Christmas Star Sapphire (Inspirational Romance): A Second Generation Jewel Series Novella (The Jewel Series Book 6)

by Hallee Bridgeman

  “Maddie,” she corrected and hefted the picnic basket. “I come bearing a holiday feast.”

  Instead of directing her on board, he hopped from his boat to the dock with the agility of an Olympic runner clearing a hurdle. His blond goatee looked a little more shaggy than usual, like a man who hadn’t shaved for a few days. He wore thin sweatpants and a long-sleeved Harvard T-shirt. Worn leather moccasins with rubber soles covered his feet. She felt a little overdressed in her wool pants and powder blue cashmere sweater. But she knew how the sweater made her eyes look a vivid blue, and after changing outfits about a dozen times, she’d settled on this one.

  “A feast?” He glanced at the picnic basket with a quizzical look in his eye.

  “Yes. A Thanksgiving feast.” She held the basket out to him and watched as he reflexively took it. “Since you didn’t have any apparent plans for Thanksgiving, I decided to take the chance and cook a meal for us.”

  He didn’t move. “What makes you think I don’t have other plans?”

  Unfazed, she said, “Because Alana had her baby two days ago. And, besides, you haven’t shaved.” She brushed her hands and gestured toward the Star Sapphire. “If you’ll show me to your galley, I’ll just heat up what’s gone cold.”

  He didn’t seem to realize that he put a hand up to his chin before looking at the basket then at her. Finally, he stepped back and gestured at the boat. “Permission granted. Welcome aboard.” He led the way to the wooden gangplank ramp that spanned the distance between the starboard side bow and the dock. “Please watch your step. Last night’s rain made it a little slippery.”

  Excited, she sprang forward and followed him on board, across the deck of the boat, and under the canopy. She saw the controls – buttons and levers and gauges and an honest to goodness wheel to steer the boat in the aft section. He didn’t stop at the bridge, though. Instead, he descended through a square hole in the deck and down a set of wooden stairs.

  She followed him down the staircase, which was nearly as steep as a ladder, emerging into a beautiful living area with teak wood floors and paneling. Next to the staircase on the port side, sat a cream colored leather desk chair at a cubby with radios, a nautical GPS, and a small black screen built into the wall. She assumed it had something to do with some kind of SONAR. His laptop sat amidst the equipment.

  To their starboard lay the galley, an ‘U’ shaped kitchenette with a 4-burner gas stove and a small built-in oven beneath it, a wide chrome-faced refrigerator that sat under a length of black marble clad countertop, and a stainless steel sink with black marble clad counters around it. Beyond the galley, she spotted the living area. A cream leather couch ran the length of the wooden hull to starboard and curved around to the bow where it ended at a doorway.

  Beyond the door, she could see a large bed. Across from the couch on the port side, a small dining area nestled into the bulkheads between the equipment desk and the other side of the bedroom doorway. Above the dining area, a small flat-screened television, with the volume muted, displayed a college football game.

  The kitchen area looked spotless, and the entire living area lay in complete order before her. Even the bed beyond the doorway was made. Joe walked to the bow and sealed the port leading to his bedroom, hiding his bed from sight before turning back to face her.

  “Expecting company?” she asked, curious about the tidiness.

  “No, I wasn’t,” he answered ironically. He gestured toward the galley area. “Can I help you with anything?”

  As she set the basket on the small counter, she opened the lid and started pulling out plastic containers of food. “Can you set the table?”

  About thirty minutes later, they sat at the little dining nook in front of the spread of roasted and sliced turkey breast, mashed potatoes, stuffing, roasted sweet potatoes, roasted Brussels sprouts, and homemade rolls.

  Madeline sat across from Joe and placed a napkin in her lap. He looked at the food and then at her, his green eyes filled with emotion she couldn’t quite identify. Then he spoke.

  “This is my first home cooked Thanksgiving meal in about thirteen years.”

