Miss Match: a Lauren Holbrook novel

by Erynn Mangum

  Laney and Lexi hop out and walk to the front of the restaurant, chattering happily.

  I follow dumbstruck, my mouth permanently glued into an expression of sheer shock.

  Love? They think I love Ryan Palmer?

  I barely know the guy!

  I don’t know his favorite color or his favorite book or favorite movie.

  Heck, I don’t even know his middle name!

  A massive headache descends from the doorway of the restaurant. I believe it falls from the mistletoe still hanging there.

  How tacky. It has now been a month since Christmas.

  “Baby, what’s the order under?”

  “Laurie,” I answer dumbly.

  “Laurie,” Lexi repeats to the twenty-something male who is salivating over her. She calmly taps the counter with her left hand, displaying her very prominent diamond solitaire.

  “One minute.” He stares at the ring and turns away.

  We are back in the car a moment later. I, still in a trancelike state, buckle my seat belt.

  “So when do we get to meet him?” Laney asks. They switched seats, and now Laney is in the front.

  “I’ll make a deal.” My wits begin to return. “I’ll let you meet Ryan when you tell Dad you’re pregnant.”

  Laney rolls her eyes at me. “Hardy-har-har. It just so happens that we’re going to tell him today.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Lexi leans forward so she can see Laney. “It’s true, Cakey. Why do you keep putting it off?”

  Laney gives Lexi a frustrated look. “You know Dad. He’ll go ballistic. Remember when I was pregnant with the twins? He wouldn’t let me move from the time I began showing.” She rubs her hands on her stomach. “I just think the longer I prolong it, the better.”

  “Or the worse,” I say. “Dad’s feelings might be hurt if you keep putting it off and he finds out all of us know.”

  “Well, act surprised today, okay?”

  Lexi gives me a look, but nods. “Okay, Cake.”

  Side note: Lexi has a thing about calling people by their real names. She abstains from it like it would give her a rash. Ever since I can remember, I have been Honey, Baby, Sweetie, Butternut, or, my personal favorite, Doll-face. I have a vast array for Lexi to choose from.

  Laney, on the other hand, has always been called Cake by Lexi. The birth of the nickname occurred many years ago. The story goes that Laney, then four, wanted to make our mom a cake for her birthday, and since she couldn’t read the recipe, she ended up with something resembling Play-Doh, except with chili powder. She’s been Cake or Cakey ever since.

  We get back to the house with the food, and the boys do a grand job of consuming everything in sight.

  “Dad,” Laney says after the kitchen is cleaned, “can you come into the living room?”

  We troop in.

  “Okay.” Laney is smiling with that maternal glow. She looks beautiful. Her brown-blonde hair is curling in gentle tendrils around her face, and her gray eyes are sparkling with tears. Adam takes her hand.

  “Daddy, I’m pregnant,” she says softly.

  I have known for about three weeks. And still, I start crying when she says it. So does Lexi, and the tears stop building up in Laney’s eyes and are allowed to free-fall. Then Dorie starts crying because her mom is, and Dad gets choked up as he pulls his firstborn into a huge hug.

  We are a big, blubbery mess.

  Then we start laughing. And we cry again. And laugh again.

  They don’t leave until about ten thirty, carrying sleepy kids out the door. Laney and Lexi hug me, and Brandon gives me a wink.

  I fall into bed that night exhausted and read a short chapter in Ephesians. Rolling to my back, I stare up at the ceiling, looking at the one remaining glow-in-the-dark star I glued up there in second grade.

  Tomorrow is Sunday and the first day of February. Morning will come swiftly, then the inevitable scramble, and then Bible study.

  Small groups!

  I sit straight up in bed. “Oh no!”

  Junior high girls. Tuesday nights. Apostleship.

  I’m supposed to have studied the first chapter by Monday so I can talk over it with Ruby. All I’ve done so far is just briefly skim it.

  I fall back in bed. Tomorrow’s schedule is thus planned out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday school begins promptly at nine o’clock on Sunday mornings. I slide into an empty chair on the left side of the room at 8:57, thoroughly worn out. My alarm clock is on the fritz — again — and decided to go off at 4:27.

  I’m dressed nicely because I was raised to dress well for church. Dad always, without fail, wears a tie, and since I sit next to him at the worship service, I don’t want to look like he took pity on a poor homeless kid. I wear brown corduroys and a white top.

  Just as Nick moves toward the front of the class, Ryan drops into the seat beside me.

  “Hey,” he smiles.

  “Wow, you clean up well, Construction Sam,” I whisper, since Nick is beginning his “welcome to class” speech.

  “Same to you, Patty Photographer.”

  He does look good. Carpenter-style khakis, a button-down shirt, and heavens! His hair is actually combed!

  He winks and turns toward the front.

  “Everyone, we’re beginning a new book this week. Turn to Romans, please.”

  Man. Either God really wants me to read Romans, or I am living in a parallel universe.

  “Romans 1,” Nick continues. “‘Paul, a servant,’ and we’ll stop there for today.” He looks up from the Bible, grinning.

  Nick teaches for thirty minutes on those three words, and I find myself taking notes furiously. Obviously, this is a book Nick adores like a clown fish would a coral reef.

  Here we go again.

  “Paul, a servant,” Nick finishes. “We need to consistently examine our actions for signs of service. Ladies and gentlemen, we are at a time in our lives when we have the greatest chance to really serve. And as such, we have a responsibility to God for how we use this time. Service to others or service to ourselves?” He closes his Bible. “Let’s pray.”

  Class dismisses, and people begin to gather their Bibles, coats, gloves, and hats. I stay where I am and so does Ryan.

  “So.” He lounges in his seat. “How was your family lunch yesterday?”

  “Good. Laney finally told Dad she’s pregnant.”

  He angles one eyebrow up. “How far along is she?”

  “Seven weeks on Wednesday.”

  He nods. “Laney is the one with twins, right?”

  “Wow, Ryan. You’re good. What have you been doing, researching?”

  He grins. “Well, I figure I should know at least a little about my” — he clears his throat — “future wife.”

  “I suppose I have no secrets left.”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re making me look bad, Ryan.” I turn slightly so I can see him better. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Black.”

  I make a face. “Yuck.”

  “Deal with it.”

  “What’s your middle name?”

  “William.”

  I test it out. “Ryan William Palmer.”

  “That’s the name.”

  “And it’s a good, solid name.” I look down at my hands. “Um, Laney and Lexi want to meet you.”

  “Oh yeah?” He sounds amused. I glance up. His eyes are sparkling with absolute glee.

  “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  He covers the grin with his fist. A huge scab mars three of his knuckles.

  “Ryan!” I exclaim, grabbing his hand. “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It looks terrible. You need to put some peroxide on that.” I touch the scab gently.

  “Thank you, Dr. Laurie.”

  “How did you do this?”

  “I was being stupid and careless.”

  I give him a look. “
Well, stop doing that. You’re going to make me a widow before I’m even a wife.” I set his hand in his lap.

  He smiles at me. “Have I mentioned how pretty you look, Miss Holbrook?”

  What is this? My cheeks start to burn.

  He tips his head at me. “I like your hair like this.”

  “Curly?”

  “Yeah. And long. You should keep your hair long.”

  I nod. “Will do.”

  Nick finishes chatting with Engaged Couple Number 3 and walks over to us. “Hey, guys.” He looks from me to Ryan with a slight wrinkle between his eyebrows.

  “Hi, Nick.” This is getting fun.

  “Hey.” Ryan oh-so-subtly slides his arm around the back of my chair.

  Nick’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Did I miss something?”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask innocently.

  He points at both of us. “You two. Are you . . . ?”

  “Are we . . . ?” Ryan copies Nick’s tone. He is clearly not giving Nick any help at all.

  I like this guy more every minute.

  “Dating?” Nick finishes.

  “What?” I laugh.

  “Well, it’s just that you guys seem pretty . . . uh, comfortable, with each other.”

