So Much More (Made for Love #3)

by R. C. Martin

  My heart leaps and my stomach tightens knowing it’s Brandon. I throw my purse over my shoulder and waste not a second as I go to answer. I find him looking absolutely incredible. He’s in a pair of fitted tan jeans and a blue button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric hugging him almost as tight as I was last night.

  Suddenly, my body aches with a longing that surprises me.

  I’m not sure if he can see it written on my face, or if his body is sending him the same message, but before he even speaks, he pulls me into his arms, forcing me onto my tiptoes.

  “Sarah, do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”

  “Do you?” I reply airily. “I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea I come to church with you,” I quip. “I’ll never be able to concentrate with you siting next to me.”

  “Right back at you, Sunshine,” he chuckles.

  I’m not exactly sure when my adopted nickname stuck, but I adore it. Mostly because it’s Brandon’s name for me; one that he uses frequently.

  “We have to go anyway. I played hooky last week and Aunt Row won’t take too kindly to me standing her up two weeks straight. Besides, I'm sure you could use some prayer over that porn addiction.”

  “Hey!” I cry, pulling away from him and playfully smacking him against his chest—which definitely hurts me more than it hurts him. Damn! “We already discussed this. They’re love stories. Besides, you shouldn’t joke about porn addictions,” I chastise, closing and locking the door before heading for the stairwell that will take us to the exit. “People really do struggle with that. It ruins relationships—lives, even.”

  “Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, catching up to me as he laces his fingers with mine. “You know I don’t mean it.”

  Sweet girl. I like that, too.

  “Who’s Aunt Row?” I ask, quickly changing the subject.

  “My mom’s younger sister. She’s great. Everybody likes her.”

  “You sound close.”

  “Yeah,” he answers, holding the building door open for me. He doesn’t let go of my hand as I pass through. “A few years after my dad died, she moved back to Colorado. She’s, like, the only family I’ve got, really.”

  I stop short, trying to remember if he’d ever mentioned that his dad had passed. After racking my brain for a second, all I can think of are the couple comments he’s shared about how his dad was the reason he started baking in the first place. “I didn’t know—about your dad. I’m sorry,” I say, looking up at him.

  “Thanks. It’s been a long time now. He died when I was fourteen."

  I think about my dad. I can’t imagine losing him. Even now, while we’re at odds, I know he’d drop everything if I needed him. If I didn’t have that—if I didn’t have him—

  “Hey,” Brandon speaks softly, interrupting my thoughts as he lifts my chin. “It sucks, but I’m okay. I’m happy. I do what I do because he inspires me. He always has. I carry that with me and life goes on.”

  I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, offering him a nod. His hard work, everything that he’s accomplished, it suddenly weighs so much more. He took his loss and used it to fuel his passion and his dreams. I admire that about him. I can’t even begin to think of the amount of strength something like that requires. I wish I could boast of that kind of character. My shit still torments me.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I wish I was as strong as you.”

  He furrows his brow thoughtfully before shaking his head at me. “Trust me. I’ve fucked up plenty. C’mon, we’ll be late.”

  He tugs on my hand and we continue walking. I wonder about what he said; I wonder about his screw-ups; I wonder if they’re comparable to mine. I’m so preoccupied by our previously discarded conversation that I don’t notice the car he’s taking me to until he’s got the passenger side door open for me. I look at the bright red, vintage Camaro and my jaw falls open.

  “This? This is your car?”

  “Yeah,” he replies with a smirk that can’t decide if it’s cocky or cute.

  Right. Because he needed just one more thing to make him even more hot.

  “It was my dad’s. Well, it was ours. We worked on it together.”

  “Your dad sounds like he was a great guy,” I say, climbing into my seat.

  “He was.” He closes me in and then hurries his way to the driver’s side. “It’s so weird, that car over there? It looks just like Sage’s,” he tells me as he begins to pull out of the parking spot.