  Wanting to ask questions, but deciding to let him lead, she held her hand out. “I’m thankful we could spend it together. Would you mind blessing the meal?”

  He covered her open hand and his fingers wrapped around her palm. His grip felt carefully light and warm though she could feel the strength in his fingers. He prayed a simple prayer, thanking God for the food and the fellowship. She enjoyed holding his hand and regretted the moment the prayer ended. While they filled their plates, she said, “This is my first Thanksgiving without my family in my entire life.”

  His eyebrow twitched. “Why didn’t you go home?” As he spoke, he loaded mashed potatoes on his plate.

  “I still have a paper due Monday. I can’t work on a plane. I get motion sickness very easily, especially on Papa’s corporate jet. It’s so little. I do better on a bigger plane and the flights are so crowded this time of year.” As she handed him the gravy, she smiled when he met her eyes. She made a mental note to stop babbling.

  Spooning gravy over half of the items on his plate, he asked, “So, how does preparing this amazing smelling meal equal you finishing your paper?”

  “I wrote it yesterday. I’m giving it a day, then I’ll go start proofing it.” She started to launch into the theme of the paper before she remembered that she had stopped babbling. Instead, she sliced into her turkey meat, relieved that it didn’t look too dry. Thinking back to his statement, she asked, “How is it that you didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving? Did your family not do holidays?”

  His hands paused in cutting his meat for just a second – long enough for her to see it and identify it, before he resumed his task. His voice remained pleasant while he answered. “I went to a military boarding school from sixth grade on. I never went home during Thanksgiving break. The cooks always did their best to give the boys who stayed a nice meal.” He held up his fork. “But nothing like this. Thank you. I appreciate the thought. These Brussels sprouts are really good. How did you do that?”

  “Tossed with olive oil and fresh ground black pepper, then lightly salted and roasted in a hot oven.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Let’s the flavor of the sprouts shine through. My Aunt Maxine taught me that trick. She’s a great cook.” Madeline took a bite of sweet potato, savoring the buttery sweetness.

  She tried to keep the conversation light. She shared about her Aunt Maxine and Uncle Barry and her first cousins, the twins, and even shared a few childhood stories. That led to a few stories involving her Aunt Sarah and Uncle Derrick and their children. Finally, she recounted about her visit with her brother and his new wife in England a year ago and how she would see them, along with her parents, in the Keys next month.

  During the course of the meal and the conversation, Joe informed her that his grandfather had died suddenly just after Joe turned four. Heart attack, everyone thought. Joe never knew his grandparents on his mother’s side. He had never felt close to either of his aunts or uncles or any of his cousins.

  When the conversation at last turned to his immediate family, he didn’t mention his father. He confided he had neither brothers nor sisters. Then, at last, he told her that his mother had died shortly after he graduated from Harvard. When Madeline asked how, all he said was, “It was sudden.”

  He took a long sip of water and changed the subject, asking, “So what are you thankful for, Miss Madeline Viscolli?”

  “Joe, I would be so thankful,” Madeline grinned, “if you would call me Maddie.”

  He smiled and said, “Seriously, what are you thankful for?”

  She sighed and sat back. “Okay, I’m thankful for my family. I’m thankful my Aunt Maxine is such a good cook and taught me my way around a kitchen so I could make us this meal. I’m thankful you were here and we could share it together. I’m thankful that I didn’t have to spend my first Thanksgiving away from my
family alone. I’m very thankful to God for all of His blessings in my life. You’re one of those blessings, you know.” His expression didn’t change. “What are you thankful for, Pastor Joe Westcott?”

  “What am I thankful for?” He grinned. “Well, I’m thankful for my friends, here, and all the students in Cru, including you. I’m very thankful you thought of me and brought this delicious meal today. I’m thankful for my church. And I’m thankful that I had the freedom to be here, and to live the life I chose, in service to God’s ministry.”

