by Diane Moody
“Well sir . . .”
They waited. Keri was used to Shep’s ways now, his “well sir” now a familiar precursor when he had something to say.
He looked around the table, then ducked his eyes before turning toward Nita. He reached for her hand. “Well sir . . .”
“What’s on your mind, Pop?” Grant finally prodded.
“Oh . . .”
“Out with it, Shep,” Nita urged. “You’re among family here. Spit it out, sweetheart.”
His eyes darted around again, then he looked out across the water, taking in the reflection of the lights bouncing on the waves. Finally, he turned back to Nita and smiled.
“Marry me.”
Nita’s expression went from shock to questioning to tender affection. She tilted her head as her eyes filled and a smile stretched across her face. “Oh Shep, I would be honored to marry you.” She searched his face with expectation, obviously waiting for a response.
He quirked a smile, dipped his head again. “Well sir, then.”
They all laughed, then Nita jumped up to smother him with hugs and kisses.
Grant stood as well, holding his hand out to Keri. “How about we take a walk, Miss McMillan?”
Keri rose. “I’d love to, Mr. Dawson.”
They left the lovebirds and made their way off the Sarah Jane, then down the marina and onto the beach. They couldn’t help giggling, still shocked at the sudden proposal. A quarter of a mile down the beach they came to a fire pit still stocked with the remnants of someone else’s fire. Grant quickly relit the logs , then he took a seat beside Keri on a log a couple feet from the fire. They snuggled close together against the night air.
“I’m not sure anything could ever surprise me again. Not after that shocker.”
She burrowed against him. “Can you believe it? Goodness, those two didn’t waste any time, did they?”
“Yeah, but I guess at their age, time is everything.”
“True,” she echoed. “I’m so happy. For both of them.
“Me too, Keri. The change your aunt has made in my dad . . . it’s nothing short of a miracle. And I couldn’t be happier for them.”
They sat in silence, staring into the fire, warming to its glow. Keri tried to remember if she’d ever been this happy, and for the life of her, couldn’t. She looked up at Grant, so filled with love for this man she’d grown to love. Hard to imagine she’d once despised him. She remembered the first time they’d met, the night the Blankenship cabin burned to the ground. How she’d hated him and hated his witty little exchange with her aunt that night. How she’d fought him, the small town publisher with a Pulitzer collecting dust somewhere. What a loser, she’d thought.
How could that man be the same one here, sitting beside her, filling her heart with so much love?
Talk about a miracle.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Grant reached into the oversized pocket of his squall jacket. He handed her a small package, wrapped in Christmas paper and tied with a red ribbon.
“What’s this?” she smiled. “You’re a little early for Christmas, aren’t you?”
“It’s not really a Christmas gift. But that’s the only wrapping paper I could find. Go on. Open it.”
She looked at him quizzically, and started unwrapping the small box. She lifted the lid, finding an object heavily wrapped in tissue. When she finally pulled the last of the tissue free, her breath caught. In her hands, she held a teacup—a Cobalt Net Lomonosov porcelain. The exact same design of her mother’s heirloom. Her mouth fell open. “How” she mouthed, unable to speak.
“How’d I find it?”
She nodded, still speechless.
He pushed a curl from her eyes. “Easy. I’m a reporter. I investigated.”
“But—”
“Don’t you remember that night at the lighthouse? When you were so upset after finding out your mom’s teacup had accidentally been shattered?”
She nodded slowly, a tear falling from her eyes.
He brushed it away with his thumb. “Well, I decided to see if I could find one. Of course, I knew it could never replace hers. Of course not. But at least it could represent her. So instead of seeing that empty saucer and the loss it represented, I thought maybe a replacement might help keep her memory alive.”
She pulled the teacup close to her, cradling it against her chest. “Grant, I don’t know what to say. This is the kindest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
“Then that settles it. My work is done.”
She carefully wrapped the cup back in the tissue and placed it back in the box before wrapping her arms around his neck. “I can never thank you enough,” she whispered. “You’ll never know how much this means to me.”
He held her face in his hands, then gently kissed her. Not once. Not twice. In fact, at some point he lost count. He slowly pulled his hands from her face and wrapped her snuggly in his arms, pulling back to face her. “I love you, Keri.”
She gulped back a sob of pure joy. “I love you too, Grant. And I think I have for a very long time now.”
He brushed another tear from her check. A moment passed as the glow of the fire reflected in their eyes.
Finally, Grant turned, tucking her under his arm as they faced the fire again. “Well sir . . .” he croaked, mimicking his father’s favorite line.
She laughed. “You do that well. Shep would be impressed.”
He chuckled. “Well sir . . .” he repeated.
She sat up to look at him. “I said, you do that—”
“Marry me.”
For the second time in five minutes, she was speechless.
“Well sir . . . I think we should make it a double.”
