by JoAnn Durgin
“I’d really like that.” It was simply all she could manage.
8
Sunday Morning, Day Three
When a knock sounded on the door, Shelby checked her watch. Still an hour until she was scheduled to meet Harrison. Who could it be? She hadn’t ordered anything from room service or the hotel staff.
“Who’s there?” Looping the belt on her robe, she crossed the room to the door. Not hearing a response, Shelby peered through the peephole, seeing no one. She opened the door to the quiet hallway and gasped in delight when she spied a single, long-stemmed, yellow rose on the carpet at her feet. A small envelope which read For Shelby was attached, dangling from the stem by a thin white satin ribbon.
“How lovely.” A glance up and down the hallway revealed no other roses. She picked it up and twirled it between her fingers. Running her finger down the stem in an absent manner, Shelby smiled. De-thorned. Bringing the rose close, she inhaled the fresh bloom’s sweet fragrance.
Back inside the room, she untied the ribbon and pulled out the card, noting the message in a small but legible scrawl, “...then people will say, along this road i saw a princess pass...”
“e. e. Cummings,” she murmured, recognizing the well-known poem from a college literature class. She could envision Harrison hand selecting this gorgeous rose, writing the note, and even personally delivering it to her hotel. It certainly wasn’t outside the realm of expectation, based on what she’d learned about him. She’d met the man less than forty-eight hours ago. With this incredibly romantic overture, he’d captured her attention all over again.
Her smile sobered. Her clients depended on her. As it was, she’d ignored the voice mails from the firm and more than a few e-mails. Maybe she should book a seat on the next flight to Chicago and run to the airport. Get back to business as usual and not spend another minute with the handsome charmer from Alabama.
No, maybe you should stay.
Shelby’s mental tug-of-war continued as she retrieved a glass from the mini-bar, filled it with water, and placed the rose inside. This single rose meant more than a dozen, precious for the promise it represented. If Harrison cared enough to bring it to her, then she owed it to him—owed it to herself—to spend the day with him. She deserved a break every now and then.
As planned, Harrison met her in the lobby an hour later, the image of urban sophistication in navy pants and a white, button-down oxford shirt opened at the collar and rolled on his muscular forearms. When her gaze traveled to his feet, she grinned. Scuffed cowboy boots.
As he’d done the day before, Harrison greeted her with a quick kiss on each cheek, prompting a small shiver of pleasure to run through her. As he pulled away, she noticed he wore no watch. How could a person survive without a watch?
“Would you mind going to a Sunday morning worship service with me? I didn’t mean to spring it on you without asking ahead of time, but—”
“I don’t mind,” she said, perhaps too quickly. “Not at all.” A sharp pang of conscience struck her. Not once had going to church in Scotland crossed her mind, and she’d barely remembered it was Sunday. What kind of God-fearing, good Christian girl was she? Certainly a lapsed one. Sundays back in Chicago meant laundry and errands, not church. Shelby pasted on a smile she hoped would cover her oversight. “I’d say that’s a great way to start the day. Are we going to St. Giles or one of the other cathedrals?”
“No, but you’re in for a treat,” he said, his smile inviting. “The church—called a ‘kirk’ here—isn’t far and the late service starts in thirty minutes. It’s a non-denominational, evangelical church. Is that all right with you?”
She nodded, pleased by his consideration. “I’d really like—” She stopped, and they shared a smile.
“You look beautiful, Shelby. Ready to go?” Harrison’s manner was smooth, but genuine. She’d worked with enough idle flatterers to discern the difference.
“Thank you,” she said. “Let’s go.” The sparkle in his eyes made her thankful she’d chosen a cap-sleeved, cotton floral dress, simple but well-made. She carried the matching lightweight sweater over her arm. Since she hadn’t intended to stay in Edinburgh, she hadn’t brought many clothes, and the dress was perhaps the most appropriate for church. High-heeled sandals would have been nice, but not for a planned day of walking, so she’d slipped on her ballet flats, hoping the streets had dried from the overnight rain.