  “Ohmygod—I didn’t tell you! Sage? Boxers, not briefs.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Also, did you know that he’s got more tattoos? I mean, I guess that’s probably not a surprise, considering his sleeve, but he’s got a lot more. I’ve seen them.”

  “Whoa—stop! Are you telling me you’ve seen Sage naked?!”

  I grin, amused at his disgruntled state. “Yup. He kept his promise. He got Millie home.”

  He blows out a humph, keeping his eyes on the road. “If he plans on making a repeat visit, I’m going to have to talk to him about wearing pants. And a shirt.”

  I giggle and he reaches for my hand. I’m happy to let him have it.

  For the duration of our car ride, he tells me about his church. He and his Aunt Row have been attending Crossroads Community for the past seven years. Brandon tells me that Row is the reason he started going to church in the first place, having not grown up with parents who thought a lot about God. The more he tells me about Row, the more interested I am in meeting her.

  It isn’t until we pull up to the building that I start to feel wary of my decision to come. One week isn’t so long ago and I remember how out of place I felt when I attended last Sunday—at a church I called home for four years, no less. I know that walking into this building will be no different. The same God I faced last week will be in there. There. Here. Everywhere. Whatever. Just the same, the girl I was last week is still the girl I am today. The truth is, I’m not as innocent as I once was. I no longer see the world in black and white—as good and bad—or right and wrong. The way I see the world now doesn’t exactly mesh with my understanding of God.

  Brandon lifts my hand to his lips and delivers a light kiss. “Where’d you go, just now?” he asks when I look over at him.

  As I stare into those hazel eyes, I almost forget what has me worried. I’m mesmerized by this man—this man who seems to have come out of nowhere. Yet, in just a few days, he’s become all I can think about. He’s my great distraction. On the dance floor, in the kitchen, behind the coffee bar, it doesn’t matter. He’s constantly making my heart smile.

  I don’t remember the last person who’s been able to do that since…

  I pull my gaze away from his and look out the windshield, watching as people trickle into the church. I think about Micah. I think about Luke. I think about waffles and pancakes and the mountains of bacon they insisted they needed whenever I made them breakfast.

  My heart glowers at me and I close my eyes, understanding the feeling.

  Dammit.

  Why can’t I just let it all go?

  Brandon delicately traces a finger along my jaw before taking hold of my chin and guiding my face in his direction. When I open my eyes, I find him closer than he was before. Kiss-me-now close. Only he doesn’t kiss me. Instead he says, “God’s good with messes, remember?”

  “I know you can't earn God's help, but haven’t you ever felt like you didn’t deserve His help? Like you’ve disappointed Him?” The words fall out of my mouth without my permission.

  I blame his proximity. It’s hard to think when he’s this close.

  “All the time, actually,” he admits. “But there is no condemnation in Christ.”

  “Sometimes…sometimes it feels like those are just words,” I whisper.

  He rests his forehead against mine, resting his hand around my cheek. He’s so tender, I feel like I might melt under his touch. He wasn’t lying when he said he coul
dn’t keep his hands to himself anymore. For that—I'm so grateful.

  “Nobody’s perfect, sweet girl. He knows that. He created us that way. And He knew, before He sent His son, He knew the messes we would make. What matters isn’t that we screw up, but that Christ died for us anyway. Hold onto that. And hold onto me. You’re not going in there alone.”

  His words wrap themselves around me and for a second I can’t breathe. Four days ago, I barged into his kitchen—and he let me. I needed that sense of peace that I’ve only ever found while baking, and he gave that to me. Then last night, I wanted to be wrapped in his arms—and he took me; he took me and he didn’t let me go. Now—here—in the church parking lot, I need help getting through the door. He’s not dragging me, he’s not forcing me, he’s reminding me that this is where I need to be—no matter how much I’ve changed.

  I draw in a sharp breath, needing the air as I reach up and slide my hand around his neck. “Shit. Who are you?” I manage.

  He pulls away from me, just enough to look into my eyes, and smiles at me. “Just a man—a man who hates to see you sad.”

  “I’m working on it,” I promise.

