“Thanks.” I smile. “You called me Honey.”
“What are you talking about now?”
“When you were babbling on about Santa Claus. You called me Honey.”
I can hear his smile. “Good-bye, Laurie.”
“Bye, Ryan.” I hang up and rake a hand through my hair.
Is it possible that . . . ?
I stand and walk into the lobby.
Hannah sits pristinely at her desk, hands clasped in her lap, smiling at me. I close my eyes.
“How much did you hear?” I demand.
“What are you talking about?” She is serene.
“Hannah.”
She shrugs. “Just your side of the conversation.”
“You know, Brandon thinks I corrupted you, but you’re worse than I am.”
“I resent that. You would have picked up the extension and listened in. I merely listened at the door.”
“Eavesdropping either way, Hannah.”
She waves her hand. “Semantics. Hey, here’s your paycheck.”
I take it grudgingly. “You’re trying to soothe me over with money.”
“Yep. Is it working?”
I open the envelope and look at the amount. “I guess so.”
“Good.” She clicks something on her computer. “Hey, in like an hour or so do you want to go to the bank and then grab something for lunch?”
“Where?”
“I was thinking Merson’s.”
“Did you have to ask?” I hand my paycheck back to her and she sets it on my backpack.
A young couple holding the hands of two ironed and starched little kids comes through the door, the bell chiming.
“Hi,” the man says. “I’m Travis Easling. My wife, Tracy, and our kids, Trevor and Trina.”
And our dog’s name is Triscuit and our cat is Trixie.
I smile at the thought. “I’m Laurie. We’ll be in Studio Three.”
“Two, actually,” Hannah calls from behind me. “Newton’s got dibs on Three.”
“I’m Laurie.” I grin. “We’ll be in Studio Two.”
Travis Easling laughs. Tracy Easling smiles in June Cleaver fashion. Trevor and Trina giggle.
The family marches into the studio and stands in a line before me like I’m a drill sergeant.
I fight the urge to put my hands on my hips. “Right. So. You want a bunch of family prints, right?”
“And a couple with just the kids,” Tracy says.
Trevor groans. “I hate smiling.”
I bend down in front of him. “You know what makes smiling easier?” I ask him. He shakes his head. “Putting Vaseline on your teeth.”
Trevor blinks. “What are you talking about? I love smiling. Smiling is my favorite thing to do.”
“Good boy.” I slap his shoulder. “Let’s start with the family poses.”
I take great pleasure turning off my alarm clock tonight. Tomorrow is Wednesday and I have the day off.
I flip my Bible open on my lap, rubbing a hand through my extremely curly hair. It must be humid tonight. Where had I left off in Philippians 4?
“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
Anything would probably include marriage. I half-smile at the Book.
Thanks, Lord.
I wake slowly Wednesday morning, lie in bed for about half an hour, and then start getting a caffeine headache. Dad isn’t anywhere to be found when I get downstairs, but there’s a note taped to the coffeepot:
Laurie-girl, the store called and our bedding sets are in. Will be back from picking them up about 10:20. Love, Dad.
Bedding sets.
I pour the coffee wondering what is wrong with the thirty spare sheets we have stowed away in Laney’s old closet.
The phone rings and I answer.
“Hi, Baby.”
“Lex.” I yawn.
“You’re still home? Good. I had a question. Do you want to meet me for an early dinner tonight before your Bible study? Nate’s got some shindig at work, and we haven’t talked just the two of us in . . . well, days, at least.”
“Mmm. Can’t.”
“Really?”
Wincing at the innuendo in her voice, I gulp a big mouthful of coffee. “Yeah. Sorry, sis.”
“Any particular reason why?”
“Plans.”
“You already have plans or you’re making plans?”
“Already have them.”
“With who?”
“Could be a what, you know.”
“Are you having dinner with Ryan?”
“Maybe.”
“I see.” I can hear her delight. I drop my head onto the table. “What was that?” she asks suddenly.
“What?”
“That thud. I heard a thud. You’re not trying your hand at cooking again, are you?”
“I hit my head.”
“On what?”
“The table.”
Long pause. “I’m not even going to ask. Okay. Maybe I’ll call Laney and see if Adam can watch the kids tonight.”
“Sounds good, Lex.”
“Have a nice day, Honey. Tell Ryan hi for me.” She hangs up before I can respond.
I hang up and pour another cup. My plans for the day include watching a movie, eating chocolate, and, if I feel like it, Perhaps Playing Ping-Pong.
Heh, heh.
I pull on my favorite winter outfit. It doesn’t match, and I got it in seventh grade. Black and pink striped fleece pants and a Christmas tree sweatshirt. I pull my hair up and go downstairs to park myself in front of the TV.
Brandon is in the entry.
“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” I greet him.
“Yeah, but I knew you were off and you’ll be gone a month, so I decided to hang with you today.”
I stare at him. He wears nice jeans that haven’t faded yet, a button-down shirt, and loafers. His hair is gelled and spiked.
Exasperated, I point to his outfit.
He looks down at his shoes. “Sorry,” he apologizes.
“You cannot hang in that.”
