by Cheryl Wyatt
ZONDERVAN
Serving Up a Sweetheart
Copyright © 2015 by Cheryl Wyatt
ePub Edition © January 2015: ISBN 978-0-3103-9607-9
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
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Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Interior design: James A. Phinney
To Mom. Decades ago you endured a Valentine’s Day labor of love to usher me into this world. You have not stopped encouraging me since. I’m convinced I have the most kindhearted, loving mother in the world. Thank you for always believing in me.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
About the Author
An Excerpt from All Dressed Up In Love
Chapter One
Becky Philpott, sincere thanks for bringing me into this novella collection. What an honor! I’m giddy with gratitude. Skate on and keep rooting for those Tigers, even if they beat my Cardinals.
Becky Monds, I’m so glad for your amazing intuition and editorial guidance. I feel so blessed to get to work with you. You have a strong pulse on what it means to tell a good story. Thank you for encouraging and growing me.
Jean Kavich Bloom, thank you for your attention to line editing. My MIA serial commas, staging issues, timeline glitches, and I appreciate you!
To the entire HarperCollins Christian Publishing team, Katie, Karli, Elizabeth, Ansley, Amanda, Jodi, Daisy, and the many others who make Zondervan such an AMAZING imprint, thank you for all you do and are.
HUGE thanks to readers. Your time is so precious and valuable. That you’d spend it on our words means the world. Your readership is a tremendous blessing. Find out what’s coming next by signing up for my newsletter at www.cherylwyatt.com.
Thanks to Denise Hunter and Colleen Coble for recommending me for this project. I’m grateful for your belief in me. Thanks Joel Kneedler and John Perrodin at Alive Communications for contracts and career guidance. Thanks Rachel Hauck, Denise Hunter, and Deb Raney for answering my gazillion novella-related questions.
Thanks Sally Shupe and Casey Herringshaw for beta reading this book. Thanks Preslaysa for the novella article. Thanks to my Facebook community for all the fun ideas and excitement over every story. You are awesome! I am blessed by your presence on my author page. Those who haven’t visited, we’d love to have you: https://www.facebook.com/CherylWyattAuthor.
Thanks to my family for being so supportive of my deadlines and for loving frozen pizza.
Lastly, thank you, Jesus, for the gift, the grace, and the gumption to write. May every word honor you, make you smile, and make you more famous to those who don’t know.
But with you there is forgiveness, so that we can, with reverence, serve you.
PSALM 130:4
The sky blew crystal kisses to the earth, the snow patterning Meadow Larson’s window in white filigree flakes. That would’ve been fine if it weren’t for Niagara Falls pouring down double-paned glass and drenching her in-home catering kitchen.
Worse, on the one day her business partner, Del, called in sick.
The leak around the window intensified, streaming wet rivulets over live outlets and onto the plethora of towels she had already placed on the counter and floor.
Mind awhirl with what to do next, Meadow rushed to shut off breakers, then snatched her phone off one of her only dry counters and dialed her sister Flora while sloshing back toward the awful mess.
“Meadow, you’re panting. What’s wrong?”
“I have four caters over the next week, and my place is flooding under massive snow melt.” Realizing every towel she owned was now soaked, Meadow turned to grab blankets from her hall closet.
She heard an ominous creaking sound behind her. Turning back, she looked up . . . and lost her breath.
As if in slow motion, her ceiling bowed and then crashed to the floor in a thundering pile of icy lumber and tile. Her countertops and best catering supplies disappeared under a destructive mishmash of winter’s white frosting and debris.
Scrambling backward, Meadow dropped the phone. Stared in fascinated horror at the cave-in that covered her kitchen in a heap of unprecedented February snow. Her dream-since-childhood business squashed by a southern Illinois blizzard. A “once-in-a-lifetime event,” this morning’s weatherman had called it, right after he’d informed viewers the groundhog had seen his shadow.
How could her demanding schedule survive six more weeks of winter?
Moreover, how could she fulfill contracts with clients when her workspace and best catering supplies were pulverized?
“What was that racket? Meadow, everything okay?”
Meadow became aware of the voice on the floor. She picked up her phone—the face of which now resembled how she felt inside: cracked in all directions. “No. Could you please come over? My kitchen ceiling collapsed.”
“You kidding me?”
“Wish I were.” Meadow fought tears. She hadn’t cried in ten years and wasn’t about to now. Fearing more collapse, Meadow fled for cover outside. Ironic.
She’d always loved wintertime, with its beautiful diamond glisten and the enchanting allure of hoarfrost.
Not. Today.
Meadow threw on a coat from the front hall closet, and the storm door slammed in her wake as she left to pace the front yard.
Midway between her red Tudor cottage door and the street, she passed a knight-white snowman standing sentry over her sidewalk. She didn’t know who had built him since no children lived near her, but she paused, glared at it, and decided the majestic ice imp was mocking her.
