by Linda Ford
"Then we need to get down to work."
"Right. I'd say the most pressing was entertainment. When did you say the banquet was?"
She gave a date less than two months away.
"Who can we possibly get at such short notice?"
She lifted a hand in an airy wave. "We don't have to hire entertainers. We could have a talent show."
He groaned. "I can just see it. Mr. Alaston reciting The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner and Grandma Moses singing Amazing Grace. Now that's memorable all right. But probably not the way you'd like it to be."
She laughed. "Her name is Mrs. Pocklington."
Funny he'd never noticed before what a heart-warming laugh she had. Likely because he'd been so busy avoiding her.
She sobered but her eyes continued to dance with amusement. "Then what do you suggest? I think it has to be local because of the time constraints but also, the more people personally contribute, the more they will be invested in the whole purpose of this banquet—helping the orphans."
He glanced at his watch. "Hey, I've got to run." He had a six-thirty appointment. "We'll need to continue this. I'll give it some thought and we'll meet again."
"When? Or are you already changing your mind about helping?"
He stood and gave her a mocking grin. "Are you always so suspicious?"
She didn't answer but the look she gave remained challenging. "When?"
"Tomorrow?" At her nod, he tried to recall his appointments. Couldn't. "I'll check my schedule and let you know what works."
"Of course." She sounded resigned as if she expected him to be a no-show.
"I'm serious."
"Then I'll see you tomorrow."
He nodded and jogged toward his red SUV.
Halfway home it hit him. He'd just committed to spending time with a confirmed romantic. The same woman he'd spent several months avoiding because of her blatantly obvious sentimentality.
He groaned.
Hey wait a minute, man. You survived Penny when you were thirteen; you can survive Holly when you're almost thirty.
2
The next day Holly pushed her planters out to the sidewalk and paused to sniff deeply of the scented purple pansies—sweet as new love. She gave a satisfied glance around. She loved her café. She had decorated it like a garden retreat, hoping to give it a bit of a European flair.
She aimed to provide coffee that made her customers sigh with contentment, sandwiches and snacks to rev up their taste buds, but she wanted to do even more. She wanted to give them hope, show them how to keep love thriving, and maybe give them a glimpse of God's great love.
Perhaps to some it sounded unrealistic, naïve even.
Steele clearly thought along those lines.
She stole a glance toward the windows of his office. The first time he'd sauntered over for coffee shortly after she'd opened, she'd recognized him from church and asked where he'd worked. He'd pointed out his office windows. They had the kind of glass you couldn't see through from the outside. Not that she wanted to see him. What did it matter what he thought? Yet she felt a burning desire to prove him wrong about romance. But even more, whatever had happened that brought such sudden pain to his eyes yesterday, he needed to know the hurt could be healed. She realized she had pressed her hands to her chest and immediately dropped them. His pain was not her pain.
She put the donation jar next to the cash register and paused to look at the pictures she'd glued to it. A great yawning sense of futility hit her as she touched the faces of the children—orphans in South Africa, their parents victims of the AIDS scourge. All her tips went into this jar as well as whatever people felt like donating. It was so little but now with the proceeds from the banquet... Lord, help it go well. Help us to raise enough to repair the building.
Her friend, Heather, worked with the orphans. In almost every e-mail, she mentioned the need to repair the building. It was impossible to keep the children, let alone the supplies, dry during the wet season. Holly had privately vowed to raise enough money for the job before the next rainy season. She was counting on this banquet. She had her own plans for it—local involvement, special atmosphere, good food. She wouldn’t let Steele's objections ruin it for her and, ultimately, the orphans.
The morning rush began and she had little time to worry about Steele. She and Annie, her morning assistant, kept busy right through the lunch hour. It finally slowed down midafternoon. She mixed up a fresh batch of muffins, a new recipe full of all sorts of nutritious things—sunflower seeds, grated orange, cranberries and slivered almonds. As she slipped them into the oven, she heard someone enter and went to wait on her customer.
Steele. She faltered. Somehow, despite his assurance he'd help, she'd doubted he would return. But there he stood, eyeing the muffins and cookies in the display case.
"You got anything here but health food?"
She moved forward, smiling. Although her food wasn't technically health food, she often got that initial reaction. Her customers changed their minds after the first taste. "Just because it's healthy doesn't mean it tastes bad."
He looked unconvinced.
"My favorite is the sunshine muffin. Why don't you try one? I guarantee it won't kill you."
"Right. What you're saying is I'll survive. Now that sounds appealing. What does it have in it?"
She laughed at his look of uncertainty. "I can't tell you the exact ingredients, of course. That's one of my trade secrets. But it is moist and rich in flavor. Can I get you one?"
Looking as if he'd agreed to be stabbed with a sword, he nodded. "And an espresso."
She filled the order and handed it to him.
He glanced about the café. There were only three other customers. "Could we talk?"