“Sure, I can. Better yet, I’ll go stroke the fire.” He strides off.
“I think you mean stoke the fire.”
“Whatever.” He marches to the fireplace, where just the smallest orange glow hangs onto a log for dear life.
“Hey there, little fella,” Brandon says to the flame. “Want me to get some of that ash out of the way for you? Hey! Laur! Look, it nodded at me!”
I curl up on the couch. “Careful, Brandon, it might want to go home with you.”
There are probably some very good scientific names for the fireplace tools, but I’ve always called them the poker, grabber, and shovel. Brandon pulls the poker out and shoves a few logs around.
Swish! The flame finds another one.
Swooosh! They multiply and replenish the fireplace.
Biblical fire. Who would have thought?
Brandon puts the poker away and joins me on the couch. “So what movie is it going to be?” he asks, flicking my hair. “Nice hair, by the way.”
“How’d you know I was watching a movie?” I turn my head so he can’t keep pulling my hair. “And this is my day-off hairstyle.”
“And those are your movie clothes. What movie?” he asks again.
“While You Were Sleeping.”
He shakes his head. “How about The Fugitive?”
“The Count of Monte Cristo?”
“Done.” He finds the movie. “I know why you like this movie, by the way.”
I spread out my hands. “The cinematography, obviously.”
“And it’s not the action sequences.”
“Of course not. I like the soundtrack.”
“I’m putting my money on Jim Caviezel.” He gestures at me with the DVD case.
I
blink innocently. “Jim who?”
He picks up the remote. “You get very excited at the end.”
“Well, he’s shaven then.”
“Simple minds, simple pleasures.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The doorbell rings. I skip down the stairs and swing open the door before the chiming stops.
Ryan is on the front porch, hands shoved in his jacket pockets, his eyebrows raised. “You are way too excited about this.”
“Am not.” I grab my coat.
He sticks his hand out suddenly. “Hold it.” He turns me around.
I bite my lip.
“Oh . . . my . . . gosh,” he says, slow and drawn out.
“Okay, now before you get mad —”
“Lauren Emma Holbrook!”
“Which I suppose has already happened. I didn’t —”
“You made a T-shirt for this.” Accusations ring in his tone and reflect from his brown eyes.
I try pulling an Ethel Mertz. “Weeell . . .”
His mouth is open in shock. “‘Just kiss her,’ Laurie?”
“Hannah thought it was funny.”
Ryan’s shaking his head. “You made a T-shirt for this,” he says again.
“But I’m wearing my coat over it. See?”
“Why did you do this?”
I shrug. “Hannah dared me.”
He covers his face. “You two are a pair. Come on. We’ll be late.”
I follow him to his truck and smile sweetly as he opens the door for me. “Thanks, Ryan dear.”
“Just get in.” He groans.
I climb into the passenger seat and he closes the door after me. A second later, he slides in. “Hey, Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for taking me.”
A smile sneaks onto his face. He sighs. “Not fair, Laurie. I can’t stay mad at you.”
“I’ll try to do something really bad next time so you will.”
“There’s not going to be a next time.”
“Mmm, maybe.”
He shoots me a look.
I grin.
We drive in silence for a few blocks.
Here’s what I hate: Silence. I try looking out the window for something to comment on, but talking about the weather is lame and there is nothing interesting going on outside.
“Hey, Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
I decide to take him into my confidence. “What do you think about Brandon and Hannah?”
He shrugs. “They’re nice.”
“I meant together, Ryan.”
He presses his lips tight and stares out the windshield. “Brandon and Hannah?”
“Why not?”
He appears to be thinking about it. “Guess I don’t know them that well. No setting them up, Laurie.”
“How come?”
He sends me a quick glance. “If God wants them together, He can orchestrate that much better than you can.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“And I’m pretty sure God’s not in the market for assistants. So back off, Susan.”
I look at him. “What did you just call me?”
“Susan. The little girl on Miracle on 34th Street. Ruby made me watch it this past Christmas. I thought it an appropriate reference.”
“An appropriate reference to what?”
“You. You and Susan have the same little conniving brain.”
“Again, gee, thanks.”
He grins at me. “You’re welcome.”
He drives into the parking lot and finds a spot near the back. “There’s Ruby’s car.” He points to her little red Honda.
I look around. “I don’t see Hannah’s.”
“Hannah’s coming?”
“She’s Nick’s date.”
He unbuckles his seat belt. “I feel like we should say a prayer or something.”
“For what? Success?” I ask, climbing out.
“For safety. All this meddling is going to bring a lightning bolt on your head.”
“Just don’t touch me and you should be fine.”
A much too skinny girl in tight black pants and an untucked white shirt opens the door for us. “Welcome to Vizzini’s.”
“Thanks,” Ryan says.
“Party of two?”
“Actually, I have reservations,” I tell her. “Is JACK here by any chance?”
The girl scuffs around the desk. “Yes. What’s your name?”
“Laurie.”
She looks down at the desk again, twirling her hair around one finger. “Okay. Follow me, please.”
She grabs two menus and leads us around tables, chairs, and the big water fountain in the middle and finally points to a secluded table behind a bunch of plants.
