“I asked him to carefully go through things—before we took the furnishings down for the estate sale. I asked him to box up any memorabilia that he thought you might want saved.”
“You did?” George’s eyes grew wide.
“The boxes are stored in the attic, marked with your name.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“It just seemed—” She was interrupted by someone yelling her name. “That sounds like Cliff Grant,” she told George. “Hello?” she called out. “I’m upstairs.”
They heard the sound of fast footsteps up the stairs and then Cliff appeared at the top. “What’s going on?” he asked breathlessly. “I saw your SUV parked halfway down the street with the headlights on. And then the lights on in the house. I thought maybe—”
“Oh dear.” Willow frowned. “I think I left my keys in the ignition too.”
“I’m George Emerson.” George stuck out his hand. “I assume you’re Cliff Grant, the contractor. Thank you for helping with my house.”
“George Emerson.” Cliff shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“If you guys will excuse me, I better go see to my car.” She smiled nervously. “And if you can lock up, I’ll just head on home. Bye now.” Hoping that the two men would enjoy a congenial conversation, she hurried on out. She felt slightly guilty leaving George like that. She suspected he didn’t have the highest regard for Cliff, although she didn’t know why. But maybe this would give him a chance to get better acquainted. Or maybe George would challenge Cliff to a duel. She chuckled to herself as she drove home. Was it possible that George Emerson was jealous of Cliff Grant? Wouldn’t that be something!
thirty
The next four days passed in a happy blur for Willow. The Tour of Homes was an all-around success. The locals enjoyed the experience of being inside the lovely historic home, and a number of them expressed genuine interest in purchasing it. Willow took down names and numbers to save for George . . . just in case. She was pleased to recommend Donna and Cliff to people planning renovation projects. And Willow was thrilled to sell several pieces of art to customers who hadn’t even been in her gallery before. All in all, it was well worth the effort she’d put into it.
But by Sunday afternoon, about an hour before it was time to close down the tour, Willow was exhausted. Since the foot traffic had lessened considerably, she’d sent her helpers home and was about to remove the open-house signs when she heard footsteps in the foyer.
Pasting a smile on her face and preparing to be hospitable, she went to welcome her last-minute guest, only to be pleasantly surprised to see Pastor Hal. “Welcome,” she told him. “Where is your sweet wife?”
He grimaced. “Beth will probably throw a fit to hear I came here without her. But she’s been visiting our pregnant daughter in Salem. She’s supposed to get home tomorrow. And to be honest, although this looks like a handsome house, I’m not up here for the tour. I came to visit with you.”
“To visit with me?” She smiled. “How thoughtful.” She pointed to the porch. “Want to sit out here? There’s a nice breeze.”
After they were comfortably settled, Hal jumped right in. “I’m aware that you’re a good friend of George Emerson.”
“You know George?” She didn’t expect this. “Did you know this is his house?”
“No, I had no idea. Nice place, though.”
“I’ve been helping him with it.”
“Then you really are good friends with him?”
“Well, yes. I like to think I am. But it’s been a bit of a roller-coaster ride. I’m afraid that’s mostly my fault. I push the poor man far too much. He calls me a ‘camel’s nose.’”
“A camel’s nose?”
She quickly relayed George’s parable and Hal just laughed. “That sounds like something George would say.”
“So you really do know him?”
“We’ve met for coffee a few times. And he came to church today.”
“He did?” Willow couldn’t imagine such a thing. “I wish I’d been there. But I had to be here at the house.”
“George is the reason I wanted to talk to you. I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but he’s an unusual fellow. Quite likeable too.”
“Very unusual.” She nodded. “That’s probably what attracted me to him.”
“Attracted you?” Hal’s brows arched.
She waved a hand. “You know, as a friend. I liked George right from the start. But he is an odd duck. There’s no denying it.” She laughed. “But to be fair, so am I.”
“Well, then . . . are you aware of George’s feelings for you?”
“Feelings?”
He looked uneasy. “I normally don’t get this involved, Willow, but George is a special case. I think it’s only fair to warn you that George is in love with you.”
She sat up straight. “Oh, Hal, you can’t be serious.”
“I am serious.”
“How can you possibly know something like that? I can’t imagine that George would ever say such—”
“He didn’t exactly say so. Not in so many words. But it’s written all over his face, Willow. Whenever he speaks of you. Trust me, I know what I’m saying. And the only reason I’m giving you this heads-up is because I can’t stand to see that sweet man get his heart broken.”
“Get his heart broken?” Willow spoke slowly, still trying to take this in.
Hal looked uncomfortable. “I don’t like to interfere, Willow. And if Beth knew what I was up to, she’d probably give me what for. But as you know, I do couples’ counseling, so this is familiar turf for me. Besides that, I really care about George. He’s a special guy.”
Willow nodded. “George is special to me too.”
“So, please, forgive me if I’ve overstepped my bounds in telling you. But, as my grandmother used to say, a word to the wise is sufficient.” He started to stand.