  “I know you are. C’mon. Let’s go.”

  MY RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD is simple. I screw up a lot, but He always forgives me; always welcomes me back with open arms; always helps me clean up my shit. I’m not perfect. I never will be. I won’t even lie and say that I try. Sarah’s somehow got it in her head that I’m strong. The truth is, I’m only strong when I want to be. Case-in-point—less than a week ago, I told myself to stay away from her. Now, I’m walking into church with my fingers laced with hers.

  Sometimes, what seems wrong is worth the risk of giving in to prove that it could be right. It’s rare—but so are women like Sarah.

  Sarah is one of a kind. I never stood a chance against the likes of her.

  Then again, sometimes, what feels right is undeniably wrong.

  Olivia.

  After we graduated high school, she ended up going to a fancy college in California. She tried getting me to move out there with her, but I couldn’t leave Fort Collins. Colorado is my home. More than that, best friends or not, our relationship was too fucked up for me to move for her. Nevertheless, having her so far away about killed me. That is—until Aunt Row showed up. She dragged me to church for six months before I decided it wasn’t so bad. Then I realized that God and Aunt Row made me feel less lonely.

  Aunt Row is ten years younger than my mom. She’s a journalist. She went to school in New York and was brilliant and charismatic enough to make a living out there for almost ten years. She always says it wasn’t a sacrifice moving back to Colorado, but I’ll never believe her.

  Five years after dad died, a year after I moved out from underneath my mother’s roof, Row decided to move in with mom. She was worried that my mom might not be getting along well. She hadn’t shown any interest in dating at that point and Row was afraid she’d managed to get herself in a rut. It wasn’t until she got back that she realized mom was so buried in work, she didn’t make time for anything else. Not even me.

  Row got a job working for the local news station. Marriage was never an appealing concept to her, so she and mom still live together. Regardless, I see Row a whole lot more than I see mom. The way Row tells it, she moved back to Colorado thinking that it was for mom, but really it was for me. I definitely can’t argue with that. She showed up just when I needed her.

  Sarah and I make it inside the building in time to find Aunt Row and exchange quick introductions before the service starts. Sarah’s too distracted to notice the look Row gives me. I know she’s surprised to see that I’ve brought someone. Not just someone—but someone whose hand I can’t seem to let go of.

  I relish the thought that Sarah hasn’t tried to pull away from me even once.

  Row knows that I don’t date much. I can imagine her head is buzzing with questions. I only hope that they don’t all come spewing out over brunch. Right now, I’m not so sure there are very many answers when it comes to Sarah and me.

  But I do like the way that sounds.

  Sarah and me.

  Turns out, just about everything that happens during the service goes in one ear and out the other. For an hour and a half, all I can think about is Sarah. She looks amazing right now—dare I say angelic? The white of her dress coupled with her silky blonde hair, which she wears straight today, leaves me with no better choice of adjective. Cliche or not—I’m sticking with it.

  Then again—when I remember last night and the feeling of her in my arms, my mind fills with unholy acts I wish I could do to her that I could never do to an angel.

  I shrug off my lustful thoughts like a wool blanket that’s too hot. It just doesn’t seem right to let my mind wander in that direction while I’m in church.

  Sarah notices my restlessness and looks at me. The hint of a knowing smile tugs at the corner of her mouth and I get the feeling she’s having a hard time focusing, too. When service is finally over, I’m anxious to duck out so that I can spend the rest of the afternoon with her. I haven’t told her yet, but she’s hanging out with me today.

  “Hey,” Aunt Row takes hold of my elbow just as I’m turning to leave. “I’ve got to speak with Deb really quick. I’ll meet you there, alright? I’ll text Lu and let her know we’re three today.” She waves at Sarah before she turns and heads in the opposite direction.

  “What is she talking about?” Sarah asks, looking up at me.

  I place my hand on the small of her back and encourage her forward as I inform her, “We’re going to brunch. It’s our thing. Church and then Lulu’s.”