  She heard his emphasis on the word chose. She also reflected that he didn’t once mention his family. After she chewed and swallowed, she added, “I knew you’d be alone today, so I thought I’d share the holiday with you.”

  He set his fork down and sat back against the padded bench. She watched his expression, noting how he seemed to be warring within himself. “Madeline, my rules pertaining to the students I work with aren’t going to go away.”

  With a smile, she picked up her water glass. “I don’t believe you, you know.”

  “You don’t believe me, huh?” He frowned. “Why is that?”

  “Because you’re attracted to me despite your rule.” She set her plate aside and crossed her arms on top of the table, leaning toward him. Remembering how Ruth had courted and eventually even proposed to Boaz, she decided to just stick with bold. “Because you feel this thing between us just like I do. You’re just ignoring it. I don’t think you can continue to ignore it much longer.”

  Joe pushed away from the table and picked up their empty plates, carrying them to the sink. Without a word, he flicked on the water at the sink and added dish detergent. Madeline started clearing the table, bringing the containers of food with her. While she repacked her picnic basket, Joe washed the dishes that they’d used. It took them less than ten minutes to clear and clean up. Soon, all traces of the meal she’d prepared had disappeared.

  After fastening the basket, she turned around in the small galley and found him leaning back against the sink, legs crossed in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. The ceiling appeared custom made for his height. He looked relaxed and at ease and completely approachable.

  She crossed the small space and stood next to him, turning so that she could lean against the sink, too. Standing like that, she looked at the steps that led up into the bridge and could see the bright blue sky above. Her shoulder brushed against his upper arm.

  “There’s nothing more revealing of God’s majesty to me than the open ocean,” he said.

  “Why an Elohim yacht? I would think a Westcott would own a Westcott Marine yacht.”

  He shrugged. “Elohim makes nice boats.”

  While it wasn’t really an answer, she decided it was the best answer for which she could hope today. “I’ve spent a lot of time on the water, especially down in Florida. I don’t get seasick. Or, at least, I never have. I sometimes get airsick, though.”

  With a sigh, he uncrossed his arms to rub the back of his neck. “I spent a year out there alone, only coming in for much needed supplies. During that time, I sought God and prayed and begged Him for answers. I really just wanted answers.”

  She turned her head and looked up at him. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I didn’t find answers, but I found peace.” He straightened and shifted so that he stood in front of her. He smiled very gently. “The last thing I expected was peace, but He gave it to me anyway.” Putting a hand on the counter on either side of her, he boxed her in. Madeline felt the heat of his body as her pulse rate rose. She worried he might see her heartbeat racing in the vein of her neck. “The last thing I want right now is a relationship. Especially with –”

  Breathless, she waited for him to finish his thought, but he never did. When she knew he wouldn’t continue, she answered him. “Maybe God has a plan, too. Maybe God intends to give you what you need, which is not necessarily what you want all the time.” She licked her lips. “You know. Peace. Me.”

  Without warning, he shifted his weight to one hand and cupped her cheek with the other. His callused palm felt warm and rough and conversely gentle against her smooth skin. She stared up at him, desperate to know the thoughts going through his head. His next words didn’t make sense at first.

  “Madeline, I need you,” he began. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. Very slowly and clearly, he said, “I really need you to go away.”

  With that, Joe straightened and bounded up the steep steps, snatching up the picnic basket as he went.

  What just happened? One second, she just knew he was about to kiss her. The next millisecond he’s telling her to leave? What did that mean?

  Frowning, she followed him out into the November breeze. The marina, for the most part, lay quiet all around. She could see a thin trail of smoke from someone’s grill several hundred yards away but saw no one else. As she stepped above deck, she looked around and saw Joe already standing on the dock, the picnic basket at his feet.

  Moving cautiously along the narrow gangways of the boat, she crossed the vessel and walked down the ramp. When she got within a few steps of him, he picked up the picnic basket without speaking and started walking down the dock toward the parking lot.

