The previous evening she’d notified her landlord in New York City, who’d graciously agreed to let Dorothy out of her lease at the end of the month. Her handful of friends had offered to pack up her apartment and ship her belongings to Cherish as soon as Dorothy sent a forwarding address. She promised to keep in touch, realizing in hindsight that several friends had negatively enabled her by lending her money when she’d fallen short of funds. She’d needed a greater quantity of the drug as her tolerance increased and her addiction had progressed at a frightening rate. Consequently, she’d exhausted her savings.
However, Emmanuelle, a woman of great faith and Dorothy’s closest friend, had offered what the doctor termed “positive enabling.” Emmanuelle had encouraged Dorothy to seek therapy and check into rehab. She’d also spoken to Nicholas in nightly phone conversations throughout Dorothy’s recovery.
Dorothy had appreciated her friend’s concern. Despite Emmanuelle’s brilliant musical career as principal harpist for a prestigious symphony, she was dealing with her own issues. She’d been dating a wealthy man that Dorothy considered controlling, yet Emmanuelle refused to recognize his manipulation. She’d moved in with him and had since fallen off the earth.
Dorothy lifted a prayer to give Emmanuelle the wisdom to end her unhealthy relationship. Then she added praise, knowing He had placed numerous good people in her path. Nicholas, Emmanuelle, Mrs. Addyson and Ryan.
Ryan.
She whispered a ‘thank you’ for bringing him back into her life. In their few remaining days together, she intended to memorize everything about him—his striking face, his charismatic smile, his good-natured teasing—until his return. Because surely he’d come back to Cherish to confirm that his business investment was sound.
“I won’t be able to see the day-to-day operations,” he’d said before kissing her good night, “so I’ll leave all the decisions in your capable hands.”
Then, before she’d retired, he’d texted, ‘Sleep tight, I’ll be dreaming about you. If anyone can ease my insomnia, thoughts of you can.’
She lifted her left hand and stared at her slim fingers. Perhaps as time went by, she and Ryan would become even closer. Perhaps someday she’d be wearing his engagement ring, followed by a wedding band. Perhaps Ryan had been in her future all along, even when they were teenagers.
She smiled, pushed back the covers and scrambled out of bed. It was time to dress for a picture-perfect day and another exhilarating rehearsal with Ryan.
“I’ve been thinking about your pecan pie for a month of Sundays,” Ryan said, looking up from the music he’d been studying. Looking disgracefully handsome wearing a pair of worn denims and a navy T-shirt, he sat on a high stool at Cherish Hills Inn’s large center island, his dark eyebrows drawing together as he sipped a glass of sweet tea. Now and then, he’d softly sing the music from Verdi’s opera. Then he’d banter with Dorothy as she’d rolled flour and shortening for pie crust, rousing her into reminiscing about their teen antics. He’d laughed with her, his tense expression easing, his features almost boyish.
The inn’s owner had explained that the kitchen had recently been renovated, painted in light gray and white, offset by black countertops, stainless steel appliances and copper fixtures. The effect was a striking combination between beauty and functionality.
“Dorothy.” Ryan slid his index finger around the rim of his iced tea glass. “When you asked me to join you this afternoon in the kitchen …”
“You said you’d be here with bells on,” Dorothy finished.
He chuckled. “And here I am.”
“You could’ve used the time to prepare for your upcoming audition.”
“I’d much rather watch you.” He studied her as she sprinkled flour onto the dough, kneaded, then picked up the rolling pin. When she was satisfied, she arranged the single-crust dough into the pie plate, then crimped and placed tin foil around the edges.
“It was nice of the owner to let me use his kitchen and oven and utensils,” she said.
Ryan reached across the island and gently wiped a flour smudge from her cheek. “You realize he’ll want a piece of pecan pie as payment? If there’s any left.”
