A Sandwich Novella Collection
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Copyright
A Side of Faith - Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Epilogue
A Side of Hope Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Epilogue
A Side of Love Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Dear Reader:
Copyright
A Side of Faith, Hope, & Love
A Side of Faith Copyright © 2014 by Krista Phillips
A Side of Hope Copyright © 2015 by Krista Phillips
A Side of Love Copyright © 2016 by Krista Phillips
Published by -
One Woman's Dream
PO Box 680033 Franklin, TN 37067
www.kristaphillips.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.
The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
A Side of Faith - Dedication
To a certain friend I offended in the 7th grade due to a certain red-headed boy and my big opinionated mouth...
My sincerest apologies!
At least my youthful stupidity gave me
fun inspiration for a book!
(long story...)
One
Darn those Property Brothers.
They made the whole remodel thing look so easy on HGTV.
Rachel Carter blew a curl of dark hair out of her face as she surveyed the blank canvas of wall. She'd spent the past week coating it with nasty goo and scraping away at heinous “welcome to the '80s" wallpaper.
Two weeks ago, while signing the closing papers on the little house in Sandwich, Illinois, she’d been giddy with excitement to start the reno.
That was before she realized simple wallpaper removal was akin to torture.
Her back ached.
Her arms screamed in agony.
One would have thought she was pushing Medicare age instead of a whopping thirty-three years old.
She hadn't done her Jillian Michaels workout in almost two months because of the move and job change, and wow, it showed.
A date with Jillian and her DVD player was definitely going to happen soon.
She huffed a breath and lectured herself. “Rachel, toughen up. This is the fun part.”
Hoping a little retro '90s hip-hop music would light a fire under her brush, she flipped up the volume of her iPod speakers and pulled her mass of dark curls into a ponytail.
Now she just needed her gum—
On second thought, maybe not.
A year ago, she’d given up cigarettes and traded the bad habit for cleaner lungs and a love of spearmint gum. Until moving to Sandwich, she was rarely seen not chewing manically on a piece, willing away the cravings.
Now? Eh, she could do without it.
A total God-thing, along with everything else having to do with her move.
Except maybe that horrific wallpaper.
She shuddered thinking about the floral disaster.
Surveying the wall, Rachel's enthusiasm blossomed again. This was her project. Her wall. When finished, its waves of color would be a symbol for her life. The ups and downs, the crazy different colors—showing how God could bring it all together and make something beautiful.
Maddie and Allie, her only friends in Sandwich thus far, thought her idea pretty crazy. They’d both sent her at least ten Pinterest ideas a day, trying to dissuade her.
But nope. The multi-colored wall would be her masterpiece. No taped, perfect lines to make it boring.
She grinned as she dipped the brush into the deep plum-colored paint, her hips bopping to the beat of an old Kris Kross song. She'd totally jump too if not for the half dozen paint cans littering the floor.
The shag carpeting would be replaced at some point, but not that soon.
She glided the first purple wave over the wall, the paint sliding over the white primer like melted chocolate over a strawberry.
Oh yeah. This was going to be amazing.
She dipped the brush with fresh paint, then did an old school MC Hammer move around the floor to an especially fun part of the song.
She raised her brush to restart the stripe when the doorbell chimed.
Her hand jerked, and paint droplets pinged across the wall and plastic-covered floor.
Lovely.
Brush in her left hand and clenched fist with her right, she controlled the urge to stomp as she flicked down the speaker volume and went to answer the door.
Hand on the knob, she took a deep breath. It wasn’t their fault they’d interrupted her. Her wall wasn’t so important she couldn’t be kind to visitors, even though with her paint-splattered clothes and hair, she was in no way fit to socialize.
Maybe it was a salesman or something.
She lifted her chin, curled her lips into a smile, and opened the door.
A tall man with reddish hair stood on her doorstep, a cocky smile gracing his mouth.
Her heart slammed into her chest and the world spun as memories came hurling back at her, of another man—different but too similar for comfort.
Shaking her head as if she could scatter the pictures in her mind, she tried not to react. Her body wanted nothing more than to slam the door, run to her car in the garage, and take off for the nearest convenience store to buy the largest pack of Camels they had.
Her hand shook on the doorknob as she willed herself under control.
This stranger had done nothing wrong, other than ring the doorbell of a crazy woman, evidently. It wasn’t his fault that at first glance, he looked similar to Jared, the man she worked very hard at not hating. They were both impossibly tall and had that trademark red hair, albeit different shades.
Two attributes she’d come to despise in men.
Fair? No, but neither was what she’d gone through with Jared.
