“Phoebe thinks this is a great tree. What do you think?”
“I’m on board with Phoebe.”
Phoebe smiles. “Can we buy it?”
“I don’t see why not.” Stephen gives the tree a couple of good shakes.
“Thank you, Mr. Stephen.” Phoebe grabs my hand. “I can’t wait to decorate it.”
Stephen carries the tree toward the check out, Phoebe and I following behind him. “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas” now serenades us.
I wasn’t sure what Christmas would look like this year, but I know one thing.
I surely didn’t picture it looking like this.
BALANCE
“THIS ORNAMENT IS shaped like a star.” Phoebe hands me a silver, glittery ornament.
We are in the keeping room, the tree securely in its stand. Phoebe and I are decorating the tree. The ornament Gary and Alice gave us? On the bookshelf, still in the box.
Where it will stay. “Thank you.” I hang the star-shaped ornament up high, filling in the places Phoebe can’t reach.
“I bet it’s shiny, isn’t it?” she asks.
“Very,” I reply.
“I knew it.”
She reaches for the next box, her fingers moving deftly over the ornaments. She pulls them out of the slots and hands them to me one by one. Stephen is in the office working. Or at least that’s what he says he is doing. I’m thinking if you get kicked out of a country, that assignment is over and until you get another one, you are considered off work. Especially since it’s so close to Christmas.
You’d think he’d take a break.
But I see where he’s coming from. I’m not working and I’m not taking a break either. I’ve got a suitcase full of items waiting to be photographed. And I have no model. Facts which stress me out.
But as far as tonight goes, I’m hanging with Phoebe, decorating the Christmas tree, and when that’s done we’re going to make cookies together.
“Our Princess Bea is still in Mexico City.” Phoebe cocks her head as she speaks.
Princess Bea?
Oh, yes. Our made-up princess who is supposed to be our bedtime story. The princess has now moved into daytime conversation. Oh well, what could it hurt? “Yes, she’s a teenage princess living in Mexico City.”
“What can happen to her? How does our story start?”
Phoebe is careful to place the lids back on the boxes when she realizes they are empty. She has also stacked the boxes neatly next to the couch. I can tell this is one organized kid.
I take my time answering her question while looking for the perfect spot for the golden ornament with red snowflakes glittered on it. “There. Perfect.”
“I think,” Phoebe starts, “that the prince should come to the palace.”
She says the word prince and Stephen’s face zooms into my mind. Need to squelch that image. Fast. He’s not a prince. If he was, he probably wouldn’t have been kicked out of Zaunesia. “Okay. Is he invited or is he an enemy?”
Phoebe tilts her head, like that might help her decision making. “I’m not sure. I think he should be an enemy prince. That would make the story more exciting, don’t you think?”
“It would. What is the prince’s name?”
“Jonah,” she says quickly.
“Jonah?” Interesting name.
“Yes. Mommy tells me stories from the Bible, and Jonah was in a whale’s belly. So I think he could be a prince.”
“I think so, too. So we have Princess Bea and Prince Jonah.”
Phoebe walks to the tree and starts feeling the branches and the ornaments. Her touch is light and the ornaments jiggle back and forth, their tinkling sound comforting as her hand brushes by. The colored lights blink, making my heart sad that Phoebe can’t see them.
The tree brings the Christmas season to life. It’s more real now, more tangible. Like it’s going to happen. I know Christmas is going to happen no matter what, but now I’m going to be a part of it, whether I like it or not.
And I think I’m starting to like it.
“So,” I say to Phoebe, “If Jonah is an enemy prince, how do they meet?”
“It’s your story,” she says.
I laugh. “Okay. Well, the story of Princess Bea and Prince Jonah starts like this. Princess Bea is in her palace playing the harp. She is a very good harpist. Prince Jonah has a decree from his father, the king of the country next door, that says all the land is now in his possession and Princess Bea’s father must give up his kingship.”
