Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2)

by Jennifer Rodewald

  Eying him, she slowly leaned toward him. “What?”

  His nose brushed against her cheek, and then he whispered, “I’m only a flirt with you.”

  She tipped her head away and lifted one eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him. Brock playfully snagged her by the side of her head and brought her face back to his. Before she could push him away, he blew a sloppy, wet raspberry against her cheek.

  “Brock!” Giggling, she grabbed his wrist and tried to wrestle it away. “Stop! You’re so gross!”

  His chuckle vibrated against her skin, and he dipped his mouth to the soft spot between her neck and shoulder.

  “No!”

  Too late. Another slobbery raspberry vibrated against her exposed skin.

  Cheryl’s laughter bubbled from deep in her gut, and Brock locked an arm around her waist, lifting her to the countertop and pulling her to his side of her work station. She continued to fight him away, though not with anything even remotely resembling a convincing effort. He pushed her hair to one side and planted yet another raspberry right behind her ear. She arched her back, still giggling, and reached for the wooden spoon she’d been using with the frosting. Weapon loaded, she brought it to his face and smeared. Maple frosting glazed his cheek, his nose, and his chin.

  “You wicked girl.” He pushed his nose against hers, and then his cheek, painting her face with the sugary glaze.

  Nearly out of breath from squealing and laughing, Cheryl dropped the spoon and captured his face. “Okay, stop,” she panted. “I can’t breathe, and you’re making a mess.”

  He gripped her wrists and held them against his chest, his nose still against hers. “I didn’t bring frosting into this game.”

  Another laugh escaped as she settled against him. A sweet stillness enveloped them, and he released her wrists, moving his hands to the back of her shoulders. With closed eyes, he smiled as his weight rested gently against her.

  “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Her eyes shut, and she felt her lips pull upward. “Yeah.”

  “Are you okay with a double date? E and Brandi talked about coming into town too.”

  “Okay.” She spread her palms out against his shirt—another plaid-over-the-gray-T combo, and opened her eyes. “Think you’d better clean up first.”

  “Probably. Good thing I have a few hours.”

  She nipped at his cheek where frosting hung a little thick. “I could help.”

  Brock leaned back, a knowing grin puckered on his mouth. His hands moved from her shoulders, and one thumb slid over her cheek where he’d left a trail of frosting. He poked it into his mouth, made a noisy show of licking it off, and then reached for a rag on the counter. After wiping his face, he leaned back to her and landed another chaste kiss against her cheek.

  “Someday, Sherbert, I’m going to hold you to that.”

  With yet another peck, this time on her lips, he dropped the rag back onto the counter and moved away.

  “I’ll see you at six thirty.” He waved as he passed through the door.

  Cheryl leaned back against the counter, reaching for the rag he’d just used. A tiny laugh wiggled her shoulders as she licked a smudge of frosting from her knuckles. She hadn’t tasted something so sweet in years.

  See? There was nothing to this make-believe. She hardly had to pretend at all. She and Brock could be happy. Even if she didn’t deserve it.

  Judgment is easy. Criticism comes as readily as rain from a heavy cloud, and seemingly harmless when you’re the one carrying an umbrella.

  What about those who stand naked in the storm?

  Have you walked the path I’ve crawled? Do you know what terrified really is?

  I know. You wouldn’t do what I’ve done. And I deserve the consequences.

  Believe me…I know.

  Living with it is its own hell. Next to that, your judgment is another sword in my heart.

  Does that make you feel better?

  ~22~

  The Hi Way was hardly a date-quality joint. Not by LA standards. Although, Cheryl hadn’t loved LA standards. In fact, there wasn’t much of anything about LA that she’d been missing over the past three weeks. Her bed—because it was one of those expensive, high-end mattresses—but that was about the extent of her homesickness.

  Home wasn’t something she had, really. Except…

  Cheryl glanced at Brock, who sat to her right. He’d been laughing at a story E was telling. A memory they shared about a race in their high school days. Apparently they’d gotten their entry bibs mixed up, and E had been awarded Brock’s time. Or something. Cheryl had stopped listening halfway through the telling, suddenly struck by how much of life she hadn’t been a part of.

  Weird. She thought she’d taken a bench seat after that awful day. Now, listening to the stories the boys passed between them, she suddenly realized that she’d been a spectator most of her life.

  Brandi, who had been laughing, fully engaged in the boys’ conversation, brought Cheryl into the conversation. “Did you ever race, Cheryl?”

  “No.” Cheryl looked at her hands resting against the table. “I actually have never been snowboarding.”

  “Really?” Brandi tipped her head. “I thought everyone who grew up around here did.”

  “Nah.” Ethan shook his head. “Sherbert isn’t an extreme-sport kind of girl. She was a bookworm.”

  “Snowboarding isn’t always an extreme sport.” Brandi lifted a sassy look to her husband. “And I like books.”

  Brock laughed softly, covering Cheryl’s hand with his. “Believe me—if you had ridden with E and me back then, you would know. It was always extreme or nothing with us. We were crazy. Cheryl was the smart one, and bless her for that.”

  No. She was the boring one. And no one blessed her for that.