“You can’t eat an entire pie by yourself.” With an exasperated sidewise glance, she placed her hands on her hips, smearing flour on her denims. “And I’ll want to put pieces aside for Mrs. Addyson and Nicholas and Alice.”
“Speaking of Nicholas and Alice, will they make their home in Cherish?” Ryan asked.
She set the oven to pre-heat. “The wedding is in three days, and I haven’t talked to Nicholas since dinner. You?”
“No, not a word.” Ryan fanned through several pages of music. Rubbing a hand down his face, he sighed and closed the music score.
“Done for the morning?” She flashed him a smile while she resumed setting out the rest of the ingredients for the pie.
“More than done. It’s a challenging role and my voice is pushed from high to low extremes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My audition is slated for next Wednesday, which will give me two days to recover from jet lag after I arrive in Italy. You’re staying in Cherish, correct?”
“Yes. I’ve canceled my flight to New York City and will live here at the inn until I find my own place. Ryan … you’ll …you’ll let me know how your audition goes?”
She kept her tone light. She wanted to add, when will I see you again? We have so little time left together.
She said neither.
“You’ll be the first person I contact.” He checked his phone, then placed it on the island. “I noticed the ‘sale pending’ sign on the store and received an email from the bank. The closing is in a couple weeks. That’s quick.”
“It’s quick because we’re offering a cash deal. Or rather, you are. Thank you for your generous offer. Remember, this is a loan and I intend to pay you back.”
He stood, poured her a glass of sweet tea from a pitcher in the refrigerator and set it on the island for her. “I consider Musically Yours a good investment, and I know the store will be a success with you at the helm.”
“And you.”
“I’m a silent partner. I won’t be able to travel to the states often after Don Carlos begins production. That is, if I get the role. My agent informed me that Jack Youngston is already in Palermo.”
“I’m certain the role will be yours.”
“Thanks.” He settled on the stool. “Your confidence in my abilities means a great deal.”
She whisked together sugar, corn syrup, the rest of the ingredients and chopped pecans. With a flourish, she placed the pie in the preheated oven, set the timer and piled the mixing bowls in the white ceramic farmhouse sink.
“I’ve written out a business plan for our store.” Ryan reached into his jeans pocket and handed her a list as she took a stool across from him. “Purchasing music and supplies is the first step. Eventually, you may want to sell musical instruments. If kids take music lessons at school, they can rent or purchase instruments at the store, which is added revenue.”
Perusing the list, she nodded thoughtfully.
“Then choose your specialism,” he continued. “Are you planning to teach piano lessons?”
“Absolutely.” She raised the glass of sweet tea to her lips. “I believe God was leading me back to Cherish. He had a purpose, and this is my season to do something I was meant to do all along.”
“Your purpose …” Ryan’s gaze was probing, his words careful.
“In every situation, there is a purpose. Every struggle, every setback, every incident. God decided my purpose before I had even glimpsed it.”
His gaze flitted around the enormous kitchen. “God is here?”
“God is everywhere. You’re always standing at a new opportunity if you give it a purpose.” She paused, forming the same question on her tongue, the same question she’d asked the other day. “What is your purpose, Ryan?”
He shrugged indifferently. “Success, I suppose.”
> “Wealth?”
“The money part never interested me.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “After my divorce, my new wealthy friends didn’t offer the support system I thought they would. I was finally part of the ‘in’ crowd after being an outsider for so long. And you know what? I found I didn’t like them—their lifestyles, their mentalities, their ‘never enough’ lifestyles.”
She nodded and went to the sink, picked up a clean kitchen towel, and wiped down the shiny black countertops. “So what is your purpose, Ryan?” she asked again.
“I don’t know anymore, except that I want what you and your brother have—an unshakeable faith, the strength to forge ahead no matter how disappointing the circumstances.”
She studied him and reformed her question. “So what has taken all your attention these past ten years? Your driving ambition, or God?”
“I no longer ask God for anything. I’ve given up because He’s never responded.”