“What’s a degree and is there going to be a war?” Phoebe asks.
“A decree. It’s like a law. If Princess Bea’s father doesn’t do what Prince Jonah’s father wants, then there will be a war.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So, Prince Jonah walks into the palace and hears the most beautiful music he’s ever heard. Instead of going straight to the king, he follows the sound of the music. He has to know who’s making such beautiful music.”
Phoebe backs away from the tree and sits on the couch. “I bet the halls in the palace are long, aren’t they.”
“I think they are. But that’s all of the story for now. We’ll add more at bedtime because we need to start making those cookies.” That and I have no idea where this story is headed. At least now I have a couple of hours to figure it out before she goes to bed.
We spend the next hour baking cookies. Phoebe unearthed Christmas cookie cutters. With the help of some food coloring, we make green and red icing. So now our cookies have a Christmas spirit about them. As we put the last batch into the oven, Stephen walks into the kitchen.
“I couldn’t resist anymore. It smells good in here.”
“We made cookies, Mr. Stephen.” Phoebe waves her hand over the island. “Would you like to try one? They are white chocolate chip.”
“Sounds good.”
Stephen walks over to the platter. “Should I take a wreath or a snowman?” His hand hovers over the plate.
“Try the wreath.” Phoebe smiles.
After taking a bite, he nods his head. “Very good, ladies.”
Phoebe laughs. “I’m not a lady. I’m a little girl.”
“Very good lady and little girl.” He stands over the sink and brushes the crumbs off his fingers.
Phoebe smiles. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t realize you were so domesticated.” He winks at me. “Seems like we should have made cookies for Gary and Alice, not soup.”
“Actually, Phoebe did all the work. I really can’t take credit for these delicious cookies at all.” I’m only stating the truth. She is a whiz in the kitchen. She knew when the dough was the perfect consistency, and she knew the exact moment to take them out of the oven.
“Good job, Phoebe.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stephen.”
“Can we bring some of these to church in the morning? These would be great with coffee, and I bet the other kids would like them.” Stephen takes another bite as he finishes talking.
“Church?” I ask.
“Yes. We have church here. I converted the third garage into a meeting room. My uncle, Roger Day, is the pastor.”
I reach up to touch my scar, my reminder that God didn’t see me favorably regarding this issue. Then I remember Stephen’s touch. How his fingers caressed my face, how he didn’t let my ugliness stop him from kissing me. How my thoughts can turn from God to kissing in seconds is amazing. Of course, only Stephen’s kisses could warrant such directional changes.
“Yeah.” Phoebe starts jumping up and down. “I love it when we come to church here.
Miss Jenny, you are coming, too, aren’t you?”
How is it that I’m in a house with two people who I have no power to say no to? I’m not sure what wrecks me more; Phoebe’s unseeing eyes or Stephen’s amazing kisses.
Not only do both of those things erase the word no from my vocabulary, they both render me totally helpless.
It looks like I’ll be going to church in the mornin
g.
IT’S EIGHT O’CLOCK and Phoebe has climbed into her sofa bed. Between her body wash and shampoo, she smells like tangerines and strawberries. I have never felt so comfortable yet uncomfortable around a little person in my life. I have no brothers or sisters. I never babysat as a teen. Little kids and their ways aren’t familiar to me at all.
“So, what’s happening with Princess Bea?” she asks.
“Ah, yes. Story time.” I will admit to thinking about the story while Phoebe was in the shower. I feel a sense of obligation in not wanting to let her down in any way. That includes trying hard not to tell a lame story. “Well, Prince Jonah has come into the palace with bad news for Princess Bea’s father. But he hears the music, and he thinks it’s beautiful. So he follows it.”
“Then he sees Princess Bea, right?”
“Right. He walks into the room where Princess Bea is playing the harp. The room is beautiful with its furniture and wall hangings and carpets, but the prince doesn’t see any of that. He only sees Princess Bea.”
