.
David’s heart moved with a glimmer of hope. “I had several bags of used books turned in this week for credit, so I thought you’d be able to find quite a few.”
Zeb’s face cracked into more wrinkles as his smile widened. Oddly, the weathered lines made him even more endearing. “Any of those suspense ones I’ve been looking for? Miss Tilly at the nursing home has been asking for some.”
David pointed toward the other side of the store. “I think so. Look over there, about halfway down.”
“Thanks.” Zeb nodded at Milton. “Good to see you, Mil.”
“You, too, Zeb.” He waited for the old man to move a little farther away, lowered his voice and said, “Credit? You’re still taking books for credit? I told your grandmother years ago that she should stop that. It makes no business sense whatsoever.”
“That’s the way used bookstores typically work. And I carry new books, too, but there are folks in Claremont, like Zeb, who like the used ones.” David said a silent prayer that Zeb would take his time finding the books he wanted so Milton wouldn’t also learn the elderly man got his books for free.
