“I suppose so. There was another threatening letter today...” His voice trailed off as he remembered the awkward scrawl.
Eric shook his head, staring into his can. “I’m sorry. What a mess. And to think I’ve always envied you.”
Grant looked up in surprise. “Me?” He was speechless for a few seconds as he processed that information. “Because I’m the heir to a fortune made by barely legal activities? Because my father just recently decided that I exist and he wants me to pretend we’re best buds? Now you, you have more talent than anyone I know, a beautiful wife who loves you, a baby on the way and an extended family that makes the mob look disloyal.”
He nodded. “Thanks, and she does and they do. But I always thought you had it better because of... Well, everybody loves you on sight. You never have to work to make friends. If you had five minutes alone with him, you could get the Grinch to give this place a donation.”
Eric continued. “I had to work for every date. I’m still shocked that Marla even gave me a second glance. But you just smile, and women fall all over themselves.”
Grant knew where this was going and got a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“But now, you’re way worse off than I ever was. After you tell the world that you’re Kurt Daniels’s son, it’ll be like you’ve got the relationship version of the Midas touch. Every girl you meet is going to want to date you and you’ll never know for sure if they really care. That just stinks.”
He couldn’t help laughing. It was all so awful, and so painfully true, that it was more than a little funny. “You’ve nailed it, as usual.”
Eric shook his head and took a sip. “I guess I can stop trying to fix you up.”
Grant nodded, chuckling. “That would be a welcome change. I don’t think it’s a good time to be dating anybody right now.”
Another knock at the door, and Jose poked his head in. “Michelle wanted to know if the new chick could help her in the day care.”
Grant sighed. “Her name is not ‘the new chick.’” Maybe it was time for some sensitivity training. The mission was a safe zone, for all people.
“Okay, the new girl. Is she stashed back here somewhere?” Jose jerked his head toward the offices.
“Yeah, she’s in the filing room, but let me get her.” Grant stood up and took a slug from his cold soda. It felt as though he was getting ready to face some unknown danger, the way his heart started pounding. He could feel his body temperature rise about ten degrees.
“I want you to meet our new volunteer. She’s been helping with fundraising. And no smart comments, got it?” He ignored Eric’s expression of open curiosity.
His oldest friend flashed him a grin. “Scout’s honor.”
They headed out the door and Eric paused, his head cocked to one side.
“This is new, this picture here.”
Grant nodded. “Calista thought I should make my office more personable.”
Eric raised his eyebrows. “I take it that’s the new girl. And this was your solution?”
“I think it’s perfect.” He regarded the crayon drawing of a fluffy cat wearing pink sunglasses. Savannah was an excellent little artist.
“Better than one of those awful head shots with the fake trees in the background. Plus, the kitty is way better looking than you are.”
Responding to the gibe with a good-natured punch to Eric’s arm, Grant headed out the door. Halfway down the hallway he had misgivings. Introducing Calista to Eric wasn’t something he should do. He should keep her separate from his personal friendships. She wouldn’t be just a volunteer anymore if she made friends with Eric. And if he wasn’t wrong, that was exactly what was going to happen.
* * *
Calista wondered if Grant was still at the mission. She hadn’t seen him at all today. Not much at all last week, in fact. But he’d been downright friendly on Saturday, helping Marisol with her kitchen class. The man could definitely cook. One more point in his favor, as if he needed any more.
It must be the Thanksgiving spirit. She almost wished he’d go back to staying out of her way. She’d wondered about him all day if she didn’t force herself to concentrate on something else. Which was staying on task and having a purpose. And it was going very well, so far. She opened her eyes and decided she’d been sitting for too long in one spot, plunking folders in color-coded file boxes. Reaching high above her head, she laced her fingers together and felt the pleasant strain on her muscles. Her light blue linen jacket had wrinkled at the elbows and the matching pants were looking a little worse for wear. Calista leaned over, arms outstretched, eyes closed and a blissful feeling spreading through her body. Until she smacked into a pile of folders she had just placed on the edge of the desk and several slipped out of sight into the crack against the wall.
Very smooth. She heaved a sigh and glanced around. The metal desk was about five feet long and weighed a ton. Beyond old-school, this thing must have been around when the mission was founded. Calista tried to tug an edge, but realized all her other carefully sorted piles would have to be moved before the desk budged an inch. Nothing to do but crawl underneath. She wasn’t a big girl by any means, but it took a bit of maneuvering to get her body wedged into the small space between the built-in drawers.
As Calista pried the stiff manila folder from the crack, there was a light tapping on the half-open door. She froze, hoping against hope it was Marisol. Or Jose. Or even Lissa.
There was no way to see who it was without backing out, so she did an awkward reverse crawl that seemed to have a lot more wiggling involved than it did on the way in. She refused to imagine what she must look like from the door, but all the same, her cheeks were scorching by the time she got turned all the way around.
Of course it was Grant. His face was a mixture of surprise and something that might have been barely concealed laughter. Oh, that gorgeous smile... And he’d brought a friend, who seemed to find the whole thing very interesting.