“What?” she whispered.
“I think we should make it a double ceremony.” His eyes warmed as a smile crept across his face. “Marry me, Keri McMillan, and make me the happiest man in the world.”
Her eyes searched his, her brow dipped briefly in question, then she grabbed him, shouting, “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”
They laughed, they kissed, and then they kissed a little more.
“Ahoy, there!” came a voice from the Sarah Jane. “What’s all the racket out there?” Nita shouted. “You’ll wake the whales!”
“Then let ‘em wake up! WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!” Grant shouted.
“Shep! Did you hear that! Grant said they’re getting married too!”
Silence followed, the waves lapping against the beach the only response.
Then, from across the water . . .
“Well sir . . .that’s nice . . . that’s real nice.”
Epilogue
I couldn’t help it. Not that I tried. If I had a mirror positioned over my desk, I’m sure the smile reflected in it would be slap-dog silly. But hey, I make no apologies. I love how this one ended. A double wedding! How fun would that be?! It was hard not to add another chapter and celebrate the happy occasion with my characters, but sometimes you just know when to close . . . Isn’t that a line from some Kenny Rogers song?
Speaking of songs . . . I leaned over, searching for MJ’s Thriller on my iPod, ready to commence my own celebration ritual. Even now I could hear the mint chocolate chip calling my name from the freezer . . . Luuuuucccyyyyy!
My cell rang before I could crank up the opening rift of my favorite Michael Jackson song. “Hello?”
“Hey, sis. Just wanted to let you know we’re running a few minutes late.”
Eh?
“Apparently Beth had some kind of wardrobe malfunction.”
Lucy could hear a giggling female in the background. “Beth? Who’s Beth?”
“Elizabeth Frazier. She teaches with me, remember? Anyway, she’s appropriately dressed now and we should be at your place in—”
Oh no. No no no no no!
“—about twenty minutes.”
No no no! Tell me I did not—
“Mark’s gonna meet us at your place, so he should be there any time now.”
&nb
sp; I stood up, searching for the note on my calendar. And there it was:
Friday night – double date/Mark
No no no no no!
“Sis? You there?”
“Yeah, sure. No-problem-I’ll-be-ready-when-you-get-here-bye.”
I threw the phone on my desk and ran down the hall, grabbing the bathroom doorframe as I accidentally slid past it. Socks on hardwood. Risky business.
You don’t even want to know the dialogue going through my head as I showered, blew my hair dry, did a drive-by with my make-up, and rushed in my closet to find my black dress. I started to dig through my underwear drawer for a pair of black hose, when I suddenly stopped. No one wears hose any more, do they?
I took a quick assessment of my scrawny legs, immediately noticing the ugly scar down the front of my right shin from a shaving mishap last week. Lovely. I blew my hair out of my eyes, cracked open the L’eggs egg and starting pulling on a pair of black hose. At least they had a pattern in them—thankfully, not fishnetty.
I grabbed my heels and raced back to the bathroom. I’d just lathered up with my Extra-Brightening Crest when the doorbell rang.
“Ahlbeyarinamint!” I shouted before spitting.
Yeah. Like he understood that?
A quick rinse, a final brush through the hair, a spritz of cologne, and I was ready. I grabbed my gauzy black shawl, draped it over my shoulders, stepped into my strappy black heels and tried to find some semblance of poise in me as I walked toward the front door.
Deep breath. Relax . . . I closed my eyes for just a moment then fixed a genuine smile on my face before opening the door.
And there he was. My Mark.
A smile as big as Boston on his face.
A huge bouquet of flowers in his hands.
Dressed in his UPS browns.
Brown shirt.
Brown shorts.
Brown socks.
“Oh.” It slipped out. Honest. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. But even I could hear the tinge of disappointment in that tiny little word.
“Hi Lucy.”
I blinked. Three, maybe four times. I simply couldn’t find the words . . . My imagination kicked in as I watched us walk into Fitzgerald’s. We made our entrance, passing linen-covered tables set with crystal and fine china, aglow with soft candlelight, as easy jazz played on a Bose sound system . . . with every eye riveted on the man in brown escorting the girl in the little black dress.
I blinked again, realizing my eyes had traveled downward from his sweet smile, to that shirt, those shorts, and those socks.
His eyes followed mine. “Oh—yeah, I know. I’m still in uniform.”
I swallowed. As an author, I’m paid to piece together words that communicate. But I have to tell you—I got nothing here.
“No! Oh, you think . . .” He laughed, throwing his head back. “No, I’m not here for our date, Lucy!” He laughed again. It was a great laugh.
A wheeze flew out of me on a gust of relief. “Oh!” I laughed in return, trying to act nonchalant. “Oh, sure. I knew that. Really . . . duh?!