“How can you expect God to respond if you don’t uphold His standards?” she asked softly. “Those so-called friends were pulling you in the wrong direction.”
“In hindsight, you’re absolutely correct.” He stood, then sat, then stood again, striding to the sink, rinsing mixing bowls, placing wooden spoons on the copper strainer to dry. His gaze shifted to her. “Things have been tough for you and you’ve pulled through.”
She set down the towel. “Thanks to a good support system, I was forced to be honest with myself.”
His probing gaze met hers and he offered a smile. Then he turned, seeming to stare at nothing for a long moment. “Honesty isn’t easy, especially with yourself.”
Despite their gaiety a few minutes earlier, she sensed his smile was strained.
Worried about his upcoming audition? Although she wished there was something she could do to ease the dark circles under his eyes, the lack of sleep was evident in his rugged face if one looked closely.
He rounded the island and drained his glass of sweet tea. He set the glass on the island and turned to her. “Dorothy?”
“The pie isn’t done yet.” She attempted to deflect his serious tone with an easygoing remark.
He walked toward her, coming to stand within arm’s reach. “Did you know the sweet and gooey scent of pecan pie baking in the oven makes me think about one thing?”
“Calories?” she provided with a tongue-in-cheek smile while taking one wary step back. “You’ll want to stay trim for your role as Philip.”
A warm gleam softened his eyes. Reaching out, he pulled her toward him. “There’s another role I’m much more interested in.”
“Ryan, the pie—”
He pressed his finger against her lips. “The pie isn’t done yet, so we have lots of time.” He drew her to him and touched his mouth to hers, coaxing her lips to part. She placed her hands around his nape, feeling the silky hair curling at the back of his neck.
His cell phone rang. Ignoring it, he deepened the kiss.
When his phone rang the second time, she broke the kiss and glanced toward the island.
His dark gaze lit with amusement. His arms around her tightened. “I’m not expecting any calls. Are you?”
“Obviously not.” She rested her forehead against his hard chest, her fingers flattening on the rich woven texture of his shirt.
When his phone pinged for a third time announcing a text message, she indicated that he should answer it. “The caller is obviously being persistent.”
With a resigned nod, he strode to the island. He read the text message, his expression changing to one of surprise, then disbelief.
She leaned against the counter and fingered the neckline of her red fleece pullover. “What is it?”
“The calls were from my agent. The opera company has moved up the audition schedule.” Ryan looked past her, his gaze unfocused. “I need to be in Italy by Saturday.”
“Impossible.” She rubbed her arms, her thoughts whirling. “Nicholas’ wedding is Saturday.”
“I … I’ll … Maybe your brother can change the date …”
“Of the wedding? For you? You’re joking, right? Even you can’t believe you’re that important.”
“I don’t.” His arms fell to his sides. “But this is a major opera and if I don’t audition, I won’t get the role.”
“What about Nicholas and Alice?”
“I’ll explain the situation to Nicholas and I’m sure he’ll understand. I can … I can record the Ave Maria ahead of time.” Ryan gripped her by the shoulders to face him. “You can play the recording at the church.”
She swallowed hard. “What about ‘The Lord’s Prayer?’”
“Yes … and ‘The Lord’s Prayer.’ I’ll sing the solo a cappella, without your accompaniment. I always bring a portable audio recorder with me.” He tipped up her chin and pressed a quick kiss on her temple. “All you must do is hit the play button on Saturday. It’s easy.”
No, no.
“Of course.” She offered a false cheerfulness and pressed a hand on the island to steady herself.
The oven timer beeped. She hitched up her shoulders, grabbed two oven mitts from a drawer and lifted the pie from the oven. “What about the Stevie Wonder song we rehearsed for the recessional?”
“Find a good recording. The original is better than anything we put together.”
She winced.
“Dorothy, I’m sorry. You know how much this role means.” His voice dropped, his eyes tightened. “I’ll book a flight out of Atlanta this afternoon, then go pack.”
