by Clare Revell
Elliott still struggled with the guilt, although he wouldn’t admit that to anyone, not even his twin. “At least Grace is all right.”
“You really like her. So, have you told her how you feel?”
“No, and I’m not going to either.”
“Why not?” Joel shoved his hands into his pockets.
“You’re the one who’s divorced and you’re asking me?”
“Don’t let my failed marriage put you off women.”
“Joel, I watched Caroline destroy you little by little, and you just expect me to open myself up to the same kind of hurt?” He shook his head and took the plate out of the microwave.
“No, El. I expect you to let God give you the kind of life He wants for you. Not to run scared and hide.”
Elliott opened the drawer and picked up a fork. He perched on the stool at the table. “I am not hiding.”
“Of course you’re not. When was the last time you dated a woman?”
Elliott bowed his head while he said grace. He took a mouthful of dinner before answering. “No idea.”
Joel smirked. “You need to get out there and live, El.”
“You can talk. You haven’t dated anyone since your divorce was finalized—years ago.” He took another bite and changed the subject. “This is wonderful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And think about it, please.”
“Marriage?” He raised an eyebrow.
“No, dating. Join an agency or pick some random woman off the street or from the church directory. Just don’t give up.”
“I’ll think about it.” He took another bite, too hungry to discuss his love life, or the lack thereof. The problem was he had come to care for Grace, far more than he was comfortable with and way more than he was ready for or prepared to admit to anyone.
“Hi.” A quiet voice came from the doorway.
He turned and smiled. “Hello, you feeling better?”
“A little.”
“Come and sit.”
Grace slowly crossed the room and sat beside him.
“Can I get you something to eat?” Joel asked. “I saved you some fish if you fancy it.”
She shook her head. “Just water, please.”
The phone in the hall rang, and Joel went to answer it.
“You should at least have juice,” Elliott said. “How long has it been since you ate or drank anything?”
Her face creased in thought. “Last night.”
Elliott stood. “Then you need to eat. I’ll make you some tea and toast.”
“Don’t let yours get cold. When you’re finished is fine.”
He sat again. “OK.”
She rubbed her temples and pushed back against the wall. “I’m sorry for worrying you and the others. I didn’t mean to. I felt so awful—just wanted something to take away the pain, but stupidly lost my balance and knocked my head on something before I could take one of Aunt Tilja’s pills.”
“You should never take someone else’s medication,” he chided gently. “How often do you get migraines?”
“Too often. Normally I take the meds as soon as I get the aura and then go to bed. But that wasn’t possible this time. And, Aunt Tilja and I had the same migraine medicine. I just hoped...”
“I’ll make you an appointment to see my GP, get you set up with more meds. His name is Jackson Parker. You’ll like him. He also goes to our church.”
Grace gave him the look he’d come to know so well. Her do-you-have-to-keep-bringing-church-into-the-conversation look. “Thank you.”
He rose to make her toast. “I want you to stay here tonight.”
“I can’t. The shop…”
“The shop is fine. I checked this afternoon. Shana locked up and she’s opening tomorrow. She and Mandy have everything covered.” He looked at her. “Next argument?”
“It wouldn’t be right,” she whispered.
“What wouldn’t be right?” Joel asked, coming back into the room.
“I told Grace she needed to sleep here tonight,” Elliott said. “She shouldn’t be on her own in case she passes out again.”
Joel nodded. “It’s a good plan, and I promise I’ll protect you from any wicked scheme my twin brother may have.”
Elliott groaned. “That isn’t going to help, you brat.”
Joel grinned. “Takes one to know one. And that was Guy on the phone. He’s had a look at the laptop, and it’s fixable, despite the mug of coffee spilled on it. He’ll have it done by Friday.”
“Oh, thank you,” Grace said. “How much will it be?”
“He said no more than thirty quid, maybe not even that much. And he says the files are salvageable, too. So no harm done, really.”
Elliott looked at Grace, pulling the conversation back to her staying the night. “You can have the couch. I would offer you my bed, and I’ll have the couch, but you’d only say no and run a mile.”
She rubbed her head. “I need to sleep, but I can’t…”
He brought over a mug of tea and plate of toast. “Yes, you can, soon as you’ve eaten this. I promise, you’ll be perfectly safe and besides, you can’t get in the flat ’til Shana comes back with the keys in the morning.”
She sighed in defeat. “OK. The couch it is.”
9
The rest of the week passed slowly, with Grace’s routine not changing. She’d get up and open the shop by half eight.
Elliott would appear about ten with coffee and news on where they were with the insurance. This update usually consisted of nothing happening, or still waiting on the insurance or the surveyor’s report.
Her flower arrangements were gradually beginning to resemble what they should, and the thought of the wedding on the twenty-eighth of January was no longer quite so terrifying.
Saturday morning, Elliott appeared with a tray of coffees. “Morning, ladies.”
Shana grinned. “You got some for all of us this time? What’s the occasion? Is it your birthday?”
Elliott laughed. “Not quite.” He handed Grace a letter. “This came.”
