Miss Match: a Lauren Holbrook novel

  Blonde, beautiful, blue-eyed, high-heeled. Hannah will have a diamond ring and a date in June in six months, no less. First group, all the way.

  Her blue eyes alight with joy at the prospect of two dozen good-looking, available guys.

  Then again, the fact they’re Christians could be a problem.

  “Are you a Christian, Hannah?” I ask.

  “Well,” she giggles, “I’m not a heathen.”

  Brandon and I don’t laugh. “Have you ever invited Jesus into your life?” Brandon asks.

  Hannah tries the shrug route. “Not really.”

  “Then please come Wednesday night.” Brandon surprises me. “The teaching is awesome.”

  “I’ll try to be there.”

  My shock is apparent on my face, I guess, because Brandon levels a swift kick to my shin bone.

  “Ah!” I yell.

  “Bless you.” Hannah hands me a Kleenex.

  I get home feeling mentally exhausted. My only consolation is I have the day off tomorrow. I walk into the living room.

  “Hey, Sweetie.” Dad is sitting in his chair, reading an investment magazine. There’s a low fire in the fireplace and it smells woodsy, a combination of the fire and Dad’s aftershave. A heavenly combo after today’s Flower Overpower.

  “Hi, Dad. What did you do today?”

  He smiles whimsically. “I went to see Laney.”

  Uh-oh. Laney is going to have my head.

  “Uh, how’s she doing?” I cover my mouth in a fake yawn. Think, Laurie, think!

  “Good.” His face creases in a frown. “I think she was tired, though. She didn’t move from the couch.”

  “Oh.”

  This can be good news or bad.

  “But the kids are doing well. Lively as ever.” Dad lifts his mug of lemongrass tea. “You know how children are carriers of every type of influenza in the books.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I need to call Laney.

  “I’m going to go change into my workout clothes, Dad.” Not like I work out, but “workout clothes” sounds so much better than “sweats.”

  “Okay, Honey.”

  I race up the stairs, shut my bedroom door, grab the cordless phone, and walk into the adjoining bath. Dad has been known to listen at doors.

  “Laney?”

  She laughs. “You are predictable, Lauren. I told Adam you were going to call between 6:10 and 6:20. It is 6:13.” She gets serious. “Did Dad notice anything weird?”

  “He said you sat a lot.” I sit on the edge of the tub.

  “I told him I was tired.”

  I nod, then remember I’m on the phone. “Yeah, he told me.”

  “So he doesn’t know.” Her voice fills with relief.

  “Not yet anyway. How long are you going to not tell him?”

  She lets her breath out. “A couple more weeks.”

  This is what my sisters do: Dump their problems on me and then tell me not to let Dad know anything.

  I hate being the youngest.

  And I love being the youngest. I get away with more.

  “I got to go, Laney.”

  “Love ya, Lauren.”

  I hang up and throw on my change of clothes.

  My head is halfway in the sweatshirt and halfway out when I have a vision.

  Ruby arrayed in white, her hands filled with flowers, her usually solemn brown eyes bright with joy. Walking down an aisle to . . . Nick?

  Ruby Palmer marry Nick Amery? Nick’s my oh-so-single singles’ pastor in charge of our Wednesday night class. Ruby is in the second group of singles. She is a waiter.

  It will work out perfectly. Ruby, thirty-three, without a discernable smidgen of humor. Nick, thirty-four, more fun than a kid at Christmas.

  A match made in heaven.

  I told Brandon I wanted something more in my life. Matchmaking is as good a sport as any, I suppose.

  I finish pulling on the shirt and hop down the stairs two at a time.

  “Don’t do that, Laurie. I don’t want you to slip and fall. Hospital stays these days will kill you.”

  I skip over to Dad’s chair and kiss the top of his head. “Fear not, Father,” I say dramatically. “I have reason to live.”

  Ruby Palmer will become Ruby Amery in seven months or less. I give you my word.

  Chapter Four

  Our Wednesday night class takes place in Nick Amery’s home. He bought the house three years ago, mostly because the group grew too big to use his apartment and he felt the call to settle.