“And she’s beautiful,” Phoebe says.
“She is. She has the longest hair he’s ever seen. It’s brown and beautiful to match her eyes.”
“Oh, I know. She’s wearing a pretty dress and she’s wearing Cinderella shoes. You know, the glass slippers.”
“Of course she is. And he’s mesmerized,” I say.
“Mesmerized? What’s that?”
I’m becoming so swept up in the story I’m forgetting Phoebe is only seven. I need to remember she is the focus. “It means he doesn’t really notice anything going on around him because he is only looking at her.”
“Oh, okay. Like Mr. Stephen is mesmerized when he comes around you.”
My story world bubble pops at her words. “Um, I’m not sure that’s the same thing.”
Phoebe settles comfortably in the covers. “I can tell a difference when you are both in the room.” She speaks matter of factly. “I think he’s mesmerized.”
I don’t want to talk about Stephen. “Let’s focus on our story.”
“Okay.” Phoebe pulls the covers around her. “Prince Jonah is mesmerized by Princess Bea.”
“So, Princess Bea quits playing the harp and asks him his name. And he tells her it’s Prince Jonah. She tells him her name is Princess Bea and he knows she’s the king’s daughter. He walks over to her, but realizes he has the scroll in his hand. The scroll he’s supposed to give her father.”
“And the scroll says there’s going to be a war?” Her voice sounds anxious.
“Well, the scroll says all the land now belongs to Prince Jonah’s father.”
“Oh. So what does he do?” She squeezes the end of the covers.
“Princess Bea asks him why he has come to the castle. He’s never visited before.”
“And he says, ‘I’ve come to take your father’s lands.’” Phoebe laughs after she speaks.
“Silly goose.” I touch the back of her hand. “No. I don’t think he’s going to tell her. Because now, maybe he’s not sure about taking all the land. Maybe he’s going to go back to his father and tell him about the beautiful princess. He might suggest that he marry the princess, then all the lands will belong to their family.”
“That sounds good. Then there won’t be a war.” Her fingers relax.
“Except the king won’t see it the same way. He won’t want to wait for a wedding. He’ll want the lands now.”
Phoebe’s eyes widen. “Then there will be a war.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Unless Prince Jonah can change his father’s mind.”
“Does he? Change his father’s mind?”
I tap Phoebe’s nose gently. “I guess you’ll find out tomorrow night.”
“Ah, Miss Jenny. Really?”
“Really. It’s time for you to go to sleep.” It warms my heart that she’s enjoying my story.
“Okay. Can we call my mommy tomorrow?”
“Of course. Mr. Stephen will help you do that.”
“Okay.”
I brush her bangs out of her eyes. Not sure why, I just felt compelled.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
“Night.” She scrunches her eyes shut.
I walk out of her room and into the kitchen. I must admit I’ve never met anyone like Phoebe.
“So, why did you break up with me?”
Stephen’s voice catches me off guard. “What?”
“I need to call Gary in a couple of days to tell him you’ve broken up with me. He’s going to ask why, don’t you think?”
“Probably.”
“What possible reason would you have for doing such a thing? Breaking my heart like that.” His expression screams disbelief.
In thinking about everything I know about Stephen, I try to determine what would drive anyone to break up with him. I wonder if something drove Leah. Or maybe he broke up with her. My mind drifts back to earlier today when we saw the brunette at the Christmas tree place. “Your wandering eye?”
“Wandering eye?”
“Yes. Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring down the brunette at the Christmas tree farm.”
“Uh, that was work.”
“Like dinner with the king’s daughter was work? You have an interesting job, Stephen.”
“It’s very interesting. And the king’s daughter has a name. Arabella.”
He reaches behind his laptop and pulls out his camera. He starts fiddling with the buttons.
“Perfect name for royalty. So I understand that you wouldn’t want to tell Gary you have a wandering eye. How about you want me to stay home, birth babies and do your laundry for the rest of my life.”