Squinting her eyes against the sun’s glare, she looked up and focused on his face.
The similarities stopped there.
His cheeks sported a light beard, looking more like he’d forgotten to shave for a few days than actually grown one on purpose. Jared had always had an oversized mustache, but that was it.
He was also younger. Probably mid-thirties compared to Jared’s mid-forties
.
And tall. This man had even her ex beat on height. The stranger’s Goliath frame towered over her 5’5” self.
Auburn red hair splayed in all directions. Goodness, if she didn’t know better, she’d swear Prince Harry had arrived from Wales to stand on her doorstep. Okay, maybe not the prince himself, but a good stunt double candidate anyway.
Even she had to admit, this man was downright handsome.
Not that it mattered. She wasn’t on the market right now, and especially wasn’t interested in one who not only made her mess up the wall, but also brought out the urge to spit in his face just at the sight of him.
Which wasn’t his fault.
As a precaution, she swallowed the saliva that pooled in her mouth, propped her fist on her hip, and narrowed her eyes up at him. He needed to get off her porch, stat. For his own sake as well as hers. “Can I help you?”
The guy hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. “I live a few houses down. Bob asked me to check in on you to make sure you didn’t need anything. He’s not fond of the idea of women living by themselves.”
Red flags soared. First, Bob was the older gentleman from whom she’d purchased her house. It was the same one Maddie had rented three years ago when she first moved to Sandwich, before marrying Reuben. Why would the man ask a neighbor to come check on her? He knew Reuben and Maddie had helped her move.
Second, not fond of women living by themselves? Was the man fishing for information to see if she lived alone?
Well, she wasn’t biting. “Listen. I have no clue who you are, but I know your type. I’ll have you know I hold a very handy carry permit and am versed in all things pepper spray, so I suggest”—she used her paint-brush-filled hand to point— “you just run along.”
The flick of her wrist surprised them both, as the plum-colored paint splattered over the stranger’s face.
Rachel tried not to smirk but didn’t succeed.
The man closed his eyes and took in a long breath, as if practicing yoga or something. A moment later, he opened them and nodded, his voice low and surprisingly calm. “Well then. I guess since you have things covered, I’ll be seeing you around.”
He vacated her porch faster than a deer dodging a skunk.
Slamming the door behind her, Rachel turned to survey her project and groaned. She might need to give in and have a piece of the gum she stashed in the kitchen after all.
But no way was she going to let some man ruin her project. She’d just prime over the spots, keep her chin up.
Her gaze shifted to the top of the bookshelf.
And keep her gun handy.
She picked up a new paintbrush filled with white primer only to be interrupted when her cell phone rang.
Her wall might get done sometime this century, maybe.
Digging into the pocket of her shorts, she slid her only non-paint stained finger over the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Maddie. Did Cam come by?”
Rachel switched the phone to her left hand and started to cover purple dots with the paintbrush in her right. “I have no clue who Cam is.”
“Your neighbor. He mentioned to Reuben he might stop by to introduce himself.”
Rachel’s hand stilled. The man hadn’t given her his name, but she had a sneaky suspicion her instincts had made an epic fail. “Oh, uh, yeah. He did for a second.”
“Good. Because you know how I told you there was a guy I wanted you to meet?”
A sinking rock of dread settled in the pit of her stomach. “Yes, and remember how I told you I wasn’t interested?”
Maddie laughed. “Oh, girl. You know I listen to nothing you say and will get my way. Anyway, it’s Cam! And I invited him to dinner tonight. You’re still coming, right? What am I saying, of course you’re coming. Hey, gotta go. Remember. Tonight. Five o’clock. Kyle’s at a friend’s, so it’ll just be us adults. Don’t be late.”
And with a click, the phone filled with dead air.
What in the world had she gotten herself into? Rachel leaned her head against the wall.
She jerked back when wetness tickled her forehead.
Swirling around, she marched to the kitchen to end her gumless streak.
***
Cameron Foster kicked a rock in the road as he stalked back down the block toward his house, the fall breeze pushing at his back, as if helping him along.
That was smooth back there. Very smooth.
Maddie had told him Rachel was pretty, but deep down, he hadn’t believed her. It wasn’t like she was going to say, “Hey, my friend is ugly, but her personality’s great.”
But instead, Maddie had grossly understated her friend.
Rachel was—absolutely adorable. Well over a foot shorter than him, her chocolate brown hair had been pulled up in a messy ponytail and splashed with bits of purple and white paint. Cut-off jean shorts hugged her curvy hips and an over-sized blue Cubs t-shirt was tied in a knot at her side. In her painting getup, she looked more like a teenager than the thirty-something Maddie had led him to expect.