Outside the hotel, she squinted in the blinding sunlight and inhaled deeply. “It’s such a gorgeous morning, isn’t it? I can still smell the rain. I love how it clears the air and everything’s so fresh and crisp.”
A few minutes later, they entered an old brick building. “This is one of the few buildings on The Royal Mile still used for its original purpose,” Harrison said, his warm lips close to her ear.
Did he have any idea how his nearness affected her? He was simply being himself, and she was a woman who hadn’t been pampered by a man other than her father in far too long. She was in God’s house now. Time to behave, not act giddy because she was spending the day with a handsome, wonderful companion.
“Welcome to Carubbers Christian Centre.” A man Shelby could only describe as jolly—short and round with a white beard, wire-framed glasses, and a bright smile—handed her a program before pumping Harrison’s hand up and down. “Thank ye for joining us on this fine morning our Lord has made. Be prepared to receive a blessing.”
Shelby found a seat inside the spacious main hall, and Harrison settled beside her, shoulders touching. The lively crowd had to number in the hundreds. Others around them shook their hands with smiles and enthusiastic greetings.
A few minutes later, studying the program, she read how the church started as a mission in an alley in 1858 with the purpose of introducing children to Christ’s teachings. “It says here that D. L. Moody helped raise money to build the church, and he preached at the laying of the foundation stone.” She lowered the program onto her lap and gave Harrison a smile. “What a wonderful ministry, and such a rich history.”
Harrison kept his voice low as the musicians began to tune their instruments and announcements were made. “Robert regularly attends Carubbers, but he had something work related today, or he’d have joined us. I always come here whenever I’m in Edinburgh. In my estimation, it’s one of the best ways to start the week.”
Sitting next to Harrison, singing the hymns and choruses, Shelby sneaked glances at his strong, masculine profile. She loved listening to his tenor voice that veered slightly off-key when he strained to reach the higher notes. Good thing he couldn’t reach those anyway, since singing falsetto wasn’t something she really looked for in a man. Not that she was looking.
“Reading from the Holy Scriptures, from Isaiah 41:10,” the pastor said, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”
Shelby pondered those words. She knew the Lord craved her fellowship, wanted to be involved in her life. She needed to trust Him to help her with the decisions she faced. Problem was, ever since Daddy’s death, she’d struggled with trust, even with the Almighty. She released a deep sigh and tears filled her eyes.
Harrison tapped her arm. “Everything all right?”
She nodded without speaking, touched by his caring gesture.
At one point during the service, Shelby nudged Harrison’s shoulder like he’d done when they sat on the park bench outside Abernethy’s. “Thank ye for bringing me here, Harry. ‘Tis very special.”
****
An hour later, Harrison strolled beside Shelby along The Royal Mile. They took their time, peeking in shop windows and enjoying the day and one another. In her pretty dress, Shelby was beyond gorgeous. By the way she responded to him, he figured she wasn’t dating anyone seriously. Surely, she had lots of dates—or invitations—from men. How could she not?
He’d had a hard time sleeping the night before, thinking about t
he way her cheeks flushed when he paid her a compliment. The way she gave him a shy smile and then came out with a witty zinger that stole his breath. He’d appreciated Shelby’s reaction to the people and the worship service. At one point, she’d appeared contemplative and the pastor’s message seemed to touch her heart. He’d pray for whatever inner struggle she faced.
Overall, she’d relaxed and interacted with the others, shook hands, laughed, and enjoyed herself. Unless his overactive imagination was playing tricks on him, she’d winked at him twice. He doubted she even realized it. What an incredible difference from only two days ago when they’d first met, making him wonder what tomorrow might bring. The possibilities intrigued him.
“Harry, come look at this.” Pausing on the sidewalk, Shelby pointed to something green and sparkly in a shop window. As she moved closer to admire the emerald pendant, he stood rooted to the sidewalk and admired her.