“Oh Lucy, I swear—I’d never dress like this for a date.” He chuckled this time. “I promise I’d never do that to you. See, I was on my way home to change when I got a call from our dispatcher. My buddy’s truck broke down on the interstate and I’ve got to go help him transfer his load into my truck, then finish the deliveries. It’ll take hours. I didn’t want to just call, so I swung by on my way out there. Oh, and I just got off the phone with your brother, explaining what happened. I’m so sorry, Lucy. I was really looking forward to going out with you tonight.”
She leaned against the door jamb, wrapping one ankle around the other. He came to tell me face to face. How sweet is that?
He handed her the bouquet. “Any chance you’d give me a rain check? Say, Sunday night?”
And so it was, my first date with my handsome UPS guy was postponed.
After we said our goodbyes, I kicked off my heels and padded into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. Truth be told, I wasn’t that disappointed. Now I’d have time to anticipate our date the right way. I’d set the alarm on my cell phone on Sunday afternoon to remind me. I’d take a long hot bubble bath, do my nails, maybe try an updo.
I took my beautiful bouquet back to my office and pushed aside some clutter on my desk to give them the priority they deserved. I sat down, propped my feet on the ottoman, and welcomed Gertie who also seemed pleased my plans had changed.
“Gertie, life can be funny sometimes. You just never know what you’ll find at the front door.”
I noticed the Lomonosov teacup and saucer sitting beside my keyboard. I’d washed it that morning, still admiring its glistening blue and gold netting-like design. I couldn’t believe it was time to put it back on the shelf.
It’s hard, finishing a story. Sure, the sense of accomplishment feels great. It feels amazing. But then there’s the necessary letting go . . . having to step back out of the story line and say goodbye to my characters. That’s the part I hate. It always feels a little like I’m packing them up in a shoebox and sticking them in the attic. Not exactly a fitting farewell for people who made my story come alive! Could I really walk away without witnessing Grant and Keri’s double-wedding with Shep and Nita? Would Keri ever finish her degree? Or would she and Grant start a family? Would Tyler’s business recover? So many unanswered questions.
And yet, ask any author how they determine where to end a story and they’ll tell you.
You just know.
I sat there pondering my next adventure. Time to pick another teacup and begin another story.
I already knew which was next. That interesting cup and saucer with the mysterious history . . . at least, a history I’d soon create for it. So many secrets in that one. I couldn’t wait to unveil them.
I reached for the cup, blew the dust from its interior, and listened to the sound of a motorcycle roaring through my mind on its way to that quaint little Tennessee town . . .
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Acknowledgments
To Glenn Hale, for his incredible knack for catching those elusive typos. It only goes to press after ol’ Eagle Eyes has first had a look. Thanks, Dad. Love you.
To Katie at The Vintage Teacup on Etsy. Thanks for the beautiful picture of the gorgeous Lomonosov teacup and your willingness to share its beauty on my cover. If you’re ever in the Nashville are, we must have tea! I adore your Etsy shop and trust my readers will stop by often, as will I: http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheVintageTeacup
To Dan Logan for his spectacular log cabin fire photograph, taken in Crown Point, Alaska. The moment I found your picture, I knew I’d found my cover shot. Thank you for your generosity in allowing me to use it. You are a gifted photographer, my friend. Check out more of Dan’s stunning pictures at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dcsl/sets/
To Ken, my husband and fellow OBT Bookz conspirator. Thanks for your endless encouragement, for pushing me when I need a lift, and for helping design another beautiful cover! I love doing life with you.
And finally, to Sally Wilson. Yes, I know—I dedicated this book to you, but I can never thank you enough for the trail you have blazed for me and others in this passion we call writing. From the first time we met at the ACFW conference in Houston, I knew we were kindred spirits. I am so blessed to know you, to brainstorm over paninis with you at Red Tree, and to experience life with a true blue, albeit quirky friend who lives “just down the road.” You are one of my most cherished friends and I thank God for you.
About the Author
Born in Texas and raised in Oklahoma, Diane Moody writes both fiction and non-fiction. Her first book, Confessions of a Prayer Slacker, released in 2010 followed by Don’t Ever Look Down: Surviving Cancer Together in 2011, co-authored with Dick & Debbie Church. Her first novel, The Runaway Pastor’s Wife, debuted in 2011 as well. Tea with Emma and Strike the Match the first and second i
nstallment in a series called The Teacup Novellas, published by OBT Bookz. Blue Christmas, the first of her newest series, The Moody Blue Trilogy, released in the fall of 2011, and quickly became a bestseller on Amazon Kindle.
A former pastor’s wife, Diane and husband Ken now live in the rolling hills just outside of Nashville, Tennessee. They are the proud parents of two grown and extraordinary children, Hannah and Ben.
Visit Diane’s webpage at www.dianemoody.net.
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Blue Like Elvis
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