  I make sure I am there early. I bring a big pan of my homemade box brownies for dessert afterward. There is little in life that bonds two hearts together faster than homemade brownies.

  “Wow, Laurie, you’re the best,” Nick exclaims when I set the pan on his kitchen counter.

  “No, I’m not. These are box brownies, but don’t tell anyone else. A snap to make. You should see Ruby’s chocolate lava cake. No box, no mix, just a recipe card. Now, that’s talent.” I am casual.

  “Mmm.” Nick opens the lid.

  I slap his hand. “Why don’t we ask Ruby to bring the lava cake next week?”

  He blinks and looks up. “Wait a second, who?”

  “Ruby,” I annunciate. “My coworker? Chef extraordinaire?”

  “Oh, got it. I think I met her at church once.” Nick frowns thoughtfully. “She hasn’t been coming to this study long, has she? Medium height, brown hair?”

  “That’s her.” And about fifteen other girls in the study.

  His frown deepens. “She’s not . . .” His voice drops a little lower. “She’s not the most friendly, Laurie.”

  “She’s just not very good around crowds,” I say. “One on one is much more her speed.” I smile brightly as I see the lady of the conversation come in. “That’s her.” I point toward Ruby.

  Nick is looking at her, head tipped slightly to the right. “You know, she looks kind of like . . .” he pauses, voice quiet.

  “Kind of like . . .” I parrot.

  “Hmm? Oh, no one. A girl I knew in middle school.”

  “Oh.” I say this very casually, but my brain is a mass of happy jumping beans. They knew each other! This is all happening so perfectly I immediately look around to make sure I wasn’t transported to an animated Disney movie. “So should we ask her to bring the lava cake?” I ask, once I’m reassured I’m still in real life.

  “Sounds good to me. Chocolate and Bible study make a winning combination.”

  So do you and Ruby. I smile wide.

  He gives me a strange look and then says, “Laurie, I’ve been thinking. You need to lead the junior high girls’ group at church.”

  “Junior high? Girls?”

  “Yeah. Pastor Ed asked me to come up with some suggestions for leaders and I thought of you. Linda Myers is leading it now, but she’s getting married and doesn’t think she can still swing it.”

  “Hormones?” I’m aghast.

  Nick grins. “You’ll love it and you know it. I’m going to tell Pastor Ed you said yes, okay?”

  “You would be lying. I haven’t said that word yet tonight.” A thought pops in my head. “You know who would be great? Ruby. I work with her, you know. She’s great with the teens who come in for pictures.” I lie not. She is.

  “Ruby, huh? You two could do it together.”

  I shake my head. “I still haven’t said the word, Nick.”

  “You will. And I’ll be there when you do. Ruby, huh?” he says again, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

  Ping! Score for Cupid!

  “Yeah, Ruby.”

  “Huh. Well, I guess I’ll ask her.”

  During this conversation, singles of all ages and sizes are piling into Nick’s living room, dumping books, Bibles, coats, and gloves on the floor.

  Nick looks longingly at the brownies. “Guess we’d better corral in the forces.” He drags his eyes off the pan and surveys the room.

  We have a very unpredictable attendance — about two dozen
regulars, and the other dozen are sporadic. I look around and count three married couples, three engaged couples, several seriously dating, Nick and Ruby, and about five singles.

  Our singles’ class is not truly a singles’ class.

  Nick leaves to mingle.

  “Hey.” Brandon comes over and gives me a hug.

  “Hey.”

  He watches me cut the brownies. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Fabulous.”

  Yet another odd look comes my way. “Your day was fabulous?”

  I nod. “Yes.” I say this right at the unfortunate moment that Nick is passing by again.

  “Aha!” Nick yells, sticking his finger in my face. “You said yes!”

  I close my eyes and fight nausea. I have been avoiding junior high since I finally got out of it.

  “What was that all about?” Brandon asks after Nick leaves again.

  “The end of my fabulous day.” But wait! There is still the inevitable meeting over chocolate occurring sometime in the next two hours.

  Sunlight shines again.

  I smile.