There was just something about the woman. Maybe it was that she had no makeup on and still made his pulse hike a few dozen points. Or the glimpse of her dancing he'd seen through the glass windowed door. He'd mastered the MC Hammer back in the day, and she wasn't too shabby herself.
Or maybe it was the mental image he had of her with a gun. It should probably scare him, but he pictured her at the shooting range, nine-millimeter pointed at a paper silhouette, over-sized earphones over that curly brown hair of hers, shooting a bull's-eye right between the eyes. It was more than a little sexy.
It might even have been the wall behind her he’d caught a glimpse of. She wasn’t rolling on a solid color. No, a stripe of purple paint waved halfway across the wall. And about three or four colors of paint sat in open cans on the floor as well.
The girl had flare.
Cameron needed a little flare in his life. His career as an investment broker wasn't exactly brimming with excitement, unless he counted the days the market took a nose dive or hit record highs.
Yes. Something about Rachel Carter made him want to know her more.
Attraction. That’s what it was. He was definitely attracted to this crazy woman who now seemed to hate his guts.
He replayed the scene in his head.
Sure, he wasn’t the smoothest guy to ever walk the Earth, but what he’d done to rankle her eluded him. For some reason, the woman thought he was a guy who’d come to ravage her or something. She’d looked mad enough to take her paintbrush to his face. Which she all but had. He put a hand to his cheek to feel the paint that was probably already dry, but found three-day-old stubble instead.
Just great. Why hadn’t he remembered to shave? She probably thought a red-haired grizzly was about to attack her. One of the hazards of working from home. When he was doing nothing but sitting at the computer, eyes locked between the stock market, financial reports, and communicating with clients, who really cared about a little fuzz?
Digging his phone out of his pocket, he pressed the button and waited for the ding. “Siri, remind me to shave every morning, please.”
The iPhone lady responded back with confirmation, which he confirmed then asked to call Reuben.
As the other line rang, he walked up the driveway to his way-too-large-for-a-single-guy house.
He’d met Reuben and Maddie over a year ago when a mutual friend recommended Cameron when Reuben was looking for someone to handle his investments. They'd become friends, and Maddie had given herself the task of finding him a “mate” once he’d become single again six months ago.
“Hey, Cam. How’d the walk go?”
Slipping his flip-flops off, Cameron made his way through the French doors of his home office and plopped into the black leather desk chair. “Let’s just say, it could’ve gone better. I probably look like I have purple freckles.”
“That bad?”
He propped his feet up on the desk, one of the few p
erks of being a bachelor and working from home. “Worse. The woman probably hates my guts now.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad. Maddie just got off the phone with her. She’s still coming to dinner tonight and knows you’ll be there. So at least you have that going for you.”
Cameron shook his head at the thought of Reuben’s pregnant wife. She’d been a spitfire when he first met the couple. Fun, but with a sarcastic spark. Pregnancy had only magnified the latter attribute. There wasn’t anyone within miles who knew Maddie and would willingly say no to her or, God forbid, risk making her mad.
Except maybe Reuben. He was the only one who challenged her, but even he was backpedaling a little these days.
“Well, thanks for that. I have no hopes of it actually going anywhere though. And like I told you both yesterday, I can find my own women to date. Your help is appreciated but not needed.” His lack of dates for the past twelve months said otherwise, but he wasn’t going there.
“Maddie seems to think the two of you are made for each other.”
“Your wife likes to play matchmaker, and you know it. Hey, how is Maddie anyway? She was a little weird at church last week.” Weird being that she’d cried when he said hello and then threatened to punch him when he asked how long until the baby arrived, saying he’d implied she was overly fat.
Which he hadn’t. He was definitely not that stupid.
Reuben cleared his throat and lowered his voice a decibel. “Uh, yeah. She went to the doctor on Friday and they lectured her about her higher than normal weight gain this early in the pregnancy. Told her to cut back on the chocolate. She wasn’t too happy.”
Cam shook his head. Maddie was this petite short lady, but pregnancy had brought out her appetite. At the Labor Day picnic a few weeks ago, he’d seen her down half a pan of brownies. “Wow, that’s tough, man.”
“Tell me about it. Anyway, just remember. Tonight at five. Don’t be late, or you’ll have to deal with Maddie’s wrath.”
A voice bellowed in the background Cam could barely make out as Maddie. She’d obviously overheard the last sentence. “I better let you go. I’ll be ten minutes early, okay?”
A Side of Faith, Hope and Love: The Sandwich Romance Novella Collection Page 1