  “Lulu’s?” she gasps. “As in, home-of-the-most-delicious-beignets-in-town? No—make that the whole state. The hot spot that will no doubt have a line of people waiting to be seated for at least an hour?”

  I can tell by the expression on her face that the prospect of getting to eat freshly fried beignets has her practically salivating. I love her penchant for pastries and her shameless consumption of them.“We don’t wait,” I assure her as we step outside. The weather is mild and inviting and the breeze plays with Sarah’s hair.

  “What, is there some sort of exclusive baker club I don’t know about that gets you VIP access?”

  “No,” I answer with a laugh. “We’re friends with the owner, Lu. We’ve been going there just about every week for the last seven years.”

  “Ah,” she replies with a nod. “Tenure VIP.”

  “Sure. We’ll go with that.”

  She smiles at me and then looks back over her shoulder as we make our way through the parking lot. When she looks at me again, her smile is an uncertain one. “Are you sure it’s okay that I come? I don’t mean to intrude on such a huge tradition.”

  “You wouldn’t be intruding,” I insist.

  “No? So, it’s not unusual that you’ll be three today?”

  The truth is, yes, it is completely unusual. There have been a couple times when my mom has come with us—but those occasions are few and far between. Other than that, it’s always been just Aunt Row and me. Yet, inviting Sarah to join us feels right. It’s like having her in the kitchen with me—she fits.

  Maybe it’s because she’s got my balls in her hand and my heart in her pocket—or maybe it’s just because she’s special in that undeniable way that can’t exactly be explained. Whatever the case may be, I’m not going to fight it.

  “Hey,” I murmur, stopping just before we reach the Camaro. She turns to face me and the wind sweeps her hair up, causing it to swirl around her face. I brush the blonde strands out of her eyes and gently tuck them behind her ears. “You’re not intruding on anything. I won’t force you to come, but I hope you will. I haven’t had my fill of you today.”

  For a moment, she doesn’t speak. I’m afraid she’s going to tell me she doesn’t want to come, but then she nods. “Okay.”

  I can’t help the grin that pulls at my mouth. I tuck her under my arm as we walk the
rest of the way to my car.

  He renders me speechless.

  I haven’t had my fill of you today.

  I wanted to say something in reply. There are a million things I could have said. I could have been witty and cute. I could have been flirty and endearing. I could have simply said, me neither—instead, I could say nothing. After I gave myself a few seconds to muster up a single braincell to conjure at least one word, I managed a pathetic okay.

  I haven’t had my fill of you today.

  Book boyfriend. In the flesh.

  Shit. I can’t believe I just thought that. He’s not my boyfriend. In fact, I have no idea what we are. I can only be sure of one thing. When he looks at me, I don’t feel like such a mess.

  When we arrive at Lulu’s, there are crowds of people waiting for an opportunity to be seated—just as I had suspected. For as long as I’ve known about this place, Saturdays and Sundays are always like this. The cute restaurant looks like a gorgeous cottage taken right out of New Orleans. On either side of the main entrance, there are tall windows framed in peach-colored trim and green shutters along side them. The cream tinted columns that line the front of the establishment, supporting the porch overhang, give it that old plantation feel. There are a few tables filled with waiting patrons on the patio, but most groups are situated in the lawn beyond the small fence that wraps around the front.

  Brandon wasn’t lying when he said that they don’t wait. He walks me right into the restaurant, waving a friendly hello to the hostess before taking me to a table in the back. It’s already set up and ready for three. Brandon pulls my chair out for me and just as I get settled, someone approaches and calls out his name. He turns to greet her and immediately snatches her into a hug.

  “What’s going on?” he asks, clearly pleased to see her.

  When Brandon’s body is no longer blocking hers, I see that she’s wearing a waist apron over her shorts. Her dark brunette hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s got a pencil resting behind her ear. The lopsided smile that lights up her face is charming and she looks so friendly that even I feel like I'm drawn to her. If I had to guess, I’d say she was about my age. Maybe a little younger.