“What is it?” She glanced at the envelope. “It’s addressed to you.”
“Read it. Your copy is in the post, most likely.”
Grace opened the letter and read it. Her heart pounded and she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “They said yes?”
Elliott’s grin widened. “They said yes. All of it. Attic room, conservatory—all exactly as you wanted.”
Grace squealed and impulsively hugged him. “Thank you.”
He hugged her back. “We start Monday with the foundations. It’s a timber frame so won’t take long for the shell to go up once the foundations are in, but lasts years.”
She grinned. “That’s good.”
“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
Grace swallowed her amazement. She’d overheard part of the conversation he and Joel had had about women the other day and this was the last thing she’d been expecting. Perhaps she was the “random woman off the street.” But he was offering dinner, and she had to eat at some point. “OK, thank you.”
He smiled. “Do you like Chinese?”
She inclined her head slightly. “Yes, but I haven’t had that in ages.”
“Chinese it is then. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
~*~
Grace sat opposite of him in the small restaurant on the High Street. She’d ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, and hoped he hadn’t noticed. The talk had turned to color schemes for her house. “Lime green and orange,” she suggested.
It was worth it for the look of horror on Elliott’s face. “You can’t be serious.”
“With a sparkly silver disco ball and those hanging chairs—” She broke off, laughing. “No, I’m not being serious.”
“Good. Otherwise I’ve completely read you wrong.”
She tilted her head, moving the chopsticks through the noodles. “And don’t go painting everything magnolia either.”
“
What’s wrong with magnolia?” he asked straight-faced.
“What’s right with magnolia?” she replied.
“Everything. It’s bright, makes the rooms look bigger, and doesn’t clash with your sofa.”
“It’s boring. And I don’t have a sofa.” She twirled the noodles around the chopstick. “Maybe I’ll just decorate myself. And then buy the furniture to match.”
“No.”
She looked at him, the food pausing in front of her mouth. His firm tone surprised her. “No?”
He grinned. “I’ve seen you decorate. Destroy is more like it. Curtain poles, shelves…so maybe I should do it.”
Grace widened her eyes and tried to appear indignant at his teasing. “I’m quite capable of putting a bit of paint on a wall, thank you.”
“No paper?”
“No. Paint.”
He winked. “No paper and no paint? Just bare plaster walls, then?”
She stabbed a chopstick in his direction. “You, Mr. Wallac, are incorrigible.”
“Joel’s been telling me that for years.” Elliott sighed as the noodles fell off the chopsticks again. “Will you come with me tomorrow?”
It didn’t take long to work out what he was talking about. “To church? Why?”
“Because God hasn’t given up on you and neither have I.”
“Maybe I’ve given up on religion.”
Elliott studied her. “Religion is good news for good people. A list of do’s and don’ts they can keep.”
“Like the Pharisees?”
“Exactly.” He smiled slightly. “Whereas Jesus is good news for bad people.”
Shock resonated through her. “I’m sorry?”
“Simply put, we’ve all messed up, right? A list of rules, in other words, religion, isn’t going to do us any good. I’m preaching tomorrow morning if you need an incentive to come.”
“You preach?”
“Sometimes. When they ask me to.”
“Is there no end to your talents?” she asked wryly. “You cook, build houses, fix the gas and broken shelves, preach…”
Elliott shrugged. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
“And does that include nagging people into going to church?”
Hurt flashed in his eyes for a moment before he hid it.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I have plans for tomorrow. Now I have the laptop back, I need to finish the website.”
“OK.” He turned his attention to his meal.
Grace looked down. Nice one, Gracie. Way to go to ruin things. May as well just kick him hard and run.
“Do you want dessert?” he asked as she finished.
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He signaled the waiter. “Then I’ll get the bill and take you home.”
~*~
Elliott sat in church the following morning, looking at the notes in his hand. His stomach still churned at the thought of the previous evening.
Forgive me, Lord. I pushed her too far and probably did more harm than good. I’ll stop asking her to come, just be there for her in other ways. I don’t understand why I’m so attracted to her. If that’s even how I feel. I saw what Caroline did to Joel and maybe he’s right. Maybe I am scared of letting that happen to me—or have her leave me like Mum did.
He buried his face in his hands. He was so lost in his own petitions that the corporate prayer went over his head. Please, work in her. The things she said gave me pause. Perhaps she never really knew You at all. Whatever is bothering her is huge, and it seems much more than just losing her sister. It’s preventing her from coming into a proper relationship with You. I want to help her, but I’m not the only man…the only person who can do that. As long as she finds You, that’s all that matters.
The sound of the organ playing made him look up. He rose to sing the hymn, intending to go up to the pulpit during the last verse. Safe under God’s almighty hand, protected as a child He loves; I cast my cares and fears on Him, and safely leave them there.
Elliott stood and went into the pulpit, attaching the microphone Pastor Carson handed him to his tie, and sliding the battery pack into his jacket pocket. He read the text again and then started preaching on first Peter five verses six and seven. Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.
As he spoke, he glanced around the chapel. His gaze fell on a figure that sat right at the back by the door. Grace. His heart leapt for joy. Thank You. He didn’t let his gaze linger, but carried on preaching with renewed vigor. At the end of the service, he looked for her, but she’d left. He was about to set off after her, but got waylaid and the chance was gone.
~*~
Grace sat with the laptop on the table, a half designed page on the screen in front of her. She couldn’t concentrate. The verse Elliott had preached on ran rampant through her mind. She pulled up the Internet and searched for it. She still didn’t know why she’d gone to church after she’d told him she wouldn’t.
She read the verses again.
His voice echoed in her thoughts. God’s hand is mighty, all powerful, yet all caring. Humble yourself under it when things are going great so you don’t get proud and when times are hard so you know where to turn. God is in overall control no matter how bad things get. He will intervene at just the right time. He cares for you, so give up all your anxiety and cares to Him and leave them there. We don’t deserve His love, but He loves us anyway. He showed that by sending Jesus. The cross shows us the depth of God’s love.
Grace shut the laptop and stood. She didn’t need God. So why did she feel as empty as she did? Moving to the window, she looked over the road at the gap between the houses—the hole almost mirroring the chasm within her. Snow began to fall. The site had been cleared, ready for work to begin the following day. Ready for Elliott’s hands to rebuild her home.
Elliott…
She shook her head. She needed a man in her life just as much as she needed a hole in the head. She needed that even less than she needed God.
So why did one particular man keep appearing and taking center place?
Love was…love wasn’t for her. It was dangerous. A stab in the dark. A leap of faith—Faith—God—church—Elliott.
She groaned. Why was all this so linked? Why did one man keep doing this to her? What had she done to deserve any of this?
Nothing a voice whispered. Love comes not because we love, but because He does.
She shook her head. She’d go for a walk. Fresh air would help.
Perhaps.
~*~
Snow fell softly as Elliott crossed the park. It swirled around him, covering the grass in a light coat of white. Snow was fine on Christmas cards, but not otherwise.
A woman stood by the pond, shoulders slumped, hands shoved in her pockets. Snowflakes lay in her hair and she shivered, yet didn’t move. Grace…he’d recognize her anywhere.
Joel was right. The thought hit him with the force of a thunderbolt.
Grace had stolen into his heart whether he liked it or not. She was the reason for this unsettled feeling that swelled within him, but he didn’t dare act on it. What if she said no?
He’d committed to rebuilding her house. She lived next door. He couldn’t avoid contact with her even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. He sucked in a deep breath, tugging the collar of his full length coat around his neck. Did he just leave? She hadn’t seen him, but something drew him over to her.
His feet crunched on the gravel and fallen snow as he walked down the path and stood beside her. His umbrella offered her some protection from the snow. “Hi.”
Grace looked up. “Hello.”
“Least it stopped raining.”
“True.”
A slight uplift teased the corner of her mouth, causing a spear to twist through him.
She turned to him. “Is this going to affect the building work?”
Annoyed
with his body for the way it was reacting to such a small smile, Elliott shook his head. “No.”
“Good.”
Did he mention seeing her in church that morning? No. He’d wait and see if she said anything. “You look cold.”
“I am a little.” Grace hugged her hands deeper in her pockets. “But I had to get out of the flat. I’m going stir crazy in there.”
“Come on. I’ll buy you a coffee, warm you up a little.”
“On a Sunday?” Her gaze held his, pulling him into the depths. “Doesn’t that break a commandment or something?”
Elliott pretended to think. “The twelfth I think it is.”
“Twelfth? I thought there were only ten.”
“Usually there are.” He winked. “The eleventh is thou shalt not get caught. And the twelfth is—”
“Thou shalt not buy coffee on a Sunday,” Grace finished.
He chuckled. “But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
“OK. Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, Elliott carried two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream, sprinkles, and a chocolate flake, across the Inn at the Park to where Grace sat.
She smiled at him. “No coffee?”
“Not breaking the twelfth commandment this way. Besides, this looked far more enticing,” he said. He slid into the chair opposite her.
“It does.” Grace wrapped her hands around the cup. “I’ll have to buy some gloves tomorrow if this keeps up. And a scarf.”
“And a hat,” he added.
“Yeah, along with everything else. I’ve bought some bits, but the washing machine is cleaning my few clothes on overtime. My mum always said three outfits were enough. You know, one on, one off and one in the wash? Well it isn’t anywhere near enough.”
He sipped his drink, trying to keep the conversation on neutral ground so as not to upset her anymore. “How’s the website going?”
“OK, I guess.” She sipped the hot chocolate. “I managed to upload the new logo. I ordered new signs and the uniforms and they should come this week, but I’m beginning to wonder what the point is.”
A rock settled in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean? Are you—” he broke off. Surely, she didn’t mean she was leaving?
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, if business doesn’t pick up a bit, I can’t afford it, then…” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, the cup inches from her lips. “I wish I had the answers, but I don’t. More questions and doubts than anything. Mostly about the business and my ability to run it.”