Holly laughed. “What?”
“I’m just telling it like it is. In order to catch this guy, you’re going to have to believe that he’s the one who will come to care about you so much that he’ll be heartbroken when your time together runs out. Are you following me?”
“Um . . .”
“What’s the problem? You are superior to him. You’re wonderful in every way.”
“Not in every way. I have allergies and go to work in my pajamas and still haven’t earned the affection of Rob’s lab. Aren’t labs supposed to love everyone?”
“You’re a bestselling author.”
She gave Sam an unconvinced look. A few of her dystopian YA novels had snuck onto the very bottom of the USA Today list. She’d written two books a year since college. Not all of them had done as well.
“Your novels star a fearless eighteen-year-old girl,” Sam said, “who never hesitates to take names and kick bootie. You are your heroine.”
Holly wrinkled her forehead. “She’s like the superhero cartoon version of me. She’s amazing with a rapier, for pity’s sake.”
“Well, you’re going to need to channel more of her in order to convince your billionaire to put a ring on it.”
“He’s not my billionaire and I don’t want to convince him to—”
“Also, you might want to think about wearing tighter clothing, more makeup, and getting a gel manicure every two weeks. Just sayin’.” Sam shot her a big grin.
“Now I know you’ve lost your mind.”
She was supposed to be writing.
Holly had returned to her apartment hours ago after lunch at the Tacqueria. She’d stationed herself at her desk, which faced a glorious old window overlooking Main. She had her computer document open in front of her. Her environment cocooned her appropriately with quiet. Her pumpkin-spice candle was flickering and she’d answered her e-mail. She should be writing. But all she’d been actively doing was waiting for a text or call from Josh.
Sam would not approve.
Beyond the window panes, the sun melted toward the horizon, casting amber light over Martinsburg—
Her phone rang. Holly lunged for it like a woman in sugar withdrawal lunging for the final truffle at a chocolate shop.
The screen announced the incoming caller as Amanda’s mom. Spirits sagging, Holly set the phone down and let it go to voice mail. Because of her volunteer position as Trinity Church’s wedding coordinator, either Amanda or Amanda’s mom called her almost daily. Holly found it more efficient to compile all their questions and address them at one time.
The cursor on her computer screen blinked, awaiting excellence. She tucked her feet underneath her crisscross style and swiveled her chair to face the interior of her home. It had taken her a good deal of time to exchange out all the old furniture her parents had loaned her for these new pieces she’d purchased for herself. Nowadays, her little place looked like the residence of an actual grown-up. Area rugs over the hardwood floors. Quality furniture she’d scored in back-of-the store bargain rooms. The sofa and padded ottomans were pale gray, brightened by one fabulous yellow raw silk chair, and several navy and white trellis-patterned throw pillows.
She’d built a home for herself in Martinsburg totally independent of her family and Josh. The home she’d made included her writing career, this community, her church, friends, relatives.
It hadn’t been easy to get herself to this place. It had been hardest of all during the months following her breakup with Josh. She could remember praying daily back then, hourly even, asking God what she should do, whether she should contact Josh.
Every time she’d prayed about it, she’d sensed God steering her to leave things as they were. Not to contact him.
The tremendous success Josh had enjoyed since then proved that God had been working out His plan for Josh’s life through the guidance He’d given her.
So how come she’d felt their old chemistry when she’d seen Josh today? She’d been faithful to God’s leadership way back when. So why hadn’t God done her the favor of taking away her feelings for Josh?
She planted an elbow on her chair’s armrest and leaned the side of her head into her hand. She’d been on plenty of dates with good guys, guys who were genuine and sweet and sometimes even very cute. Why hadn’t any of her adult relationships moved from interest/attraction to that thing much harder to attain: love?
The Sunday school answer was, of course, that God had been busy teaching her to be totally content in Him alone. Which was well and good, except that the pesky, romantic bent of her soul refused to quit hoping for a husband and one day, children. She was forever striving to balance peace with her singleness against her ongoing prayer asking God to prepare her for someone and someone for her.