  Brandon stares at me. “You’re up to something.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “Uh-huh.” He reaches for the brownies and gets the same hand slap Nick received. “Well, if it involves me and someone female in gender, forget about it. You are not going to set me up.”

  Set Brandon up? The thought is preposterous. “You?” I snort. “You and who? Beachfront Barbie?”

  His mouth twists in a poor attempt not to smile.

  “Hi, guys.”

  A girl with a blonde ponytail and a face void of makeup, wearing a fleece pullover, jeans, and hiking boots stops beside the kitchen counter.

  I smile nicely. “Hi.” My brain scrambles. I do not know this person.

  Brandon saves me. “Hannah! You came! That’s great!”

  Hannah? This natural beauty is Hannah? Polka-Dot Barbie owns a pair of leg coverings?

  I blink several times in succession.

  “Hi, Hannah,” I stumble.

  “Forgive Laurie.” Brandon doesn’t pull his eyes from our exquisite coworker. “She’s like this when we let her loose around chocolate.”

  Hannah giggles, and it isn’t the high-pitched squeak I heard all day yesterday. This laugh is actually pleasant.

  Something fishy is going on.

  “Want to find a seat?” Brandon asks her.

  “Sure.”

  They disappear into the throng.

  I watch them dissolve with a sigh. It’s not just friendship in Brandon’s eyes.

  It’s admiration.

  And how quickly admiration grows into love.

  A twinge akin to jealousy catches in my side. If Brandon gets serious with Boardwalk Barbie —

  Hannah. Her name is Hannah, Laurie.

  If Brandon gets serious with Hannah, our friendship will become like yesterday’s oatmeal. Guy-girl friendships don’t work when one of the guy-girl gets married to a different guy or girl.

  She is going to steal my basically-brother.

  “Let’s get things started!” Nick yells just in time. The pan of brownies is poised to disappear down my tightening throat.

  I sit on the floor beside Luke and Holly, Engaged Couple Number 4.

  There is one thing to do: Hannah needs to fall in love with someone who doesn’t have a photography studio named after him.

  I glance skillfully around the room. Who are our eligible bachelors here tonight?

  There is Andrew. Thirty-five and counting. Too old for Hannah.

  Marvin. Nah.

  Nick. Taken and doesn’t know it.

  My eyes settle on Stephen Weatherby. Twenty-nine. Med student. Ambitious. Charming. And quite good-looking, now that I look at him.

  Perfect.

  The Plan is falling into place. Hannah will become a Christian. Stephen will begin to admire her many high-heeled qualities. Brandon will be forced out, leaving me, Lauren Holbrook, his longtime best friend, to be his best friend forever and ever.

  Amen.

  Nick stands and reads from 1 Corinthians. “Love is patient, love is kind. . . .”

  Fitting.

  I am twenty-three years old, and I have heard this passage eight times in my five years in the singles’ class.

  Stephen sits in a folding chair, his guitar on his knee. “Let’s go to the Lord in worship.” His fingers strum down the strings.

  Three praise songs and two hymns later, Nick again stands. “Most of us are single because we’re waiting for love.”

  Not this one.

  “What we need to realize is God has called us to be single because of His love. He wants to show us love that can truly fulfill us.”

  Nick teaches for thirty minutes. We take prayer requests. Pray. Dismiss.

  Opportunity number one.

  “Ruby!” I yell.

  Ruby comes over. “Hi, Laurie.” She looks confused at my calling. We’re not close friends, in case you didn’t guess.

  She’s still wearing her work clothes and looking frightfully uncomfortable. Unexpectedly, I feel a little sorry for her. This Bible study can be a bit overwhelming the first couple of times, particularly if you don’t like people to begin with. This is only Ruby’s third time coming, though she comes regularly to church.

  Confession: First time she came, I wanted to cry with the sheer injustice of having to see her for an entire twelve hours.

  I smile warmly at her now, and her confused look just gets deeper.

  “Ruby, Nick has a question for you.” I snag Nick’s sleeve as he passes by.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right.” Nick smiles a little awkwardly at her and repeats his proposal of teaching the junior high kids.

  Ruby nods. “Of course I’ll help.”

  “That was fast.” Nick grins.

  “And cooperative and helpful,” I say. “You’re making me look bad, Ruby.”

  She smiles. Smiles! The corners of Ruby Palmer’s mouth actually lift!

  It is a miracle. I have worked with this woman for the last three years and gone to church with her for the last year, and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen her smile. I am blessed just to witness it.

  Must keep her smiling. I start jabbering. “Nick and I were talking about that chocolate lava cake you brought to the studio around Christmas. He was wondering if you could bring it next week.”

  She nods again. “Sure. It’s not that hard.”

  “It would be for me.” The point is to make her seem like a gourmet. “Ruby, Nick wants us to teach together, but would you mind doing the majority of the teaching? I’m still kind of young to be leading it.”

  The key is for Nick to see how mature Ruby is. He’s looking at her, eyes narrowed, expression contemplative. Sort of how I look when I’m trying to discern whether I should get the House Blend or French Roast at Starbucks.

  “Not a problem,” she says. “When do we start?”

  “Three weeks,” Nick says. “I’ve got the curriculum for you.”

  “Good. Do you want me to pick it up?” She smoothes her plain hair behind her ear.

  Nick shakes his head. “I’ll bring it by the studio for you.”

  She smiles. Again! “Thanks.”

  He smiles, slightly shrugging, the contemplation over, I guess. “No, thank you.”

  Then they smile awkwardly again.

  If I weren’t so happy, I would probably be puking. Score is Cupid: 2, Disinterestedness: 0.

  I leave Nick and Ruby to chat about their newfound love for each other and go to pry Hannah away from my best pal.

  “Hey, Laurie.”

  Obstacle. Not good. Stephen Weatherby stands directly between me and the goal.

  “Hi, Stephen. How are you?” I ask because, darn it, I was raised to be polite.

  He grins at me, fingering his guitar strings. “Good. Work is crazy, but life is going well. How about you?” Stephen is an intern at the hospital. He’s
going to be a doctor.

  “Oh fine. Nothing new in picture world.”

  He laughs for about two minutes.

  This is not good at all.

  I peek over Stephen’s shoulder and see Brandon and Hannah in a very serious discussion. His mouth is moving rapid-fire, and she’s nodding continuously.

  If I know Brandon, and I know him very well, he’s giving her the gospel message point-blank. Brandon doesn’t mince words when it comes to evangelism.

  “— make them?” Stephen asks.

  I blink. “Oh, sorry, Stephen, what did you say?”

  “I said, these are good brownies, did you make them?” He repeats this louder. I guess he attributes my lack of attention to the deafening noise in the room.

  “Yeah, but they’re from a box.”

  “They taste better than any box brownies I’ve ever had.” Stephen smiles, his eyes darkening.

  Uh-oh. Yep, there it is. Shining in bright neon lights from the scoreboard. Score is Cupid: 3, Disinterestedness: 1.

  This is not The Plan. Hannah is supposed to be catching young Dr. America’s attentions, not me.

  What is wrong with Stephen anyway? I’ve known him almost all my life. His mom and my mom were good friends. Why, oh why, oh why did he choose this night to pick up a conversation?

  “Thanks,” I answer him.

  I catch Brandon’s wave. He marches over, Ski Trip Barbie behind him. “I’m going to give Hannah a ride home.”

  Stephen smiles at Hannah. “Hi. I’m Stephen Weatherby. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Oh good. A good development. Finally.

  Hannah smiles her pretty smile. “Hannah Curtis. Nice to meet you.”

  They shake hands.

  “Where are you from, Hannah?” he asks.

  “California.”

  “Oh, well it’s good to have you here.” Stephen turns slightly from me and more toward Hannah.

  I’m not offended in the least.

  I look at Brandon. He watches the exchange between Hannah and Stephen, a short smile on his face.

  “Uh, excuse us.” I grab Brandon by the bicep and push him into the kitchen.

  He yanks his arm away. “What are you doing?”

  “Here. Have a brownie.” Maybe with his mouth full of chocolate, he’ll be more receptive to The Plan.

  He takes it suspiciously. “What is going on?”