She blinked. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Then why was she staring at it like he’d put a snake on her table? Roman decided not to ask. He wanted a look at her living room. She liked blue, green, pink, and yellow. Everything was cheap chic, warm and cozy. Three pieces of art hung on her wall: “Be still and know I am God” in colorful hand lettering, and two prints of men in Arabic dress, one a bearded shepherd carrying a lamb over his shoulders and the other with head bowed, hands clasped in prayer. “Do you have a thing for Middle Eastern men?”
“I have a thing for Jesus.”
She said it so simply, without the least hesitation, it caught him off guard. Her brown eyes shone clear until she caught his mood, then became perplexed. Something about the way she tilted her head made his heart give an odd double beat. The feeling passed as quickly as it came. “Your lights were on when I came home last night. It was after two. Everything all right?”
“Just restless. Couldn’t sleep. It’s very quiet out here. No traffic sounds. Would you like some coffee? It’s not fresh.”
Was she hoping he’d say no? “Yes. Thanks.” She opened a cabinet, displaying a neat row of unmatched mugs. “You’ve already put all your stuff away.” His gaze drifted over her. She looked good in skinny jeans. She was barefoot, her toenails painted pink. Her shirt rode up enough to reveal pale skin. No tats. None that he could see, anyway.
He glanced at her textbook. Contemporary Clinical Psychology. Surprised, he gave a slight laugh. “Doing some light reading?”
“It’s from a class I had to drop at UCLA.” She handed him a mug of steaming coffee.
College girl. “UCLA? That wasn’t on your résumé.”
“I didn’t graduate.”
“Didn’t like school?”
“Loved it.”
“Flunked out?”
“I had to go to work full-time.”
Roman lifted the mug and read Trust in the Lord with all your heart. He sipped, looking at her over the rim. “Hard-core, aren’t you?”
“I have a Dodgers mug, if that would make the coffee taste better. Or the Raiders.”
Was she teasing him? He gave her a roguish grin. “I’m more a raider than a dodger.” Even her old coffee tasted good. She looked like a teenager with her hair tucked behind her ears. He liked the shape and fullness of her mouth. In truth, he liked everything about her, what little he knew. Neither spoke. Grace sucked in a soft breath. She came around the table, walked out the door, and didn’t stop until she reached the wall. She ran her hand along it.
Turning, she looked at him calmly. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Roman wasn’t fooled. She wanted him out of the cottage. Okay. He could take a hint. He sat in the same place her friend had occupied during their long conversation. She didn’t seem to have anything to say now.
“Is something worrying you, Grace?” Did she think he was coming on to her? He told himself he was just checking in, like a good landlord. “Everything working? The fridge? The stove? The washer and dryer?” He jerked his chin. “It’s only the second time I’ve been in the place. I didn’t even bother to check things out before you moved in.”
“My friends did. Everything works perfectly. The fridge and stove anyway. I haven’t done any wash yet.”
Ms. Moore was rambling, nervous. He felt on firmer ground. “Good.”
Clearing her throat, she looked at him. “How is the last transfer coming along?”
He shrugged. “Everyone is always in a hurry.” Especially him. He couldn’t wait to be done with it. The sooner he got back to work, the sooner he’d be done. He finished the coffee and held out the mug. “You make good coffee.” Maybe she’d offer him a second cup. Maybe they could both relax enough to have a real conversation, something unrelated to business.
“You’re just hooked on caffeine. Too much isn’t good for you.”
She didn’t want him to linger. “Okay, Mama.” Roman stood. “We’re all hooked on something.” What was her addiction?
“Thank you for the orchid, Roman. That was very thoughtful of you.”
He’d never been accused of that before.
Grace backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Obviously clinical psychology held more allure than he did. “Turn on your air-conditioning whenever you need it, Grace. It’s not wise to leave your door open out here. You’re in wild country. You don’t want any wily coyotes wandering in.”
She laughed. “No. I definitely do not want that.” Now over the threshold, she closed the door.
Despite traffic, Grace arrived at Lawry’s on time. She recognized Brian Henley from the picture Shanice had forwarded—handsome with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. He saw her come in and stood, recognizing her from whatever photo her friends had posted. He was a head taller than her and had an athletic frame. Smiling, he extended his hand. “Grace Moore? I’m Brian Henley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He didn’t try to hide his relief. The hostess showed them to a booth. Brian seemed as uncomