by Maggie Way
Lottie shook her head and walked backward. After all, she did have to get to work. She might be responsible for opening the café, now that her father was reducing his hours, but even then he had an uncanny ability to know if she was late or not. Lecturing her about the necessity of timeliness and responsibility seemed to give him great pleasure. “Who would have thought you would grow up to join the ministry, and I would—”
“You didn’t have my father.” He sighed heavily.
She knew it wasn’t from the weight of his childhood, which had been heavy indeed, that led him to the Church. But from the outcome. He could have had an entirely different life. One not so easy, enjoyable, and acceptable as the one he has now had someone not offered him support.
“If it hadn’t been for the de Bourghs and the Church, I wouldn’t be walking my pretty friend to work. I’d be walking the yards. Doing time. Deep within me, Lotts, there’s a dark criminal. An evil—”
She punched his shoulder. “Oh, please. However do you get your fix? Are there mass graves of abducted dogs behind seminary school, or are you a cat burglar we haven’t heard of yet?”
He snorted.
“Deep within you, Billy, was a scared kid who’d lost his mother and was stuck with a father whose querulous nature was exacerbated by his grief following his wife's death. You’re no more evil than I am.”
They nudged each other with their shoulders a couple of times and continued a few steps in silence.
“Hey, I forgot to ask. How’s the sermon writing from Pastor Rasch going?”
“If I keep up the good work, I might get the church when he moves on up,” Bill jerked his thumb toward heaven.
“That’s the plan? You going into the church?”
“That’s the push,” he corrected.
She inspected the path behind his shoes. “Are those drag marks?” Because he never talked about having his own church; she just assumed that was what he’d do. “Isn’t that what every pastor wants?”
“I never saw myself standing at a pulpit screaming hellfire and damnation.”
Neither did she honestly. She held the flashlight under her chin, the light casting upwards in the same manner camp kids did to spook others. “Hellfire and damnation, William Collins. A man of the cloth doesn’t want his own church?” She drew out the last word, hoping to make it creepy. “The world is coming to an end.”
“Precisely.” He pulled the light from her hand. “You’re freaking me out.”
“What do you mean precisely?”
“I mean, I went to seminary school so that I could be a help to people, kinda like a tour guide way from bad to good. And when the zombie apocalypse comes and I’m running for my life, trying to keep you safe, and blasting them away, I like knowing there’s something stronger than me out there. I like knowing I have someone on my team at all times.”
Lottie drew out the awww until she was out of air. “You’d try and save me during the apocalypse?”
Bill stopped and faced her. “Yeah. Of course, I’ll need someone who knows how to cook.”
She whacked him on the arm as hard as she could. “Give me that stun gun. I’m going to zap some sense into you.”
Bill chuckled but held the device out of reach. “Can I make a confession?”
She nodded but knew he didn’t need the affirmation from her. They told each other everything.
“Have you seen the congregation? They’re so old!”
“Bill!” She shoved him harder. “You could turn it around. Bring in the younger people.”
He shrugged. “Sounds like a lot of work. I like teaching at the seminary school. And as for the sermons? Let’s just say Pastor Rasch doesn’t appreciate my humor. I also really like the counseling work I do at Meryton. Interesting, too.”
She stopped and faced him. The streetlights that lined the sidewalk cast just the right glow that she could see the large smile on his face. “What do you mean he doesn’t like your sermons? What did you do?” She couldn’t wait to hear this story. By nature Bill was a needler. He liked to poke the soft spots of others in a gentle way. He claimed that until one knew where their weaknesses lie they would never be fully strong.
“A few weeks back he gave a sermon so boring I was reminded of Eutychus, he was the one who fell asleep listening to Paul preach and fell out a window. I kept leaning against the big plate window up front. You know, the one by the cross? Nothing. If ever there was a time to be abandoned by the Lord.” He shook his head. “Later Rasch asked me what I thought. I told him it might behoove him to try something new. Raise his voice, maybe. Do a rap or something.”