She hesitated. She'd been looking forward to a break and a chance to enjoy the sunshine and the scent of her flowers but dealing with Steele's arguments would ruin her enjoyment of nature. She studied her donation jar. For the orphans, she reminded herself. "I can spare a few minutes. Why don't we sit outside?" She followed him with a coffee for herself.
He waited until she sat down before he bit into his muffin. Surprise, enjoyment, disbelief chased each other across his face.
She laughed until her eyes watered.
Finally he sighed. "This is good."
"Just like I said."
"You did."
She chose to ignore the surprise in his voice. "So, have you had any more ideas for the banquet?"
He drank some coffee before he continued. "I've been thinking."
"Good. So have I. If you insist on helping, I can't stop you. After all, it's not my private thing. But I won't relent on what I consider the essentials."
"Yeah, I got that already. So here's my plan. We'll do some brainstorming. Each of us contributes until we find a plan we both agree on. It's the only way I can see this is going to work."
She groaned. "It's a great plan, Steele, but the banquet is supposed to be this summer. Not next century."
He slowly put his cup down and grinned. "Is it that bad?"
"I'm sure you've noticed that we tend to disagree."
He suddenly leaned forward. "Seeing as it's for a good cause I guess we'll just have to concentrate on the task at hand and forget our differences."
She met his gaze. She'd noticed his eyes the first day he wandered over full of doubt and curiosity. Unusual eyes, beautiful even, light hazel that subtly changed color, sometimes green, other times like now, almost brown. She hoped the soft color meant he truly intended to get behind this project. On her part, she'd cooperate as much as possible. "We can try."
He looked surprised as if expecting her to disagree and then he laughed. "All right then."
She stared. His amusement was unexpected. Not only that, his laugh tickled up and down her spine, filled her chest with something she couldn't name. She might have called it shook but it had a distinctly pleasant feel to it.
He glanced at his watch. "I'm out of time for now. When
shall we do this brainstorming?"
"Why don't you come back here when you're done at your office?" She'd even sweeten the offer with promise of an early dinner. "We can eat and work at the same time."
He glanced at his empty plate where his healthy muffin had once sat. He looked doubtful. "I'm really not into health food."
She stuffed back annoyance at his blatant prejudice. Did he resist everything outside his normal experience? The man must live an extraordinarily boring life if he did. But sick of defending her food, her café and her belief in love, she flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Order something delivered if it makes you feel any better."
He didn't answer and had the decency to look uncomfortable but she didn't give him a chance to provide any more excuses or arguments.
"What time should I expect you?" she asked.
He got to his feet. "I don't have any late appointments. Would five be okay?"
"Of course." She answered without giving herself a chance to think about it. Because if she did, she'd be saying no. She had the uneasy feeling she'd regret working with him no matter how it turned out. She imagined continual arguments, more of his criticism of her belief in the value of romance, and worst of all, more of that funny, happy, delicious feeling when he looked at her with surprise in his eyes. No, she could tell this wasn't going to turn out well.
She waited for him to cross the street then hurried in to stare at the little faces on the donation jar. She'd do whatever it took, even work with Steele. But she intended to be prepared.
"Annie, can you manage on your own for a few minutes? I'm going to dash home and pick up something."
She was armed and ready when he appeared on the sidewalk. It was a lovely afternoon so she'd taken her arsenal out to one of the outdoor tables. But he went past her into the café and stood in front of the display case.
"Did you order something to eat?"
He shot her a look, half grin, half grimace. "Decided to be brave and try something here." He checked out the remaining sandwiches.
The selection was pretty limited. Only two remained-a vegetarian and a wasabi roast beef. She chuckled at the way he tried to hide his distress.
"You wouldn't happen to have just a simple roast beef sandwich?"
"Wasabi is Japanese horseradish that usually accompanies sushi," she'd explained. "Be brave. Try it. If you don't like it, I'll refund your money."
Obviously not overjoyed at the prospect, he nodded. "Sure. I'll have it."
She pulled out the two remaining sandwiches—she'd eat the vegetarian—and poured them each a coffee. He offered to take the tray but she shook her head and carried the food to one of the outside tables.
She waited until he bit into his sandwich, waited for him to decide if he liked it, grinned when his eyes widened and he sighed. "Good. Just like you said."
For a few minutes they discussed the weather and made conversational noises. But as soon as he finished his sandwich, she pushed aside the rest of hers and pulled the papers toward her. "I want to show you something." She handed him the first page.
He stared at the picture of the ten-year-old girl Heather had sent. "What is this?"
"One of the orphans I want to help." She explained about Heather's work. As she talked, she handed him more pictures and repeated the stories Heather had told her. "Some of these children have cared for parents dying of the disease. Then they are alone trying to support themselves. Many of them have never had anyone teach them the skills they need to survive on their own."
"I've heard about the situation." He put the pictures aside. "You are showing me these for what purpose?"
She nodded. Should have known his lawyer brain would see through her ploy. "I hoped if you could put faces to the project you'd understand why it's so important to me that this banquet succeed in a big way."
He had a way of studying her that seemed calculated to expose any pretense but she had none. From the first, she'd been bluntly honest about her intention this banquet must be special.