With a less-than-ladylike growl, she hauled her leg back and kicked.
Ploof!
Her entire foot and ankle disappeared into the snowman’s torso. “I hate you, and I hate that stupid groundhog!”
Groundhog? Colin McGrath set his box back on the passenger seat and rounded his truck to get a better look at the animated face issuing the words he’d just heard. He watched the woman across the street with interest. She had evidently just assaulted the snowman in her yard.
Stuck in an awkward stance resembling a frozen flamingo in a badly posed karate move, she whipped her arms around like a hostile windmill. Balance righted, she yanked her leg out of the snowman and raised her foot. Colin grew amused to find it shoeless.
The
astonished glare she sent the snowman could’ve gone viral on YouTube. As she sputtered something about it being a wretched, shoe-thieving traitor, Colin burst out laughing.
Until he saw her tears.
The brunette swiped madly at them before dropping to her knees. Concern coursed through him as she started scooping out wads of snow.
Her distress drew him quickly across the street.
Recalling the strength of her kick, he approached cautiously. “Bad day, I take it?”
Frosty’s would-be assassin shrieked, stood, and whirled. Hair swept from widening honey eyes, she looked familiar. But he’d been gone ten years. Colin fought to place her.
“Didn’t mean to startle you”—he eyed her barren ring finger—“miss.”
Her face plumed the color of cranberries on a cold winter day . . . like today. She slid back to the frozen ground and dug, probably for her MIA shoe. To no avail. Colin reached into the eviscerated snowman and yanked the footwear right out.
She stood again and snatched the loafer out of his hands. “May I help you?”
He bit his lip to block a grin. “No, ma’am, but I thought I better offer assistance.”
A scowl furrowed her lovely brow. “I don’t need your help.”
“I was referring to Frosty. He looked in need of swift intervention.” Colin could hold it in no longer. His pressure-cooked laugh released. He nodded to the snowman, then cast the pretty woman a glance he hoped would humor her. “Domestic dispute?”
Her lips thinned in a manner that made him ponder ducking. She gripped the shoe tighter and looked sorely tempted to hurl the thing at him.
He palmed the air. “Hey, kidding. In all seriousness, I noticed you seem upset. Anything I can do?”
“Unless you can fix a roof and my catering kitchen in seventy-two hours, no.”
He grinned, liking her spunk. “Actually, I may be able to help. Construction’s my trade. My name is—”
“I know who you are, but you obviously don’t remember me.” Her chin rose.
Dread hit him like a two-by-four. “Uh . . .”
Her arms locked across her chest. “You and your friends ruined my life. At least my high school experience.” Arms dropped, she shook her head and started to turn.
It all flooded back for Colin, who she was and everything she’d endured. He swallowed fiery lumps remembering: his part in inviting her to the lake, then his friends driving off without her. Terror and betrayal clouding her eyes as she stumbled after them.
He reached for her arm. “Oh wow, Meadow. Sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”
“You didn’t back then, either.” She shrugged. “I am just as I was, overlooked and easily forgettable.” A frustrated glower flooded her expressive face.
His chest tightened with a marbling of remorse and remembrance, acknowledgment and empathy. Things he should’ve felt back then . . . but didn’t. Not really.
“I’m truly sorry.”
He meant it. From the depths of his heart, did he ever.
She rolled her eyes. “I bet. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
Actually, it did. If the splinter still festered a decade later, it mattered a whole lot. He couldn’t let this go. Could not walk away from the distress in her eyes.
Gorgeous eyes. Hair the color of polished mahogany, too, deep shine included.
He had to make the past up to her somehow. “Let me help you, Meadow. Please.”
Her fortitude ran sturdy as she shook her head. “You? Help me? Not on your life, Colin McGrath. You hurt me once. I’m not giving you a chance to do it twice.”
Her words hit like hacksaws, driving Colin’s ego to its knees. Oh well. Better place for it anyway. Pride was never a bad thing to lose. Not knowing what to say next and rendered wordless for just about the first time in his life, Colin clamped his mouth shut.
Retort would only convince her she was right about him.
Irish temper blessedly absent, Colin tipped his ball cap to her. “Good day to you then, ma’am.” He resisted the urge to bid the snowman good-bye before turning to cross the street. Meadow’s hilarious tirade had somehow humanized the thing.
He’d forgotten how fickle southern Illinois weather could be. Last week it was seventy degrees. This week Havenbrook’s sky dumped historic amounts of icy snow. He crunched over it walking back to his new house. The movers were finishing the last load.
Colin drew in a breath of fresh air, hometown nostalgia and peace he hadn’t felt in a decade. He loved Havenbrook. Meadow’s welcome had been the only one not warm.