Lottie laughed. “And of course he didn’t make any changes in his sermon.” She would have heard about it immediately from her father, a strict and pious man in his own right. “Besides, where would Rasch get a rap? I can't imagine he'd write it.”
“I wrote one about Jesus dying on the cross.”
“You did not.” She couldn’t hold back her laughter.
“I certainly did. Dr. Dre, Puff Daddy. They’ve done it. What a better way to spread the word than through a song that sticks. Know what I mean?”
Of course she did. This was not a new idea from him.
“You’re a nut,” she told him.
“Takes one to know one.” He flung an arm around her shoulder. “Want some help making the donuts?”
“I don’t make donuts, and you know it.” Her stomach flopped. She loved how his hand rested lazily on her shoulder. “You know I always like the help. But what are you avoiding? What’s going on here?”
If he tried to deny it, she would stick her elbow into his ribs. That always worked.
Bill wiped his free hand down his face. “My fair lady is coming to town. She’s bringing her nephew, Darcy.”
“But you love when Lady Catherine de Bourgh comes.”
“Yeah, but this time it’s about the matchmaker business, and I think it might not be good. I can’t decide what I should do. If I share my fears with the Bennet sisters, and I’m wrong, then I caused worry for no reason.”
Lottie stepped closer. The sisters, Elizabeth and Jane, were her roommates. Was she expected to keep this from them as well?
“Just be honest. When does she come?”
Bill shrugged one shoulder. “She wasn’t specific. She just said this week.”
They arrived at the back door to Lottie’s family’s café. In business for over fifty years, and most days it felt like they still served from that tired outdated menu. She turned over the locks and stepped into the dark back room. It smelled like vanilla and sugar. Bill flicked on the lights, and the brightness forced her to cover her eyes.
“I love coming here,” he said while locking the door behind him. “It smells like how home should be.”
She smiled up at him. “That’s one of the best compliments I’ve ever been given.”
They stared at one another, smiling. She wondered if he was thinking about all the escapades they shared as children. Or if maybe he remembered the quiet times in her tree house where he would read to her.
Lottie remembered those times too. But that was not the first thing she thought about when she saw Bill. Nope. Her first image was one that was burned in her brain and haunted her at night. She saw Bill like she had a few months past, working shirtless in his garden. If looks could sear she’d burn his shirt right off right now to get an eyeful of his mouthwatering, well-defined chest.
“What’s the theme for today?” The apron he slipped over his head was the one with the bare, sculpted male chest printed on the front.
Lottie’s mouth began to water. It was time for her to stop dreaming about what she wanted and to start going for it. Professionally and personally. But she’d have to tread cautiously with Bill. Confessing her desire to get to know him in the Biblical sense, for the rest of her life, had a high probability of freaking him out.
“Lotts? The theme?” He waved a hand in front of her face.
“Surprise.” S
he gulped. “The theme is surprise.”
Chapter Two
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man seeking a relationship (or spouse) would be in need of a wingman. Who better to fill that role than the staff at Meryton Matchmakers? Particularly when one is seeking something permanent with the opposite (fairer) sex. Elizabeth Bennet knew this to be a truth that had stood the test of time.
“How are the numbers this month?” Elizabeth asked her sister over her laptop.
Only the top of Jane’s head showed as she had the rest downward and was typing madly. She made a grand gesture of waving her hand, pressed one key then looked up.
“Not good. Not bad. Sorta a lull.” The printer behind Jane started up, made a whirling sound, and then spit out a paper.
Elizabeth was thankful every day she worked with her kindhearted and easygoing sister. Even sharing an office with their desks pushed to face one another did not wear on either their bond as sisters or their business relationship. Plus, the arrangement allowed them to communicate without so much as saying a word.
Sister-speak.
“Is there a trend? Does love have a down season?” Elizabeth asked and took the paper her sister passed over.