“But wait.” Willow held a hand up. “I’m curious as to why you’re so worried. Do you honestly think I’d do anything to hurt George?”
“No, of course not. Not intentionally, anyway. I just feel he’s vulnerable. I wanted you to know.” He sat back down.
“Can you enlighten me about this?” she asked. “Why is he so vulnerable? Because I feel that I’ve done everything possible to win his trust—and yet it always blows up in my face.”
Hal leaned forward with folded hands. “I think George is afraid to love you.”
“Afraid—why?”
“Well, I’m in this deep. I might as well continue.” He held up two fingers. “First of all, George is worried that you’re smitten by your handsome contractor—and that it’s pointless for him to pursue you.”
“Well, that’s perfectly ridiculous.” She released an exasperated sigh. “Cliff Grant is only a friend.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.” He held up the other finger. “This is probably the reason that concerns me most. George is certain that if he loves you, he will lose you. Everyone he’s loved, it seems, has died. It’s as if he thinks he’s cursed.”
“Or that God hates him.” Willow nodded. “He’s told me that before.”
“But I think George is shifting his beliefs. Apparently it started with Simon and Garfunkel and—”
“What?”
He waved a hand. “Never mind. But, trust me, Willow, George has been going through some pretty major changes lately. He’s definitely on a significant spiritual journey.”
“That’s wonderful. I’ve been concerned for him.” Despite being glad to hear this, Willow still felt bewildered. What did Hal expect her to do? And what if he was wrong about George’s feelings toward her?
“It’s a relief to hear you’ve been such a good friend to George. I was very uneasy about bringing this up to you. But I prayed about it and felt God gave me a green light.”
“To be honest, George and I haven’t had much opportunity to talk these past couple of weeks. Something always interrupts.” She wasn’t ready
to admit that most of their recent conversations had been derailed by silly misunderstandings.
“One reason I wanted to talk to you about this is because I feel a little bit guilty.”
“Guilty?”
“Well, I may have said something dumb to George yesterday. We met for coffee and George was speaking so fondly of you. I rather flippantly told him that he should tell you how he feels. It seemed a good idea at the time. I usually encourage people to be up front with their feelings. But then I saw George in church today and, well, he looked so vulnerable. I got to thinking . . . What if he decided to take my advice and you rejected him? How hurt would he be? I really wished I’d kept my advice to myself.”
“What makes you so sure I’d reject him?”
His brows arched hopefully. “You wouldn’t?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged and looked away. “And shouldn’t that be between George and me? But I do promise you this, Hal, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Not intentionally. More than anything, I’ve tried to be his friend. I value his friendship. I genuinely like him.”
He reached over to grasp her hand. “Oh, Willow, I should’ve known you’d handle this just right. Even if I didn’t have the sense to keep my big mouth shut.” He slowly stood. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
“Thank you for giving me this little heads-up.” She chuckled as she stood.
“You sound amused.”
“I guess I am. And here’s a confession—I think I started courting Mr. Emerson months ago. But I haven’t been doing a very good job of it. I eventually gave up.”
He laughed. “You know what I think, Willow?” He grew more serious. “I think you’re not the only one courting Mr. Emerson.”
She waved a hand. “Believe me, I know all about that. Women seem to line up for that funny guy.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” His eyes twinkled. “I think God’s been courting him too.”
George was perplexed.
On Sunday evening, after the Tour of Homes concluded, Willow stopped by to give him a short list of people who’d expressed interest in buying his grandparents’ house. But that wasn’t why he felt confused, or why he was pacing back and forth in his living room while Willow waited for his answer.
It was because of Willow’s suggested new plan. She wanted the two of them to host a thank-you party on Monday night. It was, she said, to show appreciation to everyone who’d helped on his house. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel grateful, but he did feel concerned. Was this gathering just an excuse for Willow to spend more time with Cliff Grant? If so, he wanted no part of it. No part at all!
He replayed the awkward conversation he’d had with Cliff after Willow had abandoned them the other night. Cliff had insinuated that Willow was his new girlfriend. The braggart had gone on about what a fine woman she was and how he’d been looking for an independent partner with her own business and bank account . . . expressing weariness of those “weak gold diggers” who attached themselves to him, only to sue him for alimony when it turned sour. George had listened with impatient dismay.
“I don’t know,” George cautiously told Willow. “You want to do this tomorrow? That’s so soon. You just finished the Tour of Homes. Aren’t you worn out?”
“It’s just that I’d like to have this get-together while the house is still intact and looking so pretty. I’m keeping the gallery closed until Wednesday. That gives me Tuesday to get all the art moved back. I asked Betty and Donna to wait until Tuesday as well, so it’s Monday or not at all.”
“A party is such a lot of work . . . and on such short notice.”
“Not for me. The house is already set. I’ll keep it simple and handle all the arrangements—and I’ll cover for food and drinks.”