“That might work.”
“Really? Well, that right there might be the problem. Our problem. Tell him I’ve traveled the world, love it and want to continue doing so.”
He looks at me, one eyebrow raised. “Are you serious?”
“Will he believe it?”
He shakes his head. “Not sure. I guess it will depend on how broken hearted I sound.”
“Break out the tears if you have to.”
“Never. Come look at this.”
I walk over to him. My stomach flutters being this close in proximity to Stephen. I wish it wouldn’t, but there are some things that can’t be helped.
I need to find a balance when it comes to Stephen. A balance for my mind and my body. I can’t continue to become flustered whenever I’m around him.
“Look at this picture.” Our shoulders touch as he shows me a photo.
A sleek, lean cheetah fills the screen. The cheetah’s face is turned toward the camera, its eyes wide, searching. One paw is slightly in front of the other, as if the cheetah is ready to pounce at any given second.
“I’m assuming you took this.” I can’t draw my gaze away from the photo.
“I did. I see you in this picture.”
I try to appreciate his words.
But I’m not used to being compared to a four-legged animal.
BEFUDDLED (YES, REALLY)
“GRACE AND BEAUTY exude from this animal.”
I look away from the photo as Stephen speaks. His voice carries a passion whenever he talks about his job.
I used to have that same passion. So much passion, in fact, that I risked going under the knife to be the best. But striving to be the best turned out to be the worst thing I could have ever done.
“I see the same traits in you.” He cocks his head. “And Lord, help me, I want you to see yourself the way I see you.”
My cheek chooses this moment to ache with an abandonment unsurpassed. The scar starts to itch, and it takes everything in me to resist scratching it. The itch starts to tingle.
As long as the tingle stays on my face and away from the parts of my body that are touching Stephen.
“Stephen, I appreciate what you are trying to do. I’m good with who I am. A few months ago I lived to be photographed. Things are different now.”
“Different doesn’t have
to be bad.”
He starts stepping backwards, bringing his camera to his eye, like he’s going to take my picture.
“What are you doing?” My instinct is to turn away from the camera.
From him.
“Smile.” He keeps the camera aimed at me.
Now I do turn away. “No. Are you crazy? And I’m not turning around until you set that camera down.”
“Then you won’t be looking at me much because I take Millie everywhere.”
“Millie?” I will admit that staring at the kitchen cabinets is not as nice as staring at Stephen.
“My camera. Her name’s Millie. After my grandmother who taught me to love everything about photography.”
“Well, Millie and I aren’t friends, understand?”
“Millie loves you.”
I don’t need his whispered voice close to my ear to tell me Stephen is by my side. My body knows when that man is close. It’s insane.
“I set Millie on the counter.” He walks around in front of me, palms facing toward me. “See. No Millie.”
“Thank you.”
Now a silence hovers, mocking the nothingness that really exists between us. We only seem to do two things well. Argue and kiss.
My gaze locks with his.
Blue pools of glass remind me of calm waters fueling the rapid beating of my heart as I realize his eyes have the power to drown me. The fact that simply looking into his eyes can pull me down into who he is, the depths of him waiting to be explored, makes me rethink everything I have ever known about loving someone.
Because I firmly believe I’m not in love with Stephen Day, yet after knowing him for less than forty-eight hours, he’s emotionally taken me to places I’ve never been before.
Ever.
I was with Jeff for over a year and I realize now how lukewarm my emotions were regarding him.
And I thought I loved him.
I now know how little I know about love.
In an attempt to rise to the surface of reality I take a deep breath. The problem?
I’m breathing in everything about Stephen.
His scent, his closeness, his masculinity which causes my feminine side to totally whack out.
And all he’s doing is standing in front of me.
I take a step back. “I’m tired. I need sleep.”
Rich in Hope (Richness in Faith Trilogy Book 2) Page 8