  “Oh, Nick,” I protest.

  Ryan shifts and looks at me. “That’s not a bad idea, though.”

  I blink at him. “What? Dating?”

  “Yeah. Do you want to go out with me?”

  I fight every urge to look at Nick. “Seriously?”

  “Sure. Why not? I like you. Maybe Wednesday?” Ryan’s eyes are twinkling, and a stubborn smirk curls his mouth.

  Have I mentioned how cute he is when he smiles?

  “Well . . . I guess . . . I guess I can do Wednesday. Before Bible study.”

  He grins. “That’s what I meant. Pick you up at five?”

  “Uh, sure. Okay.”

  During this conversation, Ryan slips his arm off the back of my chair, and it rests around my shoulders casually. I look up at Nick, who has the expression of someone watching canned tuna play ring around the rosy.

  “What were you saying, Nick?” I smile.

  He blinks and jerks slightly. “Nothing. We should get to the service, folks.”

  “Right behind you.” Ryan watches Nick pick up his Bible and notebook, and leave.

  The moment his back is out of sight, I start giggling. “Ryan, that was perfect!” I exclaim, smacking his arm.

  “You’re not a bad actress yourself, Laurie.”

  We stand and he picks up my Bible. “Want to go get something to eat after the service and maybe plan out Wednesday night?”

  I don’t answer at first. Instead, I study him as we push through throngs of people to get to the sanctuary.

  Laney and Lexi are here today. They can meet him. Dad can put his mind to rest that I am, in fact, dating a Christian.

  Dating?

  Are we even technically dating? The whole thing is a ploy.

  But, spear me, I like the guy. He’s carrying my Bible for me, for Pete’s sake!

  “Sure,” I tell him.

  “Great. Think about where you want to go.”

  “Someplace with dessert. All this scheming is making me want chocolate.”

  “Ah, then I have the place for you. I hope it’s open on Sundays.” He picks a row of chairs and lets me enter first. “Here.” He passes my Bible. “Be sure and save a seat for your dad.”

  “And my sisters. And their families.” I pull off my coat and scarf and drape them along the row. He watches me, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it. “What?” I demand.

  “Nothing. When do the shoes come off so you can save those last two seats?”

  “Shut up and give me your coat.”

  He hands me his beat-up leather jacket that barely passes for a coat.

  Lexi sidles up beside me. “Baby, thanks for saving seats.”

  I read her look even before she opens her mouth. “Lexi, this is Ryan.”

  Ryan stands immediately and shakes her hand, then Nate’s.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Ryan.” Lexi smiles coyly.

  “You work in construction?” Nate says, setting his and Lexi’s Bibles on two of the saved seats.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “What are you doing this Saturday?” Nate asks.

  Ryan shrugs. “I don’t think I have plans.”

  “Great! Want to help me lay out a new porch?”

  “A porch?” I look at Nate, incredulous. “Nate, it’s thirty degrees outside. And you want to build a porch?”

  “Sure. That way it’s done when it’s time to sit out there with lemonade.”

  Ryan laughs. “Sure, I’ll help. What time?”

  “Say eleven?”

  “Laurie, you can come too,” Lexi says.

  Uh-oh.

  Now here’s a nice little domestic scene. The men outside pounding a porch together, the women inside making hot chocolate. I can see this one coming.

  Nate will give the standard You-Hurt-Her, You’ll-Be-Fish-Bait speech in between hammer blows, while Lexi gives the standard Play-Hard-to-Get-or-Wind-Up-with-a-Lousy-Diamond lecture.

  Afterward, thoroughly humiliated and ragged, Ryan and Laurie will drive away contemplating both the monastery/nunnery option and the Guess-We-Could-Elope-and-Move-Far-Far-Away alternative.

  I open my mouth to give any sort of excuse to keep from being there on Saturday.

  “Why don’t you come, Laurie?” Ryan says. Only it isn’t a command, as Brandon would have done.

  “Okay,” I hear myself saying. “Saturday.”