“Apparently. Or, perhaps more precisely, we do.” She crossed her arms.
Jane, the picture of beauty with peaches and cream skin and sun-kissed tresses, possessed a sharp business mind. It was she, after all, who’d drafted the initial business plan on cocktail napkins for Meryton Matchmakers the same evening Elizabeth pitched it to her four years ago over tapas and wine.
“Let’s spend some time this afternoon talking about marketing and troubleshooting some new ideas.”
Elizabeth nodded. Nothing made her feel less effective and unimaginative than a marketing meeting where she’d struggle to produce one sound, quality idea.
“All personnel to the conference room immediately, please. Be quick people.” The voice of the phone systems speaker belonged to Bill.
Contracted as the spiritual advisor for the business, Bill was an on-call employee. Yet that didn’t stop him from popping in most days and hanging about. Mainly to talk about what had happened on Game of Thrones or some other show.
He was a good guy with a quick wit, even if his floppy bangs drove Elizabeth nuts. She wanted to take some scissors to them. They didn’t help his cause to be taken seriously. Particularly when clients were present, and he wanted to be called Mr. Collins. It took a lot of will for Elizabeth to not break into a boy band song when he was around. But the wicked scar he had under those bangs kept her from needling too far.
“What could he possibly want?” Jane asked as she pushed away from her desk.
“I’m half tempted to bring my laptop so I can scoop him with spoilers. If this is about some show—” Elizabeth said.
“Lizzy, you would never be so rude!” Jane wouldn’t swat at a fly, much less try to one up it.
“You’re right. I shall bring my phone. Just in case.” She tucked her phone under her arm and grabbed a notepad and pen. At the very least she could get lost in creating a zentangle or make a to-do list. As much as Kitty and Mary enjoyed the watercooler chats, and some days she did as well, the numbers on the paper Jane had handed her earlier were weighing on her. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about The Walking Dead.
“Be quick.” His excited voice echoed throughout the rooms.
“He’s using his Reverend Collins voice. This can’t be good,” Jane said, her voice laden with worry.
Elizabeth closed her laptop and fingered the edge. He did sound…different. More business-like.
Though Bill’s employment was a direct result of his beloved Lady Catherine’s demands, a condition of her investment, he was an integral part of the team. He was quick to recognize pairs who might present well on paper but in person would be a wreck together. Plus, Bill had a knack for defusing arguments between her younger sisters and making the others laugh.
Following Jane into the large central waiting room, Elizabeth glanced through the large glass divider that separated the room from the lobby. Their younger sister Kitty, their part-time receptionist, waved madly at them.
“I’ll be along in a moment, Jane. Kitty’s having a fit.” Crossing the room, Elizabeth opened the glass door and popped out her head. “You need something, Kitty?”
“Do you think he wants me to come?”
He being Bill.
“Why not ask?” There were no clients in the building, as it was the ungodly hour of half-past eight in the morning, and people seeking love and the Matchmakers to bring said love to them usually didn't come around until after ten. Well, the really anxious (dare she say desperate) occasionally came in right as they opened.
Making her way to Kitty’s desk, Elizabeth picked up the receiver and pressed the intercom. “Do you want Kitty to come, Bill?” She intentionally put her lips as close to the receiver as possible so as to muffle and amplify her voice. She did enjoy vexing him so, a task she’d done since they were young children.
She’d no sooner put the phone on the cradle when he responded, his voice heavy with exasperation.
“What have I said about calling me Bill at work, Elizabeth? If we are to be perceived as professionals, we must behave as such and treat each other in the same manner. My most generous mentor has said this on several occasions, and I most heartily agree.” The snicker that followed gave away his jocular manner.
Elizabeth nudged Kitty, who’d covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. Because Bill was their third cousin once removed or something of that sort, the ribbing they gave each other spawned from days when they were children in Mr. Yelvington’s field tossing cow patties.
