Love, that’s what’s gotten into me. Destiny withdrew a daisy from the vase of fresh flowers Troy had brought her this morning before he went to work. He’d brought her flowers each morning since that first date to the ice-cream social, and they’d shared breakfast every morning on the B and B’s porch. Then Destiny spent her day writing about love, in particular the love stories she’d learned from the couples around Claremont. Mr. and Mrs. Tingle seemed to enjoy watching the bond between Destiny and Troy growing each day and didn’t mind feeding Troy as well, each morning.
His day started and ended at the bed-and-breakfast now, since he was also there every night to spend time with Destiny, take her for walks to the square or along for his baseball practices at Hydrangea Park, and then they’d return for an intimate Bible study on this porch.
Destiny had never read the Bible as much as she had in the past two weeks, but she’d grown to enjoy the daily devotions with the man she loved. And she honestly believed their relationship was stronger because of it. Last night he’d shown her a new verse in Ecclesiastes that talked about a cord of three strands that wasn’t easily broken, and then he’d said their love was like a cord of three strands, composed of Troy, Destiny and God.
She simply couldn’t ruin everything by asking him to publish those letters. “We just need to come up with something else to publish this time. I’ll write up some text for the issue today.”
Rita’s exasperated breath huffed through the line. “They want the letters. You said you’d publish them, Destiny, and you need to follow through. It’d be different if we had decent backup letters to publish, but the second-place letters weren’t nearly as intriguing. Plus, with the teasers we’ve given about Troy, no one else’s letters would live up to the hype.” She waited a beat then added, “As your friend and, more importantly, as your managing editor, I’m telling you that if you don’t put those letters out the way you said you would, you might as well kiss the magazine goodbye. And then what will you do to make a living? You and I both know your savings are almost gone, and if our advertisers and subscribers leave, you won’t have any income. I’ve got my other job waitressing to help me make ends meet, but what will you do?”
Destiny held the daisy to her nose, inhaled, and prayed, God, please, help me work all of this out.
“You can’t live on love,” Rita said flatly. “It sounds great in theory, and I’m thrilled that you’ve found someone you’ve fallen for, but that’s not going to pay the bills.”
Destiny knew her friend was right. She’d mailed the check for the August rent on her Atlanta apartment this morning, paid the Tingles for another week at the B and B, and then realized that, at the rate she was going, her bank account would hit bottom in two weeks.
“Maybe I should try to find a job in Claremont,” she said aloud, which was a mistake with Rita still on the line and listening. “I saw an advertisement on the window of the Claremont News looking for a reporter. Maybe I could write for the paper.”
“What? Destiny, you’ve only been dating him a few weeks. You don’t know where this relationship will head. Do you really think you want to give up everything and move to the middle of nowhere?”
“What am I giving up? I can run the magazine from here.”
“But this is Atlanta. You’re used to the city, the fast pace. Are you really ready to settle down with, what, ten thousand people?”
“Forty-five hundred,” Destiny corrected, remembering the hand-painted number displayed on the welcome-to-Claremont sign at the town’s entrance.
Rita’s groan was nearly inaudible but still made it through the line. “I know he’s special. I get that from his letters. But what if those other people down there are right? You said they think he’s a player. What if he is?”
“They thought he was—” Destiny grinned at the ridiculousness of it “—but now they’ve seen that he can date someone and get serious—very serious—with her. His grandmother told me that even her quilting group believes his player days are over.” She laughed, thinking about the sweet lady and her adorable group of friends. They were right; Troy’s “player” days were over, and Destiny thanked God every day that she was on the receiving end of his love. She couldn’t wait until she could read each and every one of those letters...because they were meant for her.
“Those love letters could save us, and you know it.” Rita’s words were more of a desperate plea now, and Destiny hated hearing her so upset.
“I’m sorry. I am. And I still think I can come up with something that will appease our subscribers and our advertisers for this issue. I’m going to pray about it.”
“Pray about it?”
She wished her friend would believe in the power of prayer as much as she did now, thanks to Troy. “Yes, Rita. And I’ve come to believe that prayer works.”
“I don’t even want to get started arguing with you about that. Not sure what would happen to me if I discounted the possibility, so I’m not going there. But I do want you to think about this—if Troy Lee loves you as much as you say he does, then he should be willing to help you save your magazine by letting you publish those letters.”
Destiny put the daisy back in the vase with the other flowers. She had actually considered asking Troy about the letters, but that would reveal the fact that she’d come to Claremont because of them. She knew Troy loved her, but she didn’t know if their new love was strong enough to survive the fact that she’d originally lied to him about why she’d come to Claremont. Plus, there was another reason she didn’t want to publish those letters.
She didn’t want to share her letters with the world.
“I’m not going to ask him, Rita. But I’ll come up with something else to publish. We’re not going to stop producing the magazine. We’ll give them something a little different than what they expect, that’s all.”