  She hustled her steps and caught up to walk beside him but remained silent. As they neared the end of the dock, he spoke. “This is a new boat here,” he stated casually, gesturing toward a huge white hull that looked like it swamped the rest of the vessels around it in size. “It was built in Norway. The couple came from Morocco. They’re trying to do an around the world thing and they’re getting ready to head south toward Panama tomorrow.”

  With a frown, she bit her lip against telling him how much she didn’t care right now. The rest of the way to her car, they didn’t speak. He walked around to the back and simply waited for her to unlock the doors so he could set the picnic basket in the rear compartment.

  The food secure, he walked around to where she stood next to the driver’s door. He paused in front of her, mere inches away from her. Looking up at him, she said, “I don’t understand.”

  “You don't really need to. You just need to leave,” he said. He lifted his hand and started to touch her face, but pulled it back without touching her.

  “Joe –”

  Before she even finished saying his name, his lips swallowed the sound. Without warning, her senses became overloaded with the feel, smell, and taste of him. She didn’t need any encouragement to slip her arm around his neck and step closer to him.

  She liked the tickle of his beard. She loved the feel of his hard chest against hers. Wanting to get closer to him, she stood on her toes and wrapped both arms around him.

  As quickly as the kiss began, it ended. He put his hand against the back of her head as he ripped his mouth off of hers. She buried her face against his neck as he rested his cheek on top of her head, holding her close to him.

  “Leave, now,” he repeated, and she felt the words as much as she heard them. “Please, just go away.”

  “Why?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and stepped back. When she looked up at him, he cupped her cheeks with his palms, framing her face. “Because I can’t be in a relationship with anyone right now.”

  “Then I’ll wait.” She raised a hand and covered his heart with it. “I know that –”

  “Go home, Maddie.” He had finally called her Maddie, but his green eyes had gone gray and now stormed with emotion. “Don’t come here again.”

  JOE took the offered mug of coffee from Larry Grant. Larry pastored at Joe’s church and the two men had become fast friends despite a forty-year age difference. He enjoyed the company and the quaint little house every single time he visited, which he often did after church services or church functions.

  Today, he had knocked and Larry had answered with a countenance that anticipated a door-to-door salesman. Upon seeing Joe, his expression transformed into one of initial joy then to contemplation befo
re he greeted, “Well, happy Thanksgiving, young man of God. You missed dinner, but there’s pumpkin pie and coffee.”

  They moved into the now familiar den. The two story brick house had originally been constructed in the early twentieth century with small rooms, tall ceilings, and a wraparound porch. Larry had often recruited Joe as his assistant in various home improvement projects. While maintaining many original fixtures, the entire house had been rewired, all the windows had been replaced with modern vinyl clad glass, and the plumbing had been updated, though the cast iron claw foot bathtub had survived. Larry had also contracted installation of central air conditioning, which certainly made the southern Alabama summers a bit more bearable and probably accounted for Joe’s frequent visits.

  “Where were we?” Larry tossed another piece of split wood onto the fire before sitting down across from Joe at the chess board and lifting his own warm mug of coffee.

  “Let me see if I can remember. Oh, yeah. It’s been your move for two weeks.” Joe leaned back and took a sip of the strong brew. From the kitchen, he could hear Larry’s wife, Ana, washing dishes.

  Larry studied the board and finally moved a bishop. After about three seconds, Joe moved his knight out, putting the bishop in jeopardy.

  “Something’s on your mind, son,” Larry observed, his eyes studying the board. “You haven’t once mentioned the beating the Patriots handed the Titans last week.”

  Joe took another sip of coffee, thought about ignoring the insight, then rejected the thought. He really needed to talk with someone, to get out of his own head. It was the reason he had come here in the first place. “There’s this girl.”

  “I see.” Larry sat back and interlaced his fingers over his stomach. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think I might be.”

  Larry grinned. “Oh, it’s like that.” He pointed a finger at him. “You know, young man of God, there’s an old saying that goes, ‘It always starts with a woman.’”