  “Ah.” Brandi nodded and then redirected her attention.

  What did that mean exactly? The woman was still evaluating her, doing some kind of clinical analysis. It made Cheryl uneasy.

  “Can you believe this?” Brandi spoke again, gesturing toward the television anchored to the wall opposite them.

  Cheryl glanced at the TV and froze. A report on the latest fiasco with a family planning organization had come on the news. Her vision blurred the image on the screen, and her stomach rolled violently. The muscles at the base of her neck knotted.

  “I can’t even imagine…” Brandi continued to talk, contempt edging her voice. “I don’t know how you could do that and live with yourself.”

  Cheryl bit the inside of her lip. They don’t know…it’s not about you, and they don’t know…

  “Did I tell you guys that I was at a protest rally a couple years back when a woman screamed at me? Right in my face. Told me I had no right to tell her what she could and could not do with her body.”

  “Yeah?” Ethan stirred his ice with his straw. “What’d you do?”

  Brandi tossed her hair to one side. “Looked her right in the eye and told her she was killing a baby. It’s murder. I don’t understand it at all. Like I said, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  Cheryl’s pulse throbbed in her ears, and black spots blotched her vision. Breathe. In. Out. They don’t know…

  How can you live with yourself? Murderer. God hates you. You’re going to hell.

  Suddenly the wailing from her nightmares joined the ringing in her ears. Pain jolted through her head, and she shut her eyes against the bright flash of white light that zipped behind her eyes.

  They didn’t know. They didn’t know anything.

  Anger trembled, hot and hard and fast from her middle. Her core shook, and she doubled her fists in her lap. They knew nothing.

  She pushed against the table, sliding her chair backward so that she could stand.

  “You okay, Sherbert?”

  Her vision collided with Brock’s, and for a moment she held. What would he say if he knew?

  He’d condemn her. His silence already had, even if he didn’t know.


  “I’ve gotta go.” She snatched her small purse and took a step to the door. She could feel their eyes on her back, the questions building in the silence.

  Suddenly she was homesick for LA. There she was indiscernible. Just a face in the crowd. Nameless. Unaccountable.

  Here she was condemned. Exactly why she’d never planned on returning and why she couldn’t stay.

  Quick steps carried her out of the sports grill and onto the sidewalk. Cool night air slammed against her body, and she shivered. The streets lay quiet, as if asleep for the evening, and the wind blew chilly from the peaks to the north.

  Streetlamps stood indifferently as their light drenched the buildings in town. Some of them highlighted beauty—the well-built brick building that housed the bank. The rays played prettily with the glint of the gilded lettering artistically spanning the polished windows, and the blond bricks glowed against the dark backdrop. Other buildings, however, sat miserably under the harsh beams of exposure—the rundown storefront that had once been a bookstore in years gone by. Without discretion, the light drew attention to the cracked windows and sagging wood along the doorframe.

  Light didn’t care what it exposed.

  Beyond the streetlamps that lined Main Street, the dark sky stretched with a lonely invitation. Two choices in life. Stay in the light, where everything was exposed. Or step into the darkness, where the chill of loneliness was her only friend.

  A hand to her back startled her, drawing her attention from the hopeless canvas beyond.

  “Cheryl, what’s wrong?”

  She ached to lean against him. He’d wrap her in his arms, and she wouldn’t feel cold. She wouldn’t writhe with the loneliness.

  Brock stepped closer, his chest brushing her shoulder. “Babe, are you okay?”

  “I just need to go home.”

  “Another headache?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

  If only he could.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and drew her close to his side, and they began down the walkway toward Nana’s empty house.

  Just one more day, she promised. Let me have him for just a little longer.

  She wasn’t sure God cared what she asked or promised. But she felt compelled to try. She stared beyond the town toward the looming shadows cast by the dark mountains in the distance.

  Please, just a little longer. Then I’ll go back to where I belong.

  ~*~

  “How bad is the headache?” Standing at the doorway to Nana’s house, Brock nudged Cheryl’s hair away from her neck with his fingers and began to massage the base of her skull. He felt her relax against his side, and he turned to tuck her against his chest.

  Something had happened in that restaurant. Granted, she hadn’t been open and free, not like she was when it was just the two of them, but she hadn’t been completely closed off either. Not until the moments right before she left. Did these headaches just strike out of the blue?

  Seemed like something had triggered it. Maybe it wasn’t prudent to search for the reason, but he simply had to know. That quest would require time and caution.

  Cheryl cuddled against him, as if she was exactly where she wanted to be.

  That made two of them.

  “Better?” he whispered, his fingers still working.

  “Getting there.”

  “Maybe these are tension headaches, not migraines.” Was there a difference, practically speaking? He didn’t know—wasn’t a doctor. But if they could figure out the trigger, maybe she wouldn’t suffer so much.

  “Maybe.” She didn’t move, except to let her full weight lean against him.

  “What if we go light the fire pit? The cool mountain air, the stars dancing overhead…maybe you could relax, and the tension would melt away?”

  Sounded like a setup, even to his own ears. He probably should let her go crawl into her bed and sleep the pain away. But there had to be a cause…and if she’d trust him with whatever she was hiding, perhaps they could find a solution together.