“A little different? How do you plan on finding something a little different? Oh, wait. I remember. You’re going to pray about it.”
Destiny refused to let Rita’s irritation ruin her day. She was going to pray for help, and God would grant her request, the way Troy believed He did, and the way she now believed He did, too. “Yes, I am.” Her phone beeped with another call, and she glanced at the display to see her mother’s name. “Hey, that’s my mom. I need to let you go.”
“Wow, I know you don’t want to talk to me when you let me go to talk to your mom. But I can take the hint. Call me when your prayer time gives you some form of an answer. I won’t hold my breath.” She disconnected, and Destiny clicked over to the other line.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Mom? I haven’t heard from you in over two weeks, and you answer with ‘Hi, Mom’?”
Destiny had expected this. No, she hadn’t called her mother since the day they’d discussed her sister’s engagement, but her mother hadn’t attempted to call her either. However, as usual, Destiny was at fault for the lack of exchange. She thought of Troy, and of the way he got along so well with his family, and she wanted to make an effort to have that kind of relationship with her mother, too. Help me out here, God. Let us have a conversation without fighting, please.
Destiny took a deep breath then gave her mother the response she wanted. “I’m sorry. I should have called. It’s just that I’ve had a lot of things going on here, and I didn’t think about calling.”
Her mother’s gasp came through the line loud and clear, but then she cleared her throat and seemed to process the fact that, probably for the first time ever, Destiny had given her an apology. “Well, you should have called,” she paused then added, “but I understand.”
Surprised at the calmness of her tone, Destiny said a quick thank-you to God. This prayer thing was more powerful than she’d realized. Her mother had no lashing out, no reminders that Destiny had disappointed her parents with her career choice, no demands that she come back to
Atlanta this instant. In other words, this wasn’t a typical Geneva Porter phone call, and suddenly Destiny wondered if something was wrong. “Mom, is everything all right?”
Her mother’s laughter filled the line. “Oh, now, isn’t that terrible, that if I’m not yelling at you, you assume something is wrong?”
Destiny laughed as well, because it was true. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to us talking without a fight.” Thank You again, God, for saying yes.
Her mother paused a moment, then whispered, “Well, then, I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“It’s okay, Mom. Takes two to fight, you know.”
“Yes, I know. But I don’t like fighting, even if we do it most of the time we talk. I think we should attempt to stop that, don’t you? My nerves can’t take it anymore, and I really don’t want to have to start taking those anxiety medications I keep hearing about. I decided not to go to a doctor about it and try to fix the problem myself.”
Destiny grinned. Her mother would self-diagnose and then self-treat. Destiny assumed it was her way of playing the part of a doctor, so she could have a little more in common with her husband.
“Anyway, I called because I wanted to tell you that I’ve been reading your blog each day and—”
“You read my blog?” Destiny couldn’t disguise her shock. Her mother had always appeared uninterested in her magazine, her blog or anything else that didn’t involve her obtaining a “real” job.
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. But yes, I do. And for the longest time, I thought it was simply a means of passing your time, a way for you to pretend you were doing something with your life.”
Destiny nodded. Now this was the mother she knew, and she prepared for the typical “words of wisdom” normally delivered from Geneva Porter when she was on a mission to dictate Destiny’s life.
“But I was wrong.”
Destiny blinked, not at all anticipating those four words from her mother. “You were?”
“Yes. In all honesty, your blogs initially were so pitiful. All of your posts about dates that had gone wrong and how there was no such thing as a true Southern gentleman. Your daddy was always a gentleman when we dated. He still is, really. It’s just that you haven’t gotten to spend a whole lot of time with him over the years with his work schedule and all. But in any case, in your blogs you discounted the possibility of a real gentleman, and that hurt, because I realized that you’d never gotten to see that part of your father. Maybe that even tainted your view of how men should treat a lady. And I could’ve helped that if I’d have told you more about his good qualities, and the way he is.”
“I’ve never thought that Daddy wasn’t great,” Destiny said. But her mother was right; she hadn’t seen him show a whole lot of affection toward her mother, not the way she saw other couples show affection, like the Tingles, the Tollesons, the Grahams and every other long-lasting couple she’d interviewed in Claremont. And for the first time, Destiny felt sorry for her mom.
“I know,” her mother said, “but in your blogs, I got the sense that you didn’t believe in something that I still believe in. Your daddy still treats me that way, even if it’s only on rare occasions.”
Like holidays and vacations, Destiny realized, which were the only times she ever thought her mother seemed happy.
“But then, as time has gone by, and particularly over the last month, as you’ve written about the Southern country boy with the big heart, and all of these wonderful love stories that you’ve posted in the past few weeks, I’ve looked forward to checking the posts each morning. And I feel like I’ve gotten a glimpse of your happiness, that I can see you’re doing something that you love.” A sniff through the line alerted Destiny to the fact that her mother had started to cry. “I’m so glad that you’re able to do that, Destiny. It—it means the world to me. I can’t tell you what it would’ve meant to me if I could’ve...” Her voice drifted off, and she sniffed again. “I just wanted you to know that I understand that you’re happy, and I am happy for you, too.”