Calista popped to her feet and brushed off the knees of her pants.
“Sorry. Some files fell behind the desk.” She brushed the hair back from her face and wished she had an excuse to turn her back until her face lost what must be a lovely shade of pink.
“Calista Sheffield, this is my friend, Eric Young. He works over at MusiComp as a composer.” Grant’s voice was steady but his eyes were crinkled as if he were still laughing inside.
Calista forced herself to look away, hoping her face didn’t betray anything of the warm glow that flared inside. She dragged her gaze from Grant’s and reached out a hand to Eric, surprised at the genuine warmth in his grip. “Nice to meet you. Do you volunteer here, as well?”
Eric snorted. “Are you kidding? I can’t stand listening to Grant boss everybody around.”
She felt her mouth drop open a little. Grant didn’t really boss anybody, ever. He had a quiet kind of authority that most people responded to without argument.
Grant rushed in to fill the awkward pause. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s hardly ever serious.”
“True,” he said, grinning. “My wife takes about a tenth of what I say at face value.”
“But how does she know when you’re serious?”
Eric laughed outright. “Practice.”
Calista shook her head, bemused. She couldn’t imagine a relationship with that much teasing and goofing around. It sounded like fun. His laughter sparked an idea in her, an image of Grant, relaxed and grinning. How would it be to spend time with him, just getting to know what was behind the quick smile and the sad eyes?
“Do you work here in the city? I think Grant said you were helping him with fundraising.”
“I’m the CEO of VitaWow.” Calista felt her face warm just a little. It was nothing to be ashamed of, but she was pretty sure it was the first time she had said the words in fro
nt of Grant. She sidled a glance at him and his expression was inscrutable.
“The vitamin-water company? That stuff’s great.” Eric nodded his head. “And it’s encouraging to see new volunteers around this place. Will you be here for Thanksgiving? You can meet my wife, Marla.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” And she meant it. For the first time in years she actually had someplace to go.
Eric seemed to weigh her words, a gentleness in his eyes. “Excellent. It’s a total madhouse. We always need the extra hands. Will you be here for Christmas, too?”
The innocent question threw Calista for a moment. Of course she was staying for Christmas. And the next. And the next, if she had her way.
She finally opened her mouth to respond but Grant spoke first, his tone brisk, almost cold. “Let’s not plan too far ahead.”
Eric blinked, then shrugged.
Right, the mission was way behind on funds. Maybe it was still touch and go. But she had a plan and she was going to put it in motion just as soon as she got the chance. “Well, I better get back to work. Lana wants this last pile cleared up before the new office recruit comes in tomorrow.”
See, easy peasy. Calista felt satisfaction with her businesslike attitude. That was always something she could fall back on, professional distance. And with Grant, any distance was a good thing.
* * *
Grant suppressed an urge to slap his forehead as he remembered why they’d come down there in the first place. “Actually, I was wondering if you could go help Michelle in the day care. She’s short-staffed this morning and they finger paint on Wednesdays.”
He glanced at her light blue linen jacket and the cream silk blouse underneath and hoped they had enough aprons. Then he jerked his gaze away as he realized she might not understand his concern. His face went hot.
“I’d be glad to,” she said, eyes widening with surprise, sounding genuinely happy about being given finger-painting duty.
“Don’t worry about the files. We’ll get to them later today. You’ve really cut down the stacks in the past few weeks.”
She flashed him a bright smile and gave another quick dusting to the knees of her pants. “I’ll head right over. Nice to meet you, Eric.”
They both moved out of the doorway as she slipped by and headed down the hallway. A light fragrance followed her and he resisted the urge to take a deep breath. The view from the back brought the sudden image of her wiggling back out from under that desk. He ran a finger under his collar and frowned. “They must have the heat on high in this room.”
Eric let out a laugh. “No, buddy, it’s just you. Not that I’m blaming you, you understand.”
Grant glared at his oldest friend and refused to take the bait. “Whatever. And what was that about staying for Christmas?”
Eric threw up his hands, as if to ward off Grant’s unhappiness. “A perfectly reasonable question! And don’t worry. She’s not going anywhere. She’s so into you.”
He had turned back toward his office but he swiveled to face Eric. “Why do you say that?”
A huge sigh escaped Eric’s lips as he shook his head. “Are you saying you just can’t tell, or are you saying you’re not sure if she’s sincere?”
Grant blinked. “Well, if she did feel something for me, then I think she’s sincere. She seems that type. Honest, straightforward, doesn’t play games.”
“I agree. And to answer the first question for you, I say there’s a whole lot of something going on there. I don’t think she was blushing for me.”
Grant continued down the hallway, letting Eric carry the conversation alone. He held open the door to his office and was glad of the momentary pause to collect his thoughts. He wanted to lean his head out the little office window and shout to the world that Calista—sharp, clever, sweet Calista—felt something for him. It was almost unbelievable. What did she even see in him? His whole life was wrapped up in the mission, in these people who were struggling just to survive.
But then he thought of the one thing they could never conquer, and slumped against the desk, legs outstretched. You can’t live your life for making money and be able to let it go at the same time. And working at the mission was all about letting it go.
“Is she Christian?” Eric settled back in his chair and Grant snapped back to the moment. He’d asked the one question that made Grant want to give him a high five. That was why he was a good friend, a best friend. He knew where the bottom line was in Grant’s life.
He leaned against his desk, smiling. “Yes, but she’s sort of making her way back from a rough childhood.”
“That can be awkward, if one of you is farther along on your faith journey.” Eric’s tone was cautionary. He had been in love before he met Marla. And the woman just never could make up her mind. In the end, he broke his own heart rather than marry a girl who didn’t even believe in God. It was a horrible time and Grant remembered the sadness that shadowed Eric’s eyes.
Grant nodded. “I know. But...” He stared at his shoes for a moment, frowning. “There’s something about her, the way she makes friends. She listens to the old people and the kids. And Marisol.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I can’t explain it. She seems to have this joy about her.” He shook his head, frustrated with his inability to nail it down, whatever it was.
“Whatever it is, don’t worry so much. God’s will comes first. Everything and everybody else falls in line. Or not.” Eric’s expression hardened, probably thinking back on his own wasted attempt to convince God that he knew better. “And if she’s on the same page, then there’s nothing to worry about. She’ll be searching for His will, too.”
Grant hesitated, contemplating the strange new idea that there was more to his future than leading this mission. He felt at home here herding kids, counseling parents and raising funds. But God knew his needs, knew his heart inside and out.
He rubbed his jaw and voiced his doubts. “I don’t want it to take away from my work here, to be a distraction.”
“I know. That’s why you’re great at what you do. You
really care about keeping your commitment to these people. But remember that verse in John, the one that says Jesus came so that we might have life and live it more abundantly? If it’s right, you won’t be carving out a piece from a pie, diverting your attention away from this place. Your life will be more abundant because of her.”
Grant nodded, feeling the tension in his neck ease at the reassurance. Eric was an excellent sounding board. For years, he’d been bouncing doubts off his red-haired friend.
“You’re a good man, you know that, right?”
“Yup. But ten years from now, when your house is overrun with little kids, just remember I had nothing to do with it,” Eric said, his voice full of laughter.
Chapter Eight
“Do you have any experience with children?” Michelle shot Calista a dubious look as they set out the pots of finger paints. Lissa and two helpers were leading the preschoolers in a rousing game of “duck, duck, goose” while the craft tables were readied for the onslaught of small artists. A CD of Christmas music played softly on a stereo. Nobody seemed to mind that they’d started the season just shy of Thanksgiving.
“Um, well...” Calista didn’t quite know how to answer the question. She had done a little babysitting in high school. It wasn’t exactly rocket science. “A little.”
“I guess I’m trying to ask whether you know what you’re getting into here.” Michelle stood up and put her hands on her hips, eyeing Calista as if she was applying for a position at the FDIC.
She nodded, lining up small tubs of primary colors next to large sheets of glossy white paper. “Kids don’t bother me. I know they can be noisy, have snotty noses, cry a lot. But I’m made of tougher stuff than you might think.” She looked up at Michelle and flashed a bright smil
e, but only got silence in return. “How hard can it be to keep a bunch of little kids occupied for a few hours?”
Michelle let out what sounded suspiciously like a laugh disguised at the last minute as a cough. “Exactly. How hard can it be?”
Calista went back to setting out finger-paint pots and paper, trying to squelch the fear that was rising in her chest. She had nerves of steel. She brokered deals with huge corporations, oversaw hundreds of employees. A group of preschoolers wasn’t going to be a problem. Was it?
* * *
Grant stood in the open classroom door and fought to keep his expression neutral. Michelle was holding her own at a long table of squirming children dripping with paint. Most of the color was getting onto the paper and the rest was dabbed on the oversize smocks the kids were wearing. Michelle’s helper looked like a Ping-Pong player, balancing on the balls of her feet as she waited for the next semiemergency and her chance to swoop in for the save.
Lissa’s table was about the same, maybe a little noisier with mostly little boys. They bounced in their chairs like jumping beans, constantly in motion. There was one small child who had smeared paint in his hair and all the way up both arms, but Lissa didn’t bother to wipe him clean. As soon as the paint was put away they would have to hose him down.
But the next table was a disaster. Calista was lost. As thoroughly lost as if God had plunked her down in the Gobi Desert without any water. And she didn’t even seem to know it.
She met his eyes and smiled hugely, blue paint smeared over one cheek, waving to him with a hand covered in green paint. He raised a hand in greeting, wishing he could take a picture, just for posterity. Her face was pure joy, as if she had waited her whole life to finger paint with a group of four-year-olds. The dark-haired teenage girl at the end of the table was shooting exasperated glances at Calista and the rowdy bunch of children as they splattered paint on each other and the table. She urged them to stay seated, reminding the worst offenders that they were going to have to wash the table if they didn’t behave. At any one time, half of the children were out of their seats, borrowing more paint or wiping their hands on their neighbor’s smock, or even their neighbor’s hair.
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