by Max Lucado
No one knew Chelsea Hancock. She was the shy, studious type, wide-eyed at the sight of a campus of thirty-five hundred students. The school was ten times larger than the high school she attended. If not for her academic scholarship, she would have gone home after the first semester. Her grades were stellar, but her social life? She was queen of the library. She nearly dropped the phone when Sawyer Chambers called. He had seen her tutoring ad for the summer session on a bulletin board in the library. Her study-abroad fund needed a boost. As did his GPA.
“So you’re the girl who’s going to help me stay eligible for the Heisman,” Sawyer said the first time they met.
“The Heimlich?”
“No,” he chuckled, “the Heisman. As in the trophy for the best collegiate football player.”
She gave him a blank look.
He struck a halfback posture, cradling an invisible football and stiff-arming an invisible tackler. Still no response.
“You’ve never heard of it, have you?”
Chelsea had blushed, then recovered. “No, but I have heard of Hemingway. Have you?”
And so the relationship began.
By their fourth meeting she noticed Sawyer studying more than books.
“What? I like looking at you,” he defended when she told him to focus. “Other girls flaunt and flirt. You don’t have to. You’re sneaky pretty.”
Her face reddened. “And you’re pretty sneaky. Pay attention, Sawyer.”
A week later they went on their first date.
“I need a girl like you. You think for yourself,” Sawyer told her as he walked her to the door. “You always have the right answer.”
Chelsea was skeptical. Why would he notice me? she wondered as she studied her just-dressed self in the full-length mirror. Her figure was slender, too shapeless for her taste. Chelsea could think of a dozen girls who were better suited for the Big Man on Campus.
But the first time they danced she knew they had something special.
Chelsea would never forget the look on Sawyer’s face when he spun her into his arms. The intense gaze, the crooked smile. No one had ever looked at her that way before. “Is it too soon to say I love you?” he had asked. She felt like they were the only two people in the room. And she never wanted that feeling to go away.
Chelsea was pregnant by the end of the summer. Unable to come up with a solution she could live with, she confided in Sawyer. And for once he was the one with the answers. “Marry me,” he said. “We can do this. We can make this work. Together.”
Together. Had she known the pain together would bring, would she have said yes?
Chelsea eased herself into the rocking chair on the porch. She needed a moment to clear her mind. She sipped from a steaming mug and pulled her mother’s quilt tight around her shoulders. She and her mom had spent many nights in this very spot, gazing at the heavens. “You’re loved, Chelsea. It’s written in the stars,” she would say.
But the stars weren’t shining tonight.
Chelsea was broke. The air was cold. Her heart even colder. She had to divorce Sawyer. She had to make this work on her own.
Chapter 5
Watching and waiting. It seemed like all he ever did these days. And Samuel longed for more.
A heavy cloud had begun to encircle Chelsea. Clouding her judgment. Darkening her thoughts. The enemy had set its trap. And Chelsea was walking blindly forward.
If only she would ask for help. A simple prayer. Even a hint. God takes hints.
Samuel might have been a guardian angel, but he had a warrior’s heart. If heaven had a playbook, Samuel knew it backward and forward. Messengers, warriors, guardians. He knew the greats by name and their moves by heart. And now he had an idea. A bold one. But he could not act without permission.
Watching and waiting.
Something in the distance caught Samuel’s eye. A glimmer of light. Like a shooting star, a heavenly messenger was fast approaching.
“Gabriel!” Samuel stood at attention, stretching his frame. Even on his tiptoes, he only reached Gabriel’s shoulder.
“You can relax, Samuel,” Gabriel said, with a nod of approval.
“Have you reviewed my plan?”
“It’s been making the rounds.” Gabriel’s expression gave nothing away.
“I know it’s a little ambitious. Unconventional even.” Samuel’s nervous chatter grew faster with each word. “But there’s precedent. We’ve set up this kind of gateway on earth before. This is just a new take. Like Jacob’s Ladder 2.0!”