For the first time in her life, Destiny thought she saw a glimpse of what her mother felt, and she also believed she understood. “Mom, what is it that you love to do? What was your dream?” She waited for her mother’s answer while mentally kicking herself for never thinking to ask before. She’d always assumed her mother seemed miserable because she liked being miserable. Now she suspected there was more to Geneva Porter than she’d realized.
“I had a degree in photography, you know,” her mother whispered.
Destiny had nearly forgotten about her mother’s degree. “You wanted to be a photographer.” It wasn’t a question. She knew the answer. Her mother always had a camera nearby, and volunteered to take the photos at all of their family functions, as well as every school activity. And yet Destiny hadn’t realized that she wasn’t merely doing it to save a memento of the event. She did it because that’s what she loved. “Why didn’t you pursue that as a career?”
“Your father said he made plenty to support our family, and he did, of course. There was no need for me to work outside the home. And he really liked me staying at home, being here for y’all when he was working all of those crazy hours and being here for him whenever he got home from work.”
“But that’s your dream,” Destiny said, as the pieces clicked into place. Her mother had given up her dream for her father and for Destiny and Bevvie. Then she’d tried to make sure Destiny and Bevvie made solid career choices for themselves because she’d never had the chance.
“We’re not going to talk about that now,” her mother said. “I mainly wanted to tell you that I’ve been reading your latest posts, and you have a lot of talent when it comes to sharing love stories. I think you should keep doing what you’re doing, and I hope that one day you’ll have a love story of your own to share.”
Destiny glanced at the vase filled with flowers, thought of the guy who’d completely won her heart. “Mom, I do have a love story to share.” Then she talked to her mother the way she never had, sharing the whirlwind of events that had occurred over the past few weeks and how much she adored Troy. By the time they disconnected, they’d talked for over an hour, and Destiny felt closer to her mother than she ever had before.
But more than that, she’d made a decision. Her mother had been miserable because she hadn’t told the truth about her dream. She had essentially lied to all of them for years, and because of that, her relationship with Destiny—with her entire family, really—had been strained. Destiny didn’t want to have hidden secrets in her relationship with Troy. But she did. And she knew what she had to do to make things right. She would have to tell him the truth about the reason she’d come to Claremont.
Chapter Ten
Destiny,
I can’t tell you how amazing it is to write this letter and to know that I’m writing it to you. The past few weeks have been, quite honestly, the best weeks of my life. I prayed for you before I even knew your name. I’ve written to you for a decade and a half. And God has answered those prayers.
You’ve captured my heart, and I look forward to a day—soon—that I will give you these letters and ask you to be my wife. I know this has all happened fast, but in my mind, my love for you has been building for years. I’m ready to begin our lives together, as one.
Yours forever,
Troy
As Troy drove to the B and B, he thought about the fact that he’d started addressing his letters to Destiny, and it simply felt right putting a name to the woman he loved, the woman he planned to spend the rest of his life with. He’d been as surprised as everyone else at how quickly he’d fallen when he finally met the right one, but fallen he had. And he didn’t want to waste another minute in dating limbo. He’d been ready for marriage for years; he simply hadn’t met his future bride.
Now he had.
Troy had written another letter today, the one that he would give Destiny tonight, and the one that would spark the beginning of their lives together. He glanced at the white envelope on the seat beside him and thought about everything he’d written inside: the confessions of love, the promises of faithfulness. He’d give her this letter tonight, and then he’d let her know about the other letters that he’d written to her over the years. Because Troy had no doubt, from that very first letter he wrote when he was twelve, whether they’d had her name on them or not, they were all addressed to one woman: Destiny.
He pulled into the driveway, saw her car parked out back and looked to the spot where he normally found her, the white rocker on the front porch, but it was empty. It still surprised him, the hint of disappointment he felt when he expected to see her and didn’t. He didn’t like thinking of her away from him in any way, shape or form. But pretty soon, if she said yes, she’d always be a part of him. “Till death do we part,” he whispered, sliding his hand into his pocket and feeling the small box that held his great-grandmother’s ring. As the oldest male grandchild, that ring was intended for his bride, and he’d asked his grandfather for the precious heirloom this morning. He’d known better than to ask his grandmother; she wasn’t the best at keeping secrets. But he knew Jolaine Bowers would be thrilled with the news, even if she had gotten her wires crossed a few weeks ago and assumed that Haley Calhoun was “the one.”
She’d laughed when Troy told her that he and Becca had been talking about Destiny, not Haley, when she’d eavesdropped on their conversation, and now that she’d spent quite a bit of time with his writer, she’d decided Troy made the perfect choice, and that he was no longer a player. According to his grandmother, she’d made sure everyone in town knew, from the beauty shop ladies to the quilting group to her online loop.
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