What did he expect after the way he’d treated her in high school? His gut knotted like old pine as images assaulted him. His then-girlfriend, mayor’s daughter Blythe Matthews, calling Meadow a loser. Strong Meadow leaving school in tears. Blythe calling after her that she’d never be popular, never be one of the cool kids, never fit in.
Colin had stood back against the lockers feeling horrible for Meadow yet not doing one thing to stop the bullying.
Colin swallowed. Hard. No wonder Meadow wanted nothing to do with him now.
Except, that was the old him. He determined to show her the new him.
Wanting to make sure she made it in without slipping on snow-packed ice, Colin glanced back to find Meadow looking stumped as she stared at him. Surprise swept through him at that.
Swiftly readapting her caustic body language, she tromped across her yard. But her baffled-curious look had convinced him he’d made a slight positive impression.
A car pulled up next to the curb where he stood. A harried woman plowed out of it and into him. When she pulled back, recognition flickered in her eyes, and she paused.
“Colin McGrath. Heard you were moving back.”
He recognized her as one of Meadow’s many siblings. “Flora. Nice to see you.”
“You check on her? She all right after the cave-in?”
Her words hammered dread into him. “Cave-in?”
“She didn’t tell you?” They began walking back across the street to Meadow’s.
“No. Well, not in so many words.” He grinned. “She mostly just told me off.”
Flora glanced sideways at him. He peered across the yard, assessing where Meadow’s damage was. He shrugged. “I deserved it.”
Flora looked like she wanted to say something kind but stopped herself. Good. He didn’t deserve the grace of accolades where Meadow Larson was concerned.
“I’m surprised you’re not giving me grief over my past of taunting your family.” Blunt, but he needed to have an in to apologize.
“I know your mom from Havenbrook Garden Club. My fiancé, Pete, is the attorney handling your father’s will, medical directives, and business matters. I help in the office since my counseling job is part-time. You’re the new CEO of your dad’s company—McGrath Construction, right?”
“Oh, so you’re Pete’s fiancée. Good man. Yes. Dad’s failing cognitive function affected his ability to make sound business decisions. Mom asked me to take over so the company doesn’t lose forty years’ worth of good reputation, equity, and customers. Thankfully, my Chicago home and contracting firm sold quickly.” That money left him a nice nest egg and enabled the clean break to move south. He’d needed a new start anyway, after his broken engagement.
Flora nodded. “Your mom told me it means the world to her that you came home to take care of things, despite your parents not taking the best care of you growing up. She seems very sorry and says she and your dad are desperate to have the relationship with you they’d neglected before.”
“I’ve forgiven them. To their credit, I didn’t keep in close contact once deployed overseas in the military after school. Speaking of, I hope you know I’m sorry for every terrible thing I did.”
“I do. I also know your mom recently made you the medical POA for your dad. Sorry to hear about his tumor. You have enough grief to contend with right now.” She smiled compassionately. “Plus, people change for the better. Pete’s business deali
ngs with you so far make me believe you have, even though Meadow may not.”
That didn’t sound promising.
Colin helped Flora across Meadow’s icy yard, then scanned the roof. “Your sister’s not gonna be happy to see me again, but I need to make sure she’s not putting herself in danger going back in there.”
“Yeah, well, she can be stubborn like that.”
As predicted, Meadow’s face swelled like an angry puffer fish at the sight of him at her door.
“Now, now . . . cool your jets, sis. He’s an expert concerned about your safety. Besides, you know all other local contractors are either bad or, with other roof cave-ins I’ve heard about today, probably booked solid.”
Meadow’s countenance visibly crushed under being subjugated by circumstance into taking Colin’s help.
Thumbs hooked in his pockets, he waited for the go-ahead. She finally nodded but did so like someone eating sawdust.
Once inside, it didn’t take Colin long to survey the damage.
Meadow’s petrified look from the hallway twisted his insides as he descended the ladder he’d brought in from her shed. He tried not to grimace as he considered how to put this to her gently.
“What’s the verdict?” Flora’s voice quavered.
He steered his gaze toward Meadow. “You live and work here?”
“Yes. My home and business are one in the same. How extensive is the damage?” Meadow’s hands wrung like nervous dishrags.
“For sure, it’s not safe for you to stay here while repairs are made. The entire roof is unstable with all that snow and ice, and I can’t promise there won’t be more damage before morning. It’s starting to get dark. I can cover the hole with a tarp and reassess come daylight, but suffice it to say that kitchen’s not going to be usable for a while.”
Color drained from the sisters’ faces. They held one another up.
“How long’s a while?” Meadow’s pallor elicited his empathy.
Colin aimed for delicacy of tone. “I estimate a month.”
Flora wobbled. “No! My wedding’s in three weeks! This is catastrophic.”