“Even so.” He frowned, struggling for a good excuse. “I just don’t understand why you need me at the party, Willow. I’m not very social and—”
“All you have to do is show up, George. Just smile at folks and express your gratitude. You have no idea how many people helped you with that project.” Now she began listing names—both of people who had been hired to help as well as many who’d simply volunteered.
“Why did people give their time for free?” he asked.
“Because they are my friends,” she declared. “And perhaps they want to be your friends too.”
“Oh?” He considered this. “I suppose your contractor friend will be there too.”
Her mouth twisted to one side. “You don’t like Cliff very much, do you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really know him.”
“But you don’t like him, George, I can tell.”
“You want the truth?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well, for starters I’ve heard he’s a womanizer.”
“A womanizer?” She laughed. “Who on earth told you that?”
“Lorna’s friend Gayla said that Cliff has been married a couple of times and has had several girlfriends.”
“That sounds like gossip to me.”
He felt unsure. Should he repeat what Cliff had said the other night? Or was that stepping over some invisible line?
“And that’s why you don’t like him?” She peered curiously at him. “Just because your lady friends are telling tales out of school?”
“There’s more.” He felt like Willow deserved to know the truth about Cliff. Then if she wanted to proceed with a relationship, at least she’d have her eyes wide open.
“Do tell.” She had a smug expression.
“Well, Cliff said a few things . . . the other night when you took off and left me at the house with him.”
“What sort of things, George?” She folded her arms in front of her, waiting.
George told her, but once again, she didn’t seem to care. In fact, she acted completely nonchalant about the whole thing. “I just thought you should know,” he said a bit defensively. “If you’re going to be involved with—”
“My involvement with Cliff Grant was purely professional, George. And it was for your sake.” She tapped him on the chest. “I put up with Cliff in order to get your house fixed up for you.”
George relaxed some. “So you’re not interested in him—romantically?”
She laughed. “I really don’t feel he’s my type.”
George felt a tiny rush of hope. “What is your type?”
Her smile looked a bit coy. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would like to know.” He tried to conceal his eagerness.
She pursed her lips. “Well, George, if you really want to know, perhaps you’d like to help me host that thank-you party.”
“Is this some sort of blackmail?”
“Does that mean you’re coming?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I am.”
“Thank you, dear. The party will begin at seven. I hope to see you there a little before that. Say, six forty-five?” Then, to his complete surprise, Willow came over and kissed him on the cheek. And it wasn’t just a peck either. It felt like an intentionally warm and passionate kiss. And it left him longing for more.
George hardly slept on Sunday night. And then, throughout the day on Monday, he couldn’t stop thinking about Willow. Had he imagined their conversation to have been more than it was yesterday? Had Willow given him reason to believe he really had a chance with her? After all the times he’d blown it with her? Was she still interested? Surely it was impossible, and yet . . .
By the time he was dressing for the party, George was a bundle of nerves. So much so that he changed his clothes several times before deciding on his old standard of suit and tie. He realized he’d probably be the only one dressed like this, but he didn’t care. It simply felt comfortable. And tonight, of all nights, George felt the need to be comfortable.
When it was six thirty sharp, he gave Baxter a kitty treat then told him goodbye and headed out on foot to his grandparents’ house. Although the shadows were lengthening, it was still light out
as he strolled up the hill. There was a feeling in the air that suggested autumn was around the corner. For a moment, George felt the old rush of nerves to think that it was teachers’ in-service week—followed by relief to realize he no longer needed to report in for work.
As he got closer to the house, he was surprised to see it not only lit up inside but also by lanterns along the walkway and strings of lights around the wraparound porch. Very festive and very welcoming. The front door was open and he could hear strains of music—jazz, but the quiet kind. As soon as George went into the foyer, he felt so strangely at home that he felt a mistiness in his eyes. As if this was the place where he belonged but had not been in ages. Maybe ever.
A generous bouquet of fresh flowers was on the entryway table, with several candles flickering around it. The air smelled sweet and spicy and like something else . . . food perhaps.
“George,” Willow exclaimed happily, coming from the living room in a flowing dress of shimmering shades of aquatic blue that set off her peachy skin. “You’re here! And right on time.”
George nodded. “I promised.”
She grasped both his hands in hers. “And you look so handsome in your suit and tie.” Her turquoise-blue eyes sparkled. “Thank you for coming.”
“The house looks beautiful,” he said. “All the lights and all. Very nice.”
“Thank you.”
He stared at her, taking in her softly curling strawberry-blonde hair and creamy skin. “You look beautiful too, Willow.”
Her whole face lit up. “Why, thank you, George.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, suddenly feeling nervous and self-conscious.
“No, I’ve got caterers in the kitchen, and I think everything is pretty much ready.”
“Would you mind if I took a look around the house?” he asked. “I’ve never seen it looking quite like this. I mean, with candles and everything . . . at this time of the day.”
“I’d love you to look around.” She linked her arm in his. “I’m actually feeling rather sad to think this is the last night it will look quite like this. I want to soak it in myself.” She led him into the living room, which had never, in George’s memory, looked so perfectly lovely.
Courting Mr. Emerson Page 27