“This it?” she asks.
“Yes.” I sit and peer around a particularly large green, waxy-looking plant.
Ryan sits opposite me, and the girl shoves menus in front of our faces. “JACK will be your waiter.”
She scuffs back the way she came.
Plants of all shapes and sizes are clustered around our table like they had just witnessed a murder scene right before. Ryan inhales. “This part of the place is definitely more humid.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I should have done my hair curly instead of straight. Not like we’ll be able to tell the difference in about ten minutes.” I crane my neck, trying to find them.
“What are you —”
“There! There they are!” I clap my hands over my mouth, trying not to laugh too loudly. “He’s so cute. I wonder what he’s talking about? Remind me to get flowers.”
“For Ruby? She’ll need them.” Ryan’s face is creased as he watches Stephen going all for it in his conversation.
“No, Nick can get those. Flowers for Stephen. This is a huge favor he’s doing for me.”
Ruby and Stephen sit at a table a few feet away. Ruby’s back is to us, which is just how I told JACK to do it. Not only does it hide us from Ruby’s tortured eyes, but it also gives us a first-class view of Stephen.
He smiles at me over Ruby’s shoulder.
I grin.
He’s talking animatedly, using his hands, his eyes, his eyebrows, and his torso. Ruby’s head nods occasionally. And if it is regular coffee in front of her, she’s going to be buzzing all night the way she’s putting it down.
Ryan watches her, grimacing. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Of course I do. Have a little faith.” I pat his arm. “Can you see Nick?”
He looks around. “Ah, over there, Laur.”
Nick’s back is to us. He looks down at the table, tracing a design on it. Hannah sees my wave and takes the opportunity to grin at us.
I mouth, “Has he seen Ruby?”
She nods slightly.
I grin and turn back to Ryan.
“Decided what you want, Ryan? It’s on me.”
He just stares at me. “I did tell you that you were liking this too much, right?”
“Yes, you did.”
JACK approaches the table cautiously. “Did I do it right?” he asks me.
I signal an okay. “Perfect. Thank you so much.”
He smiles for the first time since the water-spaghetti incident. “What can I get you two to drink?”
“Coffee,” Ryan and I say together.
He scribbles it down on his order pad. “Know what you want to eat?”
“Can I have a piece of your raspberry chocolate cake?” I ask.
Ryan wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“Sure.” JACK obviously assumes we’ve eaten somewhere else. “Dessert for you as well?”
Ryan makes a harrumph sound. “No, I’ll have the ravioli.”
JACK keeps scribbling. “Anything else?”
“A dinner salad. Ranch dressing,” I say.
Ryan holds up his fingers. “Two.”
JACK nods and leaves.
I look back to Nick and Hannah. Her eyes are big and sad at the moment, her hands m
oving as she tells a story.
I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what she is talking about.
“What is he doing?” Ryan mutters.
I turn to Ruby and Stephen. He twirls spaghetti around his fork and holds it out to Ruby.
“Oh. Oh now that is just sick,” Ryan exclaims. “Oh my gosh, I can’t watch.” He covers his face, gagging. “She didn’t take it, did she? Tell me she didn’t take it.”
Ruby’s back stiffens. She cuts a huge forkful of lasagna and shoves it in her mouth, holding a hand up to Stephen. He watches her, a smile on his face, and eats the spaghetti himself.
“She didn’t take it,” I tell Ryan, who is busy gulping down the coffee JACK set in front of us. I pick up my fork and attack the salad.
“Thank goodness.” He puts his cup down weakly, pinching his forehead. “I don’t know how much of this I can stand, Laur.”
“Don’t worry. Another three cups of that and you’ll have the energy.”
“When I think about Ruby eating off his fork . . .” He shudders.
“Hey. Relax, kid. It’s just a joke, remember? And if Ruby seriously fell for Stephen right now, I would personally take her to get her head examined. He’s supposed to be as gross as possible. ‘Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees.’”
He blinks. “What?”
I grin. “Hebrews 12:12. Found that verse yesterday. Great, isn’t it? Sounds like a greeting card.”
He finally smiles. “Oh, Laurie. Only you would memorize that particular verse. Whatever happened to the typical memory verses? You know, Psalm 23, Ephesians 5:1, that kind.”
“Typical, shmypical.” I make a face. “Who wants to be average?”
“You’re right. Most people just aim for normal.”
“I aim higher.”
He laughs at me and changes the topic, crunching a cucumber. “How’s small-group prep going?”
I take a deep breath. “Good, I think. It begins this Tuesday. I’m a little nervous, actually. I haven’t ever taught anything like this before.”
He reaches over and rubs my hand. “My turn to quote the Bible. ‘Do not worry about what to say or how to say it.’ Matthew 10:19. You’ll do fine.”
“Sweet boy, thou art. I’ll keep you around.” I lean over to watch Ruby again.
She puts a hand to her face and tries to look unassumingly over her shoulder at Nick. She’s not the best at being subtle. I see it plain as day and so does Nick because he’s looking at her. They both jerk back to their dates.