“You know, every morning when I walk from the train to my office building, I pass an upscale jewelry store. Not once have I ever stopped to look in one of the windows. Not even at Christmas when they’re so whimsical and festive.” She shook her head, regret written in her features. “I’m beginning to think that’s a criminal offense.”
“Well, you did admit to pine cone theft. I’m keeping company with a habitual offender, it would seem.”
Shelby smirked. “I knew that admission would somehow come back to haunt me.”
“I wouldn’t call not looking in shop windows a criminal offense, exactly,” he said. “Some would say you’re focused, and that’s a positive quality.”
“Maybe I should stop and look in that shop window every now and then,” she said, her voice soft. “Do you understand what I mean?”
Their eyes locked. “I intend to help you look in as many shop windows as you’d like while you’re in Edinburgh, Shelby.” As soon as the words escaped, Harrison wondered if he’d said too much and hoped she wouldn’t misinterpret his meaning.
They stared at one another for another long moment, the current of attraction between them so strong it was almost tangible.
When Shelby turned back to the window, Harrison released the sigh he’d been holding.
“I don’t know if it’s because I was born in May or what, but I adore emeralds. The color is so rich and deep.”
“Yes, it is.” He forced his gaze away from the woman beside him. “Some believe wearing an emerald brings wisdom, growth, and patience.” What a goof he was. Enough already with the some say, some believe stuff. He’d hoped to sound halfway intelligent, and all he could do was spout ridiculous platitudes. Shelby could pretty much say or do anything, and he’d be satisfied to stare at her like a simpleton.
“Then maybe I should buy it for that reason alone. I could use a little more wisdom. And growth, I suppose. In certain ways.” She scrunched her pretty features into an almost comical frown. “Patience? Most definitely.” When she giggled, he knew he was lost.
“Did you know the emerald was Cleopatra’s favorite gem?” He needed to keep the conversation moving or else he’d march inside that store and purchase the emerald necklace for her. That would be way too extravagant and definitely way too soon. Now he wanted to buy her jewelry?
Oh yeah, he had it bad.
Harrison cleared his throat. “As a parting gift to dignitaries visiting Egypt, Cleopatra bestowed upon them large emeralds engraved with her likeness.” He laughed when she gave him a look. “It’s the honest truth.”
“Isn’t most truth honest? It should be. That’s why I find you absolutely fascinating, Harry. I mean, why say bestowed when you can simply say gave? And how do you know all these things, much less remember them?”
“It’s a gift.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried. History and trivia stick in my mind. I’ll try to curb my inclination to spout random facts when I’m around you.”
“Oh, no, please feel free to share,” Shelby said, shaking her head. “I enjoy hearing them. You must have been a history major in college.”
Seeing their reflection in the shop window, side by side, Harrison caught her smile. “Economics, but a minor in history. Alabama. You?”
“Finance and economics. Kentucky.”
Made sense. No doubt she made the Dean’s List every semester. “Do you want to go inside the store?” he said. “I might be able to talk down the owner on the price. Barter a little.”
“Better not, but who knows?” Shelby gave him a coy grin. “Be nice to me, and I might consider bestowing that emerald on you as a parting gift when I leave Scotland.”
“Deal, as long as it’s engraved with your likeness.”
That comment silenced her for a moment. Harrison pulled out his newest camera from his pocket, a tiny gadget that took sharp photos and never failed to impress the kids. “I don’t need an emerald, but I’d love to photograph you, if you’ll allow me.”
When she nodded, he snapped her picture in front of the shop. For whatever reason, he’d thought she might not be photogenic, but she was incredibly natural and relaxed, even posing playfully. The photos would make a wonderful keepsake when it came to their eventual parting. His smile sobered even as he acknowledged that reality.
“It was so nice to be in church this morning,” she said. “Thanks, again.”