He was talking on his cell phone, busy with travel arrangements, as she quietly set the pie on the stove and shuffled out of the kitchen.
Chapter Nine
Saturday came in bright with promise. Dorothy showered and washed her hair, then carefully dressed in a simple black sheath with a scalloped neckline. She decided on an elegant dress in a conservative mid-length, critically appraising herself in the full-length mirror in her room. She straightened the black velvet bow securing her hair smoothly at the nape, the rest falling in soft waves around her shoulders. Tiny diamonds sparkled at her ears and she secured a pearl necklace around her throat.
Despite a lump of anticipation in her stomach, she was ready early for the six o’clock candlelight ceremony, allowing herself plenty of time to warm up with scales and arpeggios before the wedding guests arrived.
The previous evening, Nicholas had phoned to cancel the wedding rehearsal, explaining that Alice had said they didn’t need one. After all, the wedding was small with only a Maid of Honor and Best Man in attendance.
“No problem,” Dorothy had agreed, shifting her attention to Ryan’s list of things to do before opening Musically Yours.
By five o’clock, the sun was beginning its descent as Dorothy made her way from the inn to her car. She secured a parking spot in front of Memorial Street Church a few minutes later.
For several beats, she sat in the car with her eyes closed.
She’d be performing solo. Suppose her fingers refused to play the rapid eighth notes in Pachelbel’s Canon in D? Suppose her wrist hurt so badly while she performed Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, that she couldn’t continue?
No. She refused to scare herself with negative thoughts and focused on her aim—contributing to her brother’s wedding by giving her best performance.
“Thank you, God, for selecting me for this purpose,” she whispered.
Taking a confident breath, she double-checked her briefcase containing her piano music and Ryan’s solos. Before he’d left, she’d overheard him phone Nicholas to explain why he couldn’t perform at the wedding and had ended with a heartfelt apology. As was his character, she knew her brother had wished Ryan only the best.
Ryan had left his recordings on the kitchen island, along with a sealed note addressed to her which she’d found the following morning.
With shaking fingers, she’d opened his note and read:
My love,
&n
bsp; I could see it in your eyes you were hurt and disappointed with my choice. I’m sorry. You know how much this role means. I hope you can forgive me and someday give me a chance to make things better between us. You are special and mean so much to me—more than you know.
In his usual bold script he’d signed, “Love, Ryan.”
She’d installed herself on a stool in the kitchen and stared at the note. Just stared. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she thought of the slim, dark-haired man whom she wouldn’t see again for a long, long time. In her dreams she had imagined they might have a future together. Now he was gone, choosing his career over his commitments, his friends, and her.
Without a second thought she knew his success would continue to spiral upward after Don Carlos ended, and Ryan’s stardom would keep him performing in Europe for years.
They’d never laugh together again. He’d never hold her in his solid arms, never call her “my love” in that tender, affectionate tone he’d used so often.
She’d grasped the note and huddled into herself, whispering a Psalm she knew by heart. “‘Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.’”
When shadows fell to early afternoon, her tears were exhausted. She’d pushed up the sleeves of her plaid blouse and risen to her feet. Once before she’d been held hostage by her disappointment, her hopes dashed. She wouldn’t allow it to define her a second time.
Three days had passed since Ryan boarded the plane from Atlanta to Italy. He’d texted her only once, saying he’d arrived safely and was preparing for his audition.
“Good,” she’d texted. “Best of luck.”
Now, with her posture strong and her breath purposeful, she grabbed her purse and briefcase. She was well-rehearsed to play her best for her brother and his fiancé on one of the most important days of their lives.
Mrs. Addyson, dressed in a lilac wool suit, stood at the top of the church stairs and greeted Dorothy with a nod. Her usually pleasant demeanor was distraught, and she seemed unnaturally quiet.
A Love Song To Cherish: A Sweet and Wholesome Christian Novella (Cherish Series Book 1) Page 5