Elizabeth held up one finger. It didn’t take much patience to outwait William Collins, particularly when he had something he wanted to share.
“Elizabeth?” He breathed into the phone.
“That’s Miss Bennet to you, sir.” It echoed loudly throughout the offices. “If that estimable Madame de B were here, she’d be exceedingly distressed at your lack of professionalism.”
Teasing him about The Bourgh, as Elizabeth liked to call her, was too easy.
Bill laughed. “Kitty, just stay there. Someone can fill you in later,” he said drawing out every vowel possible.
Elizabeth shrugged. “Can’t be that important then.” But Kitty had turned away to answer an incoming call.
“Meryton Matchmakers. If you have a lonely heart, we have the key.” Her phone voice quite engaging.
Elizabeth gave her double thumbs up, because Kitty had been trying to come up with a catchy pitch line. Some of the previous ones had been bloody awful.
Meryton Matchmakers. We’re located near Rosings Park where love comes to bloom.
Meryton Matchmakers. We have an eight-five percent success rate. Take a chance on us and find love.
Or not, Elizabeth had argued. Why highlight their failures?
Kitty smiled at the thumbs up and launched into the pitch about the company.
“Elizabeth!” Bill bellowed, after sticking his head out the conference room door. “We’re all waiting on you. Come quick.”
She made her way to him, slowly of course, knowing he’d prefer her to speed walk or likely preferred she’d run. The longer she took, the larger his eyes grew.
“What’s the matter, Bill? Your eyes look as if they’re going to spring right from your head.” When she reached the door, he gave her a slight shove toward a chair and slammed the door behind her. Elizabeth made a production of slapping her notebook on the table and uncapping her pen.
“What’s all the drama for? Your favorite person bite it on TV?” Elizabeth plopped into a chair.
“Hey.” He wagged a finger at her. “No spoilers. Mary and I were working the soup kitchen and haven’t seen anything yet.” He turned to Mary. “But Lottie’s coming over tonight, and you should too so we can get caught up. Maybe she’ll make those cupcakes that have that oozy red center.”
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“That’s disgusting,” Lydia said.
It had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice that the two most spiritual people in the room were also the most macabre.
“Bill? The reason for the rush?” Elizabeth knew they’d get off track if she didn’t refocus them.
“The rush is because if I made a simpler request, only a small percentage of you would come.” He faced Mary. “Thank you for being so nice, Mary.” He turned to Elizabeth and Jane. “I have something to share.” He clasped his hands before him with a loud smack and began nodding vigorously. “I have some exciting news. Lady Catherine de Bourgh will be here this week. Tomorrow even. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. If it was so wonderful, why was he wringing his hands? And what was up with the manic nodding.
“Bill?” Jane asked. “Do you know why she’s coming?”
“Why else does Lady Catherine de Bourgh, such a blessing her presence will bestow upon us, need to come but to see me?” Bill tossed his bangs out of his eyes before briefly tilting his face upward as if thanking his maker. Then his gaze met Elizabeth’s, and she knew he was deflecting. Something was going to happen, and it might not be good.
“Bill,” Elizabeth warned.
“Honestly, I don’t know why she’s coming. I’d only be speculating if I were to say,” he answered.
Unable to control herself, Elizabeth snorted, which resulted in an elbow to the ribs from Jane. There were two characteristics people could possess that Elizabeth was not overly fond of: a pretentious mannerism and conceit. Lady Catherine—whose now deceased husband was some ninny who’d bought a title simply so she would be called Lady—de Bourgh embodied both of those human flaws and was quite proud of it.
“I feel a bit under the weather.” Elizabeth coughed in her hand for good measure.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Bill pointed at her then blew his bangs upward. They fell directly as they had been a moment ago, the jagged scar beneath barely seen. “I do know she is bringing her nephew, Mr. Darcy, and they both want to meet with head of Human Resources and Public Relations. You will be here every day this week.” He glanced between her and Jane, the tempo of his wringing increasing.