  “This is a big mistake,” I protest to Ryan later as he opens his car door for me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Saturday. Building a porch. Making hot chocolate. Speeches.”

  Ryan looks at me like I’ve been bowing to Tina Braxton again. “Beg your pardon?”

  “I just know we’re going to regret this. And where are you taking me, pray tell?”

  “The other day I was on lunch break and I drove past this little place. I only had like half an hour, so I went in.” His grin broadens. “You’re going to love it.”

  A moment later, he turns on a side street and stops in front of a corner building with a big sign painted on the windows: Merson’s.

  “Who’s Merson?”

  He shrugs as he opens the front door for me.

  A blast of warm air followed by the knee-weakening scent of freshly baked gingerbread and roasted coffee hits me in the face.

  I inhale. “Lead me in, O Favored One.”

  Tables are arranged sporadically throughout the little restaurant. A long counter stretches along the back side, and — get this — a ceiling-to-floor glass contraption stocked with every kind of dessert imaginable fills the entire back wall.

  I could kiss Ryan.

  Struck speechless, I stare in open-mouthed wonder at the sight.

  “Can I help you?” a tall, skinny guy with a shock of badly highlighted blond hair asks.

  Ryan glances at me and I guess realizes I’m still in shock. “I think we’ll need a few minutes,” he says.

  “Sure. I’ll be in the back. Just ring the little dinger here when you’re ready.” He bangs an old-style gold desk bell a few times as an example.

  Meanwhile, I’m in paradise.

  I find my voice.

  “Chocolate pie, chocolate cake, chocolate pudding . . .”

  “Laurie, you skipped the rhubarb pie, banana cream pie, and bread pudding.” Ryan points to the case.

  I make a face. “Yucky. Blegh. Gross.”

  I look at the menu suspended above the counter. Search. Find.

  “I know what I want.”

  He grins at me. “You want to do the honors?”

  I take great pleasure in slamming the dinger a few times. The guy comes around the corner, rubbing his hands on a dishtowel, his eyebrows raised.

  “Dealing with
a master, I see.” He tucks the towel in his apron. “What can I get you folks?”

  Ryan looks at me. I clear my throat. “I would like a slice of your chocolate pecan cheesecake and a cup of very hot coffee.”

  “Room for cream?”

  “Absolutely, if it’s just milk.”

  He nods, smiling. “And for you?”

  Ryan purses his lips. “Key lime pie. And coffee, as well.”

  “Room for cream?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He scribbles down the order on a piece of paper and punches in the numbers on a calculator. “Six dollars and sixty cents.”

  Ryan pays while I take the tray to a table by the window. “Thanks, Ryan.” I sit and pull my coffee over. It’s good — better than good.

  He pockets his wallet and sits opposite me. “You’re welcome. Though I feel like I’m abetting your sugar addiction. This isn’t a very healthy lunch.”

  “I didn’t feel like being healthy today anyway.”

  He hands me a fork. “When have you ever felt like being healthy?”

  “Last week. I ordered a salad.”

  He gasps dramatically.

  “Yes, I know. It was a pivotal moment in my life. Especially since I didn’t order dessert with it. That is how you balance meals out, you know.”

  “Actually, I don’t know.”

  I fork off a creamy bite. “See, if I had wanted to be healthy, I would have ordered a salad, then gotten the cheesecake, because since I ate the salad, I would then be able to eat the cheesecake guilt-free.” The cake melts in my mouth and I decide where I want to die.

  Ryan is still talking. “Have you ever felt guilty about eating dessert?”

  I nod. “Only once. I was at Laney’s house and there was this big chocolate cake on the counter, so I got a hunk of it and ate it only to find out that Laney was going to take it to her Bible study. I felt guilty then.”

  He laughs. “I liked meeting your sisters.”

  “They liked meeting you.”

  “This pie is excellent. Want some?”

  I lick my fork clean and take a little piece. Sour! I smack my lips. “Ack! All the saliva in my mouth has vanished!” Drain the rest of my coffee.

  Ryan shakes his head. “You’re not dramatic in the least, are you?”