Gabriel placed a hand on Samuel’s shoulder to calm him. “There’s a lot of potential, Samuel. But the plan’s a bit premature.”
“I see.” Samuel’s shoulders sank. More waiting.
“Don’t be discouraged,” Gabriel said. “Heaven, it seems, has other plans.”
Samuel’s ears perked. “Like what?” He grabbed the hilt of his sword, eager for action.
Gabriel gave a knowing smile. “For this assignment, you don’t need a sword.”
Chapter 6
Mom! It’s burning!” Emily’s voice carried downstairs to the café.
“Don’t touch anything, I’m coming!” Chelsea had just finished updating the chalkboard menu with today’s special: Million-Dollar Pie.
“Mom!”
Chelsea raced up the stairs, glancing at her phone. Still no response from Tim.
“What’s burning, sweetheart?”
Emily stood on a chair in a cloud of smoke. “My toast!”
“Hancock!” Chelsea called. “Could you monitor your sister? And her breakfast?”
Hancock grumbled.
Ding! Ding! Customers. Where was Tim? It was seven a.m., and Chelsea had already sent him three texts. One more wouldn’t hurt.
WHERE R U?!
Now back to the kids. “Why don’t you guys finish getting dressed? I’ll have breakfast ready for you in the café.”
Ding! Ding! Chelsea raced downstairs to take on her first bona fide morning rush.
“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise!”
Chelsea’s old friend Deb was standing at the counter alongside three other 09ers of Alamo Heights. All were decked out in their version of casual: slim designer jeans and leather jackets.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit!” Deb drank in the familiar sights and sounds. “Brings back so many memories!”
Chelsea and Deb reminisced as she made the women their skinny vanilla lattes. Once Deb and her posse were tucked away in a cozy corner, Chelsea improvised a quick breakfast for the kids. She was just zipping up Emily’s jacket when her phone buzzed with a message from Tim. Finally, she thought. Then she read his response.
TOOK A JOB AT CAFÉ COSMOS. THEY OFFER BENEFITS AND STUFF. SORRY. TRIED TO TELL U YESTERDAY BUT U LOOKED KINDA BUSY. ;-)
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chelsea muttered, searching for an emoticon that matched the look on her face. But a fire-spewing dragon figure did not exist.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Emily asked. “You look really mad.”
“It’s Dad, isn’t it?” Hancock guessed.
“No, no. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” She attempted a smile.
Ding! Ding! “Morning, Bo!” Emily said.
Bo Thompson had become a highlight of the kids’ morning routine. He was warm and neighborly—even before his first cappuccino of the day. He seemed to wake up that way.
“I’ll be right with you, Bo.” Chelsea handed the kids their lunch money. “Are you okay walking your sister to the bus stop this morning?” she asked Hancock. “Mom’s a little short on help today.”
“I’d be happy to walk with them,” Bo offered. “I’m heading in that direction.”
Ding! Ding! Two more customers entered the café.
“You’re a godsend, Bo,” Chelsea said with a sigh of relief. “And your cappuccino’s on the house today.”
“Don’t worry about it. We all need help every now and then.”
It was true. Chelsea
needed help. Now. And then she needed eighty-six thousand dollars. But first things first.
During a welcome lull, she posted a help-wanted ad on Craigslist. Her last attempt had produced Tim, so this time she got specific: Ideal candidate is personable and punctual with a positive attitude. Must love kids, coffee, and cupcakes.
Within minutes of her posting the ad, her ideal candidate walked right through her front door. At least, that’s what he tried to do.
“Are you okay?” Chelsea ran outside to help the stunned man to his feet.
“That has to be the cleanest glass in all of Texas,” he exclaimed with a cheery Latino accent. “And you can tell the owner I said that.”
“You just did,” Chelsea replied. The man’s bright demeanor brought a smile to her face. “Come on in. I’ll get you something to drink.”
Something about him captured Chelsea’s attention. It wasn’t just the black leather cowboy boots adorned with turquoise stones, nor the bright green pants, nor the floral Hawaiian shirt, nor even the Seattle Seahawks cap. She studied him for a moment: medium height, square frame, round face. I know you from somewhere. But for once her memory seemed to be failing her.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” she asked.