"You're saying it's more than entertainment for you and you want me to have the same commitment to a noble cause?"
She nodded, uncertain if he liked the idea or found it more of what he'd consider her idealistic, unrealistic romantic nonsense.
His eyes lightened to amber, and he smiled, filling his face with sudden agreement. "I'd say we both want the banquet to succeed. Our problem is in how each of us thinks is the best way to achieve that."
"Thank you. Now I've done some thinking. A banquet needs a number of things. I mentioned them before. Special decorations, good food and entertainment. I want local entertainers because it gets people more personally involved and because we don't have time or money to bring in a group."
"You did mention theme yesterday."
"Right. Theme has a two-fold purpose—it informs people of the cause and gives us something we can build everything else around."
"Aid for AIDS. That about covers it I think."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She'd done a lot of thinking about this and realized, as a lawyer, he needed facts, not feelings, to convince him. "It isn't quite the idea I want to convey. Makes it sound like there will be a lot of pressure to give. We need something a little more upbeat."
He drummed his fingers on the table and looked into the distance. "Aid, aid, aid. How about band aid?"
This time she groaned. "Sure and we'll drape tape and dressings all around for decoration."
He leaned forward. "Not that kind of band aid. Hear me out while I think this through. Band—bands. Marching bands. Band AID. Band entertainment. By setting specifics for a talent show, we could eliminate Grandma Moses and that type of thing. There's lots of talent in the church and community. Enough for several bands. Anyone who wants can form one. We'll have a band play off. Like that TV show, American Idol. The crowd votes one band out at a time until we have the new Band Idol."
She hadn't expected anything but arguments and opposition from him, but surprised as she was to admit it, this was a good idea. "What about decorations?" He'd made it clear he wanted nothing frilly, aka romantic.
"Bunting. Like an old-fashioned political rally. Lots and lots of red, white and blue bunting."
She'd have never thought of it. "Did you spend the afternoon thinking about this?"
"Nope. Just came up with it. It's called brainstorming. You start throwing out ideas, think about words—"
She'd prayed for unity on this project. She'd prayed for God to bless the planning. This had to be a gift from Him. Even if He chose to send it through a man who openly mocked her on things she held near and dear. She gave a prayer of thanks and breathed in a request for strength to be cooperative. She smiled. "I like your ideas. We could keep the food in theme by serving red, white and blue."
"No health food."
"Why not? We could do tofu with a red tomato sauce and a blueberry salad." She laughed at the shocked look on his face. "Steele, I'm kidding."
He let out a whoof. "Glad to hear that."
An hour later, they'd come up with a menu they both agreed on—meat of some sort, baked potatoes, salads, desserts—Holly agreed to contact a caterer. She planned to suggest salads and desserts that would continue the theme. They'd drafted an announcement to go out to the various churches for the band competition. Steele had insisted he'd locate the material for decorations. Holly understood he didn't trust her to not turn it into something lovey-dovey.
Meggie, her afternoon assistant, poked her head out. "Shall I close up?"
Holly checked her watch, surprised at how the time had flown. "It's late. You run along. I'll close."
Steele got to his feet. "I think we have it organized for now but I suppose we'll need to keep in touch as things develop."
"Right." She waited until he gathered up his stuff before she started to pull things into the café.
He paused, dropped his briefcase on a chair and grabbed the planter to push it inside.
"You don
't need to help. It's my job. I can do it."
"I'm just being practical. If you hurt yourself it leaves me to handle the banquet on my own." He grinned at her. "I'm not saying I couldn't do it but...." He shrugged.
She thanked him, tipping her head down to hide the confusion his grin triggered in her. She was used to him as an adversary, not a friend. Having him act like it mattered whether or not she needed help, even if only to protect her position as the other committee member, weakened her resistance to him. Now why that should matter, she couldn't say. It wasn't like they were destined to become soul mates.
She chuckled at the idea, felt his curious look and grinned at him. "You'd no doubt manage just fine."
3
Steele tilted his chair back and let out a long, weary sigh.
It had been another of those mind-numbing, go-for-the-throat sessions. Despite the mediation of both himself and the other lawyer, it seemed the husband and wife both determined to do the most damage before they ended their marriage. This couple attended the same church he did but it no longer shocked him to have believers come in for a divorce. Or maybe it did. But the vindictiveness left him shaking his head. If they felt the need to end their relationship, couldn't they do it calmly, efficiently?
He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of his soft leather chair.
As a lawyer he should take up something less draining—
like defending serial killers.
Lethargy sucked at his bones. With a great effort, he opened his eyes and looked out the window hoping to see some activity at the little café. He always got a chuckle out of watching Holly at work.
He'd spent far more time across the street in the past few weeks than in the entire six months she'd been there. They'd had to discuss all sorts of things to do with the banquet. How many guests could they expect? What was the upper limit? How many bands? Entry fees. Prizes. Choosing salads and desserts from the selection the caterer suggested.
