He pulled his face into a scowl and took her braid between his fingers, moving it to the front of her shoulder. “Actually, I love tiny women. One, anyway.”
“And tiny women love you.” She lifted to her tiptoes to kiss him quickly. “One, anyway. Will you take my picture in front of the waterfall?” Reaching into her back pocket, she extracted her phone and handed it to him, giving him her most effective pleading, wide-eyed gaze.
“Sure. But there’s a line.” Clint pointed in the direction of the waterfall itself, where a crowd of people had filled in, each waiting for their turn to step behind the waterfall and snap a photo.
“Oh, out here’s fine. Just a picture with the waterfall behind me. I could sit on the rocks. Unless you want to be in the—”
“Nope.”
“I know you so well.” She carefully stepped to the boulders well in front of the waterfall, lowering herself onto one of the dry stones. “Okay, shoot.” She smiled, pointing over her shoulder at the waterfall, and the corner of Clint’s lip turned up as he snapped her photo. He liked to pretend he was immune to everything, kind of impassive and above the moment, but he wasn’t. She’d broken past his exterior enough to know that.
Hopping down from the rock, she stepped over to him and took the phone in her hand, glancing at the photo. “Clint, that’s horrible! You didn’t even get the waterfall in the background. All you got was my shoulder.”
Letting out a sigh, he peeked over the top of the phone, then shrugged. “Looks okay to me.”
Turning, he started walking back in the direction from which they’d come, and her mouth fell open as she watched his retreating back. “What are you doing? Come on, you can’t be serious. That’s just about the worst picture I’ve ever seen.” She jogged a few steps until she caught up with him. “Would you stop walking? I’ll be nice. I won’t make you talk and I’ll even try to curtail my own words a bit, which you know is probably the most difficult thing in the world for me to do.” Grabbing his arm, she held on with both hands. “Clint, just one picture.”
He came to a halt, giving the briefest hint of a smile before he took her phone again. Looking at the photo, he tilted his head to the side, then twisted the phone the other way. With a quick nod, he handed it back to her.
“It looks good to me.”
Placing a hand on her hip, she stared at the photo again, her eyes narrowing at the complete lack of water in the frame. Not a single drop. All he’d managed to capture was the side of her shoulder, that sort of sideways and lumpy braid he’d formed hanging there over her T-shirt, and the bottom of her chin.
“I don’t—”
“You’re not looking hard enough,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling like they usually did when he laughed or smiled. “You can see a roly-poly bug sitting in the dirt. A tiny speck on an acorn yards away that looks like a fairy footprint. You notice things no one else would ever see. Trust me, you’re not looking hard enough.”
Without tearing her gaze away from Clint, Willow thought about those words. Did she really notice things others didn’t? She seemed so much more aware here than she had before. Aware of the beauty that rested in the most ordinary things. Aware of the purpose that marked each moment of her day. Aware that all of it was orchestrated to work in perfect harmony, even when her involvement wasn’t perfect or harmonious.
And aware most of all that she didn’t have to change who she was to be loved.
Finally taking her eyes off Clint long enough to look down at the phone, she let her gaze swim over the surface, beginning at her chin and going across every centimeter of the image, onto the blue and pink in her hair twisted over one another, even to that little flash of light that strangely filtered into the frame. There was a little mark near the bottom of the photo, which on closer inspection looked like the pocket of her T-shirt. But …
Zooming in on the photo, she studied the flash of light, hoping to find its source. It seemed to be somehow drawn to her hair, maybe even emanating from her hair. That couldn’t be possible. Tilting her chin down, she looked at the end of her braid resting on her shoulder, a gasp escaping her lips. Fumbling with the phone, she attempted to shove it into her pocket, then gave up and handed it to Clint. He took it wordlessly as she grabbed the bottom of her braid, sliding off the hair tie. With quick fingers, she unwrapped the design Clint had made only moments before, until finally the little jewel slid away from her hair and into her palm.
“You want to marry me,” she whispered in awe as she stared at the ring resting in her hand. “That was the most romantic thing in the world. Did you learn to braid just so you could do that, or have you known how to do it all along? The thought of you practicing braiding makes my heart do funny things.” Pausing to take a breath, she pushed the ring onto her finger, admiring the way the sunlight reflected off the stone. “I had a feeling something huge was going to happen today, but I told myself that was silly. Yet here we are, in the same spot where we had our first date, you asking me to be your wife.”
“I didn’t ask you,” he muttered, causing her gaze to dart up in his direction.
“Oh. When I saw the ring, I just assumed—”
“I didn’t ask because you won’t be quiet long enough to let me.”
“Oh.” She laughed, unable to keep a grin from spreading across her face. “You’ve never let something like that stop you in the past. But my answer is yes, of course. I can’t imagine anything more wonderful than being right here with you for the rest of my life. I love you so much.” Rising to tiptoe, she threw her arms around his neck, hanging on as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground. Twisting her face ever so slightly, she pressed a kiss against his cheek. “When should we get married?”
The rumble of his chuckle in his chest could be felt in her own as he held her against him, and the movement made her smile. “Sometime after I ask you, which I still haven’t done yet.”
“Okay, okay.” She let out a sigh as he lowered her to the ground, the look in his eyes worth more than a thousand rings. “Is fall beautiful here? I bet it’s gorgeous. We could get married in the fall, or close to Christmas. A Christmas wedding would be unbelievable, don’t you think?” Trying not to laugh again, she pressed her fingers over her mouth in a flawed attempt to stop the flow of words. “All lovely things that we’ll talk about after you ask me, which you will. Very soon, I hope.”
Epilogue
And so the residents of Willowdale celebrated Arabelle and Flint’s impending nuptials. They could not have parted with her for anyone less worthy. #willowfairies
Leaning her chin on her left hand, Willow added shading to one of the miniscule petals in Arabelle’s bouquet. It was the little fairy’s big day, but she wasn’t going to be wearing a giant dress or a veil in her hair. A slightly fancier version of her everyday short dress, convenient for flying, and a few wildflowers in her hair were all she needed.
Clint stepped up behind Willow, placing a warm hand against her shoulder. “Staying up much longer?”
“No, I can work on it in the morning. Doesn’t hurt to keep the suspense for a few days.” She placed the pencil on the table, tilting her head back to look up at her husband. “You know, I think the fairies like your house even more than they liked the cabin. So many more places to get lost and find marvelous creatures.”
“A fancy way for saying we’re further in the woods.”
Pushing away from the table, she rose to a stand, stretching her arms wide to ease the aches out of her muscles. “When will you learn that nothing is ordinary? The most mundane things are always worth a second look.”
Extending his hand in her direction, he lifted his eyebrows as he gave her a crooked, half-smile. “It’s slowly sinking in, but I’m working on it.”
She placed her hand in his, stepping away from the work space he’d designed especially for her in their living room. Mrs. Campbell’s old sweater sat on the corner of the desk, folded up just like it had been when she’
d taken it out of the box during the move. After all her years of wearing it while she worked, it didn’t feel necessary anymore. She didn’t need a token to remind her to be who she was. The man gently holding her hand let her know it was okay to be who she was, with or without fairies involved.
A lesson she was happy to have learned, since it’s a truth universally acknowledged that fairies, and humans, simply want to love and be loved in return.
And she was.
Author’s Note
Many thanks to my family, my beta readers, and my author sisters for understanding the journey. But most of all, thank you to my heavenly Father, for pulling me through a rough season and helping me cross the finish line in one piece.
About Christina
Christina Coryell is a USA Today bestselling author of real-life contemporary fiction, mingling honesty with humor and characters who could be friends. A resident of small-town southwest Missouri, where she lives with her husband and two children, she does most of her scribbling in unorthodox places and with lots of noise in the background. She’s not particularly obsessed with fairies, or with mowing the lawn, but she has been known to get carried away with daydreams on occasion. She loves to hear from her readers and welcomes interaction on social media or by email. Find all the links on her website at www.christinacoryell.com.
If you enjoyed Mowed Over, you might enjoy A Reason to Run, the first book in The Camdyn Series. Finding herself on the wrong end of a viral video, Camdyn Taylor sets off on a life-altering journey into her family history that could determine her own future. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MNWEJM8/
Books by Christina Coryell
The Camdyn Series
A Reason to Run
A Reason to Be Alone
A Reason to Forget
For No Reason
Girls of Wonder Lane
Simply Mad
Crowned
Curiouser
Copyright ©2016 by Christina Coryell
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. For requests use the contact information at www.christinacoryell.com.
Cover image copyright ©2016 by Christina Coryell
An Informal Affair
Heather Gray
Online dating was supposed to make life easier.
Lia Promise is a nurse who enjoys the fast pace of the ER. Why, then, is her love life moving at a snail’s pace? She decides to take matters into her own hands with online dating. That ought to speed things up, right?
Maverick Hoyt is the hospital’s IT guru and all-around ordinary guy…for the most part. When his long-time friend Lia asks for moral support – which means joining her in the world of online dating - he agrees. What could possibly go wrong?
Lia and Maverick meet regularly to tell each other about their horrible dates. After all, misery loves company. As their impressive bad-date streak grows, Lia struggles with her self-image while Maverick questions why he’s even dating. How will God show these two — both set on doing things their way —that He’s had a perfect plan all along?
in celebration of my Savior
in memory of my daughter
with pride in my son
with gratitude for my husband
I will rejoice and be glad in your steadfast love,
Because you have seen my affliction;
You have known the distress of my soul,
Psalm 31:7
Chapter 1
Lia Promise stared at the man across the table from her. This couldn’t be happening.
He reached for his fork, pried one of the tines wide, and used it to scratch the inside of his ear.
When had her life turned into this?
Oh yeah, that was right. Maverick was to blame. His ridiculous dare had landed her in this mess.
Even with him and that dare, she didn’t need to subject herself to… whatever passed for normal dinner etiquette in her date’s world.
“Look, Albert, it’s been swell getting to know you, but I don’t think this is working out. At least let me pay for my half of the meal.”
Albert eyed her, his brows drawn together. “You sent me the invite. Doesn’t that mean you’re supposed to pay for the whole meal?”
Lia stared at him. Did the man not understand the concept of dating? Sure, she reached out to him initially, but this date had been his idea. His. Not hers.
She forced a smile to her stiff lips, waved to their waiter, and stood. “Dinner’s on me, Albert. Enjoy.”
As she sidestepped a server on her way to the cash register, Lia pulled out her phone. She shouldn’t take so much delight in telling Maverick all about her bad dates, but doing so had somehow become the highlight of her week.
Lia typed out a text as she waited for the waiter to run her debit card. Got another whopper for Sunday lunch. You won’t believe this one.
She and Maverick had both been bemoaning the shrinking size of the singles’ group at church. Its members had started pairing off at an alarming rate until they couldn’t even scrounge up enough people for bowling anymore. So, like sensible God-fearing friends, they’d dared each other to sign up for an online dating service. Because that was what people did in the twenty-first century when they wanted to broaden their social horizons — took to the internet.
Only, Lia hadn’t envisioned the plan going quite so horribly wrong.
First there’d been the guy with such a fear of bugs that he’d freaked out and taken off running after a fly dive-bombed his hair outside their restaurant.
Then the one who had brought his mother on their date because, at the age of twenty-seven, he didn’t possess a driver’s license and refused to use public transit.
Next came the one who described himself as an outdoorsman. How was she supposed to know outdoorsy was online dating code for homeless? Not every woman could say she’d ended a date by dropping the man in question off at a homeless shelter.
Lia had learned some important lessons during the first month. She now required a minimum of three weeks of online contact before she agreed to meet anybody in person. People’s inner weirdness should reveal itself within that time.
Ha.
The joke was on her. Who scratched their ear with a dinner fork? In public? That had to be illegal in at least ten countries. If not, it should be.
The shining light at the end of her bad-date tunnel was the fact that Maverick’s luck had been just as atrocious as hers. He was sure to have another horror story from this week’s round of disasters…er…dating.
That was how you knew you were friends with someone – when that person’s misfortune cheered you up, and you didn’t need to feel guilty about it.
Maverick, in khakis and a midnight blue polo, slid into the booth opposite Lia. “Sorry I’m late. One of the ushers thought he saw a mouse, and everybody went crazy. Took a while to calm the masses.”
Lia chuckled. “I thought the usher’s job was to seat people at the beginning of service. What role do they play when service is over?”
Maverick tapped his fingers on the table. “None, normally, and I don’t think today’s theatrics did anything to change that.”
“I don’t like suspense in my movies, books, or lunch conversation. Spill it. What did the usher do?”
“There’s a reason you and I don’t ever go to the movies together. You realize that, don’t you?”
She gave him her best do-as-you’re-told stare.
Maverick shook his head, and the diner’s fluorescent lights picked up the sable threads that ran through his normally coffee-colored hair. “The u
sher thought he saw a mouse, and being the good brother-in-Christ he is, he wanted to take care of the problem rather than make more work for someone else.”
Lia squinted at him. “How does that lead to a crazy horde of churchgoers?”
He sighed. “It wasn’t a mouse. It was one of those curved weird things women use to keep their buns in place. You know, the kind you put the big stick through to hold it on the head? Only, this one was velvet or something.”
“And…?”
“The usher thought it was fur. Hence the mouse scare.”
Lia set her glass of water down. “It wasn’t still… in a woman’s hair? Was it?”
Maverick rubbed a hand down his face. “Mrs. Peabody. The usher tried to swat it out of her hair, and her husband took exception to that. He tried to go all Bruce Lee on him. It would have worked, too, if Mr. Peabody wasn’t eighty-two years old. Sadly, his Kung Fu days are long behind him. By then, another usher jumped in to restrain Mr. Peabody. So Mrs. Peabody hit him upside the head with her purse.”
Lia tried to picture the dignified Mrs. Peabody beating on some poor usher with her purse. “How on earth did you break it up?”
Another sigh.
“One of the women had a whistle. You know, the kind you use for scaring away would-be attackers? So she blew it.” He winced. “Boy, was that thing loud. It’s a miracle she didn’t blow out anybody’s ear drums, or the foyer’s front windows.”
Lia contained her laughter, but barely, and only because they were in public. “So how did you end up involved?”
“I had sound duty today.”
“I forgot. Your job is to make sure the mics work without a feedback screech.” Why waste time on subtle digs when you knew how to push a friend’s buttons?
“Yeah, well, that one wasn’t my fault. Somebody messed with my settings.” He shuddered. “Anyway, I needed to shut all the equipment down, so I was late leaving the sanctuary. Two minutes sooner, and I’d’ve been out of there and reading about this on social media rather than replaying the video in my head.”
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