“Many people ask that question, señora. I must have a familiar face.”
Manuel, or Manny, as he liked to be called, wanted to chat. He had finally been granted citizenship at the age of thirty. Originally from Mexico, he was single and had moved to San Antonio to be near family.
“Have you already found a place to live?” Chelsea asked as she prepared his drink of choice: a vanilla latte with a generous helping of whipped cream.
“Yes. I have sisters in town. I’m staying with them until I find a steady job.”
“What kind of work are you looking for?”
Before Manny could answer, a sudden burst of steam escaped the malfunctioning espresso machine. Frothy milk splattered across the countertop and onto Chelsea’s apron.
“That machine was supposed to have been fixed!” she exclaimed. “Will you excuse me?” She disappeared into the adjoining kitchen in search of a fresh apron.
When she returned, Manny was standing behind the now spotless counter, tinkering with the espresso machine. “I hope you don’t mind me taking a look,” he said.
Chelsea eyed the cash register. Untouched.
“Go ahead. Try it now,” he said, stepping aside.
Chelsea approached the machine with caution. She placed a fresh pitcher beneath the steamer and turned the dial. Three perfect bursts of steam. Chelsea was impressed. “What is it you said you do?”
The staff of the Higher Grounds Café doubled that afternoon. Of course, the dress code took a little negotiating.
“Manny, you’ll have to lose that hat. We’re not Seahawks fans. And let’s stick with solid colors from now on.”
That night Chelsea ticked Find help off her mental to-dos. If only her other problems were that easy to solve. She was already dreading the next item on her list: Negotiate terms of payment with the IRS.
Chapter 7
Chelsea was a whiz at math. Sawyer used to joke that solving math puzzles gave her the kind of buzz he got from a good workout. But today math was just giving her a headache.
With the help of Sawyer’s old accountant, she had managed to negotiate the tax debt to nine easy payments of $9,555.64. Easy, as long as she sold 155 lattes a day. A mere 500 percent increase of her daily business. Chelsea was doomed.
She was doomed the moment she married Sawyer, and after a few Google searches she had the numbers to prove it: 78 percent of former NFL players file for bankruptcy, and 50 percent of their marriages end in divorce. And with these stress-inducing statistics, Chelsea would be baking her way to the 69 percent of Americans who are overweight.
“You look like a cupcake.”
Those are the words Chelsea heard. “Excuse me?”
“I said, you look like you could use a cupcake,” Manny offered. Cautiously.
“Oh . . . um. Not today. But I could use a shot of espresso. Thanks, Manny.”
In just over a week Manny had more than proven his worth. He was an early riser with a knack for being there right when Chelsea needed him. He was remarkable with her customers and even better with her kids. But for all his skill and intuition, Chelsea had never come across a more uncoordinated person—fashionably or physically. He couldn’t master the swinging doors to the kitchen. The first few times, he would open one like it was a traditional door. When it would swing back, he would open it again.
“Manny,” Chelsea finally had to tell him, “it won’t stay open. Just walk right through it.” He did, but stopped so soon the closing door popped him in the back. “Manny, you have to keep walking.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Haven’t you seen one of these before?”
“Hmm, I don’t think so.”
He couldn’t seem to keep his legs under him, which became a running joke in the café. “I make more friends falling over than most people do standing up,” Manny would say. In fact, that was how Manny bonded with Sara.
“I have an idea!” Sara had backed into the café on a Wednesday morning, pulling her four-month-old sleeping twins in a double stroller. “Several, actually. But first, an Americano. Double shot. No, make it a triple. I haven’t slept all week.”
Chelsea had to admit her sister looked more frazzled than usual.
Sara rattled on. “The real estate agent ordered us out of the house for the next six hours. We have three second showings today!”
“That sounds promising! Are you and Tony still planning to make an offer on that house on Sierra? It looks perfect for you!”
“No.” Sara hesitated, carefully formulating a sunny response. “It’s a great neighborhood, but we decided it was a bit too much house for us right now.” Her tone betrayed a hint of disappointment that hit Chelsea with a pang of guilt. Sara had called that Victorian cottage their dream home, and Chelsea knew her promised down payment would have made their dream a reality.
So much for playing the fairy godmother. I can’t even make my own dreams come true.
“Are you sure you should be having all that caffeine?” Chelsea asked, as Sara pushed her stroller up to the counter.
“I just need to hold it. And smell it. Is that so bad?”
“How ’bout a quad?”
“I love you.”
“Hey, Manny?” Chelsea called back to the kitchen. Manny emerged wearing a bright orange shirt and an even brighter smile. He looked not unlike a traffic cone.
“You must be the sister! So pleased to meet you,” he said, reaching across the counter to shake her hand. “I visited your church on Sunday.”
Sara’s face brightened with recognition. “I know you. You’re the domino guy!”
Manny beamed, nodding like a bobblehead.
“Well, I hope we see you again,” Sara continued. “Maybe next time, you can bring her along,” she added, giving Chelsea a playful glance.
“I promise not to knock her over!” The two dissolved into laughter.
“Okay, people, fill me in. What’s a domino guy?”
After a few false starts and lots of giggling, Chelsea got the story.
“So we’re all lining up for Communion, and Shirley Benson is moving down the aisle at a snail’s pace. She’s such a dear, but seriously, Chelsea. Possibly the slowest moving human being on earth. Then out of nowhere, Manny here . . .”
“I tripped on Miss Shirley’s cane and fell right to the ground. Then Miss Shirley went down. And so on, and so on.”
“Six people, Chelsea. Like dominoes!” Sara said, growing serious. “It’s a miracle no one was hurt.” Then they all burst out laughing again.
“Wait a second! Shirley Benson dropped in yesterday, no pun intended, and I’d say she was downright spry,” Chelsea said, turning to Manny. “She walked right up to the counter and gave you a big tip, if I remember correctly.”
Chelsea smiled. In spite of recent events, moments like these made her happy to be back home. Near family.
“Well?” she asked, taking a seat across from Sara, who was now inhaling the aroma of her steamy mug of espresso.
“It’s perfection. I’m just going to take one sip,” she whispered. “Don’t tell the babies.”
Chelsea laughed. “C’mon! I want to hear your idea!”
“Of course.” Sara finished her sip. “I was thinking . . . we need to create some buzz in the community!”
“That’s it? That’s the big idea?”
“Well . . . I was thinking of calling the Tribune. They could do an article on the grand reopening. Also, Tony’s been wanting to add a little café at our church. We’ve got the space for it. And it’d be more exposure for you.”
“Sure. I could do the church thing,” Chelsea offered.
“And the Trib?” Sara knew she was venturing into tricky waters.
“That’s a pass for me,” Chelsea said. “I don’t need any favors from Dad. Or his old cronies.”
“C’mon. Dad hasn’t worked at the Tribune for years!” Sara rolled her eyes. “Besides, things are different now.”
“That’s great, but I don’t really need to hear about him. He didn’t want to be a part of my life. And, well, it seems to be working out. Let’s move on. Next idea.”
“Well, we can’t move on.” Sara paused, then let it all out. “Please don’t be mad, but I already called. They’re sending someone tomorrow to interview you.”
“Sara!”
“You need this, Chelsea. And it’ll be great. I know it.”
Chelsea wanted to give Sara an earful and walk away. But she was struck with a chilling truth. Sara was all she had left. Without her sister, she really was on her own. Chelsea could not afford any more grudges, so instead she forced a smile.
“Well, Manny,” Chelsea called to her star employee, “let’s get this café ready for the press!”
Chapter 8
The reporter was due to arrive the next day just in time for the morning rush. At least, Chelsea hoped there’d be a rush. An interview in an empty café would make for a pitiful story. Like only one guest coming to your birthday party kind of pitiful. But Chelsea couldn’t think about that now. She had a job to do.