Nothing pleased Harrison more than when she reached for his hand. Her hand, so small and soft, fit inside his like it was designed by God for that very purpose. “It was my honor to have you beside me. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He led her to a bench and waited until she seated herself first.
“Oh, I did. Everything about it.” Her eyes lit with enthusiasm. “Ever since Daddy’s death, I haven’t so much as set foot in a church. I’ve prayed before meals and whispered a short prayer whenever I needed help with something at work, but that’s about it.” She darted a quick glance his way. “Not that I blamed God, but Mama and Daddy were too young to die. Too good to die is more like it. Pillars in the church and in Lexington. I’m not talking about their good works, either, although they did plenty of those.”
The honesty of Shelby’s admission surprised him, but he liked that she felt comfortable enough to share her feelings. From personal experience, he knew it’d take time for her to resolve and fully accept the death of both her parents. “Tell me more.”
“My mom could be pretty strict and was much more the disciplinarian than my dad, but I never knew her to be unfair or unkind to anyone,” Shelby said. “She was the ultimate organizer, always volunteering to help with whatever needed to be done. Mama was very smart and had solid business sense. She was more practical, and Daddy was the dreamer.”
She smiled. “Smoking his pipe was the one habit he refused to break. My mom hated it, but I secretly liked it. The pipe was handcrafted by the mountain people of the Appalachian region in Eastern Kentucky, handed down by his father, and he treasured it. He’d rock with me in his favorite chair by the fireplace. He’d smoke that pipe, stroke my hair, and tell me old family stories, some I’m pretty sure he made up. I’d curl up in his lap and snuggle against him, safe and protected from the world. His voice was resonant and full of humor, and I could listen to him forever. He smelled wonderful, too—like hay, horses, the outdoors, and tobacco. They were my daddy.”
Harrison nodded, touched by her memories. “Your parents sound great. I know what you mean about associating certain scents with someone. Cinnamon and gardenias never fail to remind me of my mom.” He darted a glance her way. “Not necessarily at the same time, of course.”
“Your turn,” she said. “Tell me about your parents.”
“I was raised in Indonesia until my sister, Caroline, was born when I was three. For whatever reason, my parents decided to return home to the States. They’d met at a Bible college in Tennessee, but both were raised in Alabama, so that’s where we permanently settled. Dad worked in accounting with various ministries for years and retired last year. My mom started a mi
nistry before she died, and it’s still very active. She’d love to know how well it’s doing, and I like to think she does. Sometimes I still pick up the phone to call her. Whenever I go home, I expect her to be in the kitchen, cooking one of my favorite meals.” He hesitated and lowered his voice. “Waiting for me.”
Shelby turned to face him, her eyes wide. “I didn’t realize you’d lost your mom, too. I’m so sorry, Harrison.” She touched his sleeve, her eyes brimming with compassion. “You must have been very close.”
“We were. Dad’s still trying to cope with her death. Like your mom, she had cancer. Even though Dad had time to prepare for the eventuality, it didn’t make it any easier when the end came after three long years. Last time I was home, this past Christmas, he admitted that accepting her passing has been his greatest crisis of faith. Although he understands it’s a natural part of life—and it was actually a blessing since she was in a great deal of pain—Dad wishes he’d been the one to go first.”
“My dad felt the same way about losing Mama first.” Shelby ran a hand over her hair, pushing aside long blonde strands that caressed her cheeks in the breeze. “Know what I like most in what you just said? The way your voice goes soft when you talk about your mom. It’s very sweet.”
“Does not.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “But my heart does. And you’re a copycat.”
“Am not.” They shared a smile.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.
“Not unless you count thoroughbreds.”
Harrison chuckled. “I’d say it’s time we eat. Are you hungry?”
“You must have heard my stomach growling during the service,” Shelby said. “It got pretty insistent toward the end. It was really embarrassing, so I did something I used to do when I was a kid.”