by Max Lucado
Chapter 28
Sign is . . . bro-ken,” Emily sounded out, her index finger tracing the letters of Faith Community Church’s marquee. “M-mes—”
“Message,” Chelsea assisted.
“Sign is broken. Message inside!”
“Very good, sweetie!” Chelsea laughed at Tony’s wit and at Emily’s display of academic skill.
“What does it mean?” Emily asked.
“It means Uncle Tony wants people to come inside the church to hear his sermon,” Hancock said.
Today was a landmark Sunday for Faith Community Church. It was the fifth anniversary of the church’s revitalization under the pastorship of Tony and Sara Morales. To mark the occasion, Tony custom-ordered three dozen cupcakes from Chelsea: chocolate espresso and vanilla latte. He’d been brewing a special coffee-themed message, and as his marquee implied, he wanted everyone to come inside to taste and see just how good it was going to be.
He even used coffee as a part of his sermon: “When you sip a cup of coffee and say, ‘This is good,’ what are you saying? The coffee beans are good? The coffee machine is good? The hot water? The filter?”
Tony paced up and down the center aisle, his eyes connecting with each member of his meager flock. As Tony hoped, his congregation of blue-hairs was savoring every word, and to Chelsea’s surprise, so were her children. Emily giggled when her Uncle Tony waved to her as he passed.
“ ‘Good’ happens when all the ingredients work together!” Tony approached a raised table, which displayed his sermon props: a bag of coffee, filters, a coffee maker, and a pitcher of water. “When the beans are roasted to perfection and ground into powder, when the water is heated to just the right temp, or if you’re my sister-in-law, if the pressure is just right to pull a perfect shot of espresso . . . it’s the collective cooperation of all these elements that creates good.”
Chelsea smiled politely as eyes darted in her direction, but her mind was drifting elsewhere. Someone somewhere was jingling keys. Chelsea looked toward the front row, where an elderly man sat on the other side of Sara. Chelsea sat up straight. The old man was her father.
Of course Sara would bring him to the anniversary service. But why was he being so rude? Had he developed some weird nervous tic?
From then on, Chelsea heard only the occasional phrase from Tony. “Is a famine or heart attack good? . . . the life of Joseph . . . struggle, storms, death . . . God works it all together . . .”
Tony’s sermon culminated with an enticing sip of steaming, freshly brewed coffee, which was the perfect cue for Chelsea to escape into the lobby with Hancock and Emily. She busied herself behind the church’s makeshift coffee counter, arranging her custom-flavored cupcakes and decanters of flavored coffee.
“You know my niece!” shouted a wheelchair-bound man in a stylish fedora and a tailored sport coat. The man was younger than most of his fellow churchgoers, and his athletic physique made him seem all the more out of place in a wheelchair.
“Do I?” Chelsea handed the man a vanilla latte cupcake and a paper mug filled with coffee.
“Katrina!” His boisterous voice filled the foyer. “I’m sure glad she found your café. She can be a little hard around the edges.”
“Well, my customers love her, and so do I.”
“I’m sure you’re a good influence on her too.”
“I don’t know about that,” Chelsea said.
“My name is Frank, by the way. Work keeps me busy, but I hope to stop by the café soon. As a bona fide IT nerd, I’m itching to snoop around that network of yours.”
Chelsea chuckled. “Please do! By the way, I’m Chel—” The sight of her father walking through the lobby stopped her short. The urge to quickly duck behind the counter and tie her shoe was overwhelming, and Chelsea envisioned the former version of herself doing just that—cowering and hiding, hoping her old man would just disappear. But new Chelsea stood straight, shook Frank’s hand, and finished her sentence. “I’m Chelsea. Hope to see you at the café soon.”
While Chelsea served the last of her church patrons, her father stood in a corner and watched, all the while jingling a set of keys. Chelsea created a mental Post-it note to ask Sara about his odd behavior. For a moment she even considered getting the answer from him firsthand. But that would require her to speak to him, which was out of the question. Looking back was no better than driving a car with her eyes glued to the rearview mirror. If Chelsea and her family were going to move forward, she had to stay focused on the road ahead.
She turned her attention back to her work.
Chapter 29
So that website you got. You can ask it any question, and God answers back?” The scrawny young boy stared at Chelsea from across the counter.
Thankfully the weather had warmed since the last time Marcus was in. So had the boy’s countenance, especially after hearing that God might be waiting on the other side of Chelsea’s blog.
“Well . . .” Chelsea weighed her words. “That is what I hear. Although I’ve never tried it. How are you, Marcus?”
“I’m fine,” the boy said as he counted every nickel and dime from his pockets.
“Your mom still drinking a triple breve?”
“Yeah, but how’d you know?” Marcus’s eyes were half closed in suspicion.
“I have a knack for remembering things.” Chelsea sighed. “Everything actually.” She scooped up the boy’s change without counting. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school, Marcus?”
“I homeschool,” he said, casting his eyes to the floor. Now it was Chelsea’s turn to be suspicious.
She handed Marcus the triple breve for his mom, a hot chocolate for him, and a few scones for the road. “These are on the house. You come and see me anytime, okay?”
“Wow, thanks, ma’am!”
As Marcus walked out the door, Chelsea was greeted by another familiar face.
“Deb! It’s good to see you again! Just the other day, Sara and I found an old photo of your fourth-grade crush. Hilarious!”
Deb managed a slight smile. “Hi, Chelsea. It’s lovely to see you.” Deb exuded her usual posh vibe—tailored black dress, elegant silver jewelry, complementing accessories. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Thanks, Deb.” Though Chelsea wondered how her old friend could see anything from beneath her thick designer sunglasses. “How have you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Oh, things have just been so busy, you know? I’d love a double shot of espresso and one of your mini scones.”
As Manny and Katrina went to work on her order, Chelsea gambled a more sincere question. “You sure you’re doing okay?”
“Oh . . .” Deb toyed with her wedding ring. “Do you think—”
“Delivery for Mrs. Chambers!” The arrival of a gigantic bouquet of yellow roses spoiled the moment.
“I can see you’re doing well!” Deb said.
Chelsea rolled her eyes for dramatic effect. “If only my life were so rosy!” She put the bouquet aside and leaned toward Deb, hoping to continue their conversation. “Do I think what?”
“Do you think . . .” But the moment had passed. “Do you think I could use your Internet? I’ve been hearing some crazy things!”
“Of course. Anything you need.”
While Deb secluded herself at a small tea table, Chelsea stole her own private moment in the nearly finished parlor. She plucked the note from the bouquet, then sat in her mother’s old recliner to read it.
Are there any plans in the works for Hancock’s birthday? Can’t believe our boy is turning thirteen! P.S. Is this against the rules?
Chelsea tapped her fingers against the floral card stock. Was this against the rules? She couldn’t be sure. It occurred to her that as she moved forward with the divorce, she’d need to make lots of new rules. She had no idea where to start. For a passing moment she considered seeking advice from the God Blog. But she knew better. In fact, she could probably predict the answer. Wasn’t it
Jesus who said something about loving your enemies?
No thanks. Chelsea could write her own rule book for now.
“I don’t even know what to ask. I’ve let my family down. I have so many secrets, and the guilt is killing me.”
Chelsea listened as a sassy hipster read some of the sadder entries from the God Blog to a table of fellow hecklers. Ordinarily Chelsea didn’t mind when her patrons read aloud from the blog. Plenty of people experienced a surge of hope and encouragement after visiting the site. But this mean-spirited intrusion struck a raw nerve with Chelsea.
After a bout of laughter, the girl continued with the answer.
“I know all your secrets, even the one tucked inside your wallet. If you only knew the gift I have for you and who you are speaking to, you would ask me, and I would give you living water. I would cleanse you from the inside out. I love you. I always have, and I always will. God”
Chelsea was glad the unfortunate entry didn’t have a name associated with it. She scanned the café, wondering if the anonymous question had originated from her old friend. But Deb was no longer there.
Chapter 30
Beautiful!” Manny exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see this place filled with people tomorrow morning.”
Chelsea took a step back to admire the sunroom, its transformation complete. The makeover managed to make the most of the small space while retaining its character and history, thanks to the apothecary cabinet, lace drapes, and antique wingback chair, not to mention the phonograph gleaming in the corner next to a tiered shelf lined with vintage records just begging to be played.
“Bo, you outdid yourself on these,” Chelsea said, running a hand over one of two reclaimed wood tables running parallel with the wall.
“Don’t forget my trusty sidekick!” Bo gave Hancock a slap on the back.
“Never!” Chelsea said, placing her flowers from Sawyer on one of the tables. “Hancock, have you thought about what you want to do for your birthday?”
“Yeah. I want to do what we always do,” he said.
Chelsea bit her tongue. Sawyer and Hancock had an epic birthday tradition. A tradition that made Chelsea’s knees quake and her stomach turn. Every year without fail, Sawyer would take Hancock to the nearest amusement park, where they would ride the tallest, fastest, loopiest roller coaster—one time for each year of Hancock’s life. Chelsea, whose fear of heights topped her list of phobias, could not think of a worse way to celebrate a birthday. That is, until she added Sawyer to the equation.
“I was thinking we would start a new tradition this year. You know, now that you’re going to be a teenager?” Chelsea attempted a positive spin, but she knew she had failed miserably before she even finished speaking. In fact, her tactic backfired.
“I know,” Hancock said in a tone that reeked of teenage sarcasm. “Why don’t you go ahead and plan my birthday? Then you can tell me what I want to do.”
As soon as the words spurted out of his mouth he was gone, leaving Chelsea to ride the wake of awkward tension with Manny and Bo.
“What do you say we call it a night, Manny?” Bo said.
Manny nodded. “Big day tomorrow!”
“Thanks, guys. You’re the best. I better go have a chat with my son,” Chelsea said. “Wish me luck,” she added as she headed upstairs.
Chelsea found Hancock in the kitchen eating a bowl of ice cream. Her first instinct was to scold him for consuming sugar so late at night, but instead she served herself a scoop of Rocky Road and buckled up for a bumpy ride.
If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.
“Did everyone leave?” Hancock said after a moment of silence.
“Yeah. You probably owe Manny and Bo an apology tomorrow.”
Hancock gave a heavy nod as he spooned at the chocolate puddle forming in his bowl. “It’s hard, you know?”
Chelsea watched her son struggle to put his feelings into words, a hereditary trait no doubt.
“I don’t like not being a family anymore,” he said. “And every time I think I’ve gotten used to all the change, something else changes.”
Chelsea’s eyebrows rose with recognition. Her young son had pinpointed her exact feelings. She reached for his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Mom, I know Dad’s not perfect, and you don’t want to see him. But he’s my dad. You can’t cut him out forever.”
Chapter 31
Katrina pushed through the swinging door of the kitchen. “There’s somebody here to see you.”
“Does this person have a name?”
“Probably. I didn’t get it though. He’s tall. Smiles a lot. Looks a little like a GQ model.”
Dennis Darling.
Chelsea smiled. “I’ll be there in a few.”
She had been cooking up a new recipe in her head, and with the added help in the café, she was enjoying the opportunity to actually make it. Chelsea didn’t know how many layers this cake was going to have, and with the myriad of issues she had to process, it could very well turn into the Tower of Babel. But the cake could wait. Chelsea checked her reflection in the glass window of her shiny industrial oven and corraled a few stray hairs.
“Mr. Darling!” Chelsea stretched out her hand, but Dennis’s hands were full.
“These are for you,” he said, handing her two boxes of gourmet, oven-ready pizzas. “And the kids, of course.”
“How incredibly thoughtful!”
“You’re a hardworking woman. You deserve a break.” There was that grin, the sparkling teeth, adorable dimple, rugged cleft. A feast for the eyes.
Chelsea couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say, so she laughed, which struck her as even less intelligent than saying nothing at all. After a moment she managed a simple “Thanks.”
“So, I was wondering—” Dennis started.
“Watch out!” Manny hollered as his wheeled mop bucket overturned, gushing mucky water over Mr. Darling’s khaki slacks and suede lace-ups. “Whoops,” Manny said, staring.
“I’m so sorry, Dennis!” Chelsea said.
“Please. Accidents happen.”
“Manny, could you please grab a towel for Mr. Darling?”
“Yes, I will get a towel.” Manny’s tone lacked any sense of urgency, so too his leisurely stroll into the kitchen.
“Never mind.” Chelsea grabbed a pile of napkins from the counter.
As the two attempted to rescue the soaking suede shoes, Dennis picked up where he left off. “I was wondering if we could have lunch together?”
“Oh?”
“If you’re not too busy.” That smile again.
After a quick wardrobe change, Chelsea stepped out of the café in a tailored black number she hadn’t had any occasion to wear since her breakup with an NFL star.
“You’ve got kids?” Chelsea noted the scattered toys in the backseat of Mr. Darling’s BMW SUV.
“Three of them. Most important part of my life.”
“And you’re not—”
“Nope. Divorced. Two years now.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t worry. It was hard at first. I don’t blame her any more than I blame myself. When it came to daily life, Suzanne and I just weren’t suited for each other. It always felt like a battle with too many casualties. But now . . . The kids are doing great, and I really feel like I’m discovering myself again. Just me. It feels good.”
“That’s nice.”
“Sorry. You weren’t prying, and here I am gushing.”
“No, no. It’s good to hear, and I’m glad you’re all doing so well. I’m actually in the middle of a similar situation.”
“I kinda figured.”
Their conversation continued to the patio of a quaint neighborhood bistro of Mr. Darling’s choosing. Chelsea exhaled the stresses of her day, all the while drinking in the lovely sights and sounds of their surroundings. Trendy shoppers wandered in and out of equally trendy boutiques and restaurants, which just so happened to include
Chelsea’s main competition, Café Cosmos.
Dennis studied the wine list and ordered a bottle of something that sounded French and sophisticated.
“Two glasses?” he asked Chelsea.
“Why not?”
As the waiter left, Dennis resumed the questions. “So what’s it been like, running your mom’s old café?”
“Difficult, more than I imagined. It’s a task, managing the café and this new version of our family. But there are moments when it is rewarding.” Chelsea couldn’t keep from smiling. “I know what you mean about discovering yourself again. It feels good being just me.”
It also felt good sharing a meal and a conversation with someone other than a customer, coworker, or child.
By the time dessert was served, Dennis was ready to cut to the chase.
“I’d like to buy the Higher Grounds Café.”
“What?”
“I’d like to buy the Higher Grounds Café.”
“Whatever for?”
Dennis pointed across the street. “In one month, the customer base of Café Cosmos has shrunk 40 percent. I should know. I’m one of the owners.”
“Forty percent? Why so much?” Chelsea had a very good idea why that might be, but she wanted to hear it for herself.
“Because of your café. People love the artisan feel, the pastries, the coffee art, the vintage charm.”
“The God Blog.”
“Sure. But still, you’re good at what you do.”
“Suppose I were to sell the café to you. What then?”
“There’s any number of scenarios. But I’ll give you one. Run it for me. No tax burden to worry about. Let me shoulder the risk. You could manage it and sleep better at night.”
Though Chelsea had been expecting to sell the property, she had never even considered selling her business. She’d never had the occasion. She could only guess at its selling price. Two hundred thousand? Three hundred? Five?