  “Sounds nice.”

  “Yeah?”

  Her fists curled into his flannel shirt. “Yes.”

  He covered one of her hands with his and tugged. She followed willingly, staying snug at his side. Whatever had struck her back at the restaurant still bothered her—he could feel the mild and sporadic trembles that quivered through her small body. Somehow, he had to nudge the truth out of her. Brock led her to his truck, and they headed toward the ranch.

  They stayed quiet on the way. Five minutes into the drive, Cheryl leaned across the bench seat and laid her head against his thigh. He wove his fingers through her hair until he touched the skin of her neck and began massaging again. When he glanced down, he found her eyes closed, but wrinkles rippled in her forehead.

  “Do you need something for the pain?”

  “I have Advil in my purse. I’ll take some at your house.”

  “Maybe I should turn around, take you back home.”

  Her hand found his leg. “No.”

  “What if you get sick again?”

  “It’s not that bad. It might go away.”

  “Does that happen?”

  She didn’t answer. That’d be a no. What had he been thinking? Totally selfish. He’d just wanted more time with her to discover what was bothering her, but he should have sent her up to bed.

  He moved his fingers from her neck to her shoulder and squeezed gently. “Promise you’ll tell me if you need to go home.”

  Her hand wrapped around his. Somehow the move felt like she was reaching for a lifeline. His heart tugged, and in that moment he was sure there was nothing in the world that could change how he felt. The depth of emotion—it wasn’t just adrenaline, chemistry. It was core deep. God given.

  Would she freak out if he told her?

  The last curve of his driveway passed under the truck’s wheels, and he slowed into the spot in front of his garage where he always parked. Cheryl didn’t move, even after he cut the engine.

  “You’re sure you’re up for this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. How about you just stay where you are, and I’ll get a fire going? I’ll come back for you.”

  “’Kay.”

  He slipped out from under the slight weight of her head and paused. Dark hair fanned over her shoulders and draped onto his side of the truck. Her shoulders moved with the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her steady breath. She folded her hands together and tucked them under her chin, shifting only slightly as she moved to a more comfortable position.

  So pretty, when she wasn’t scowling, snapping, or shutting down. Come to think of it, she was pretty even in those moments too. And those moments were dwindling.

  Someday, they’d be few and far between.

  ~*~

  Tell me if you need to go home…

  Cheryl never would have imagined a simple, innocent sentence would nearly topple her emotional wall.

  Home? Home was a dark and lonely place. Home was cold. Home had nothing that beckoned her back. Raw desperation clawed in her chest. Him. She just needed to be with him. What if, with him, she could redefine home? It would be tender looks, teasing smiles, warm touches. Home would be a happiness she hadn’t dared to think she’d ever find.

  Because she didn’t deserve it.

  Clenching her fist, she pushed the thought away. Brock liked her. That had to mean something. Even with her sharp personality and chilling people skills, he seemed to really like her. She’d be stupid not to snag that and hold on with everything she had.

  The door at her feet opened, and Brock’s large, warm hand rubbed her calf. “Are you up for this?”

  She pushed against the seat with her palms, righting herself. The throbbing in her head was minor compared to what it could be. If she could shut out the image that had been displayed on that television, maybe this time a few pills, and an evening snuggled with this man, would be the cure.

  “Yes
.”

  He pushed a glass into her hand. “Water. For your meds.”

  “Thanks.”

  After a moment of rummaging, she found the bottle of painkillers, downed a pair, and slid out of the vehicle. His arm wrapped possessively around her waist almost as soon as her feet touched the ground, and that surge of desperation deepened. Whatever it would take, she needed him.

  Brock had a quilt spread out on a small grassy slope near the fire pit. He let her settle on her back before he lay on what was left of the blanket next to her, one hand resting on his chest and the other arm tucked under his head.

  “Remember in like fifth or sixth grade we had to study the constellations?”

  She smiled, though she doubted he noticed, his attention focused on the sky.

  “Yes, although I was a few years behind you, you know.”

  His soft chuckle rumbled near her. “Yeah, I know, kid. I’ll bet you were a lot better at them than I was.”

  She tilted her chin and swept her gaze over the velvet night canvas above. “I remember a few.”

  “I don’t remember any.”

  She glanced at him. “Oh come on. Sure you do.” She pointed north. “See, there’s Cassiopeia, right above the peaks there. If you follow the tip of her W, she’ll point you to Ursa Minor.”

  “Ursa? I definitely don’t remember an Ursa anybody.”

  “Yes you do.” She lifted her head and propped up on one elbow. The throbbing had diminished to a gentle pulse, the pain dimming as the moments became more peaceful. “The Little Dipper. Polaris is in that constellation—the North Star. Everything in the night sky seems to rotate around her.” Again she pointed, this time at the tail of the Little Dipper, and began to draw a trail over the sky. “And look—if you move from the Little Dipper to Ursa Major, you can find Leo just past that to the west.”

  Brock’s low chuckle drew her attention back.

  “What?”

  “I knew you were better at it than I was.” He looked at her with a grin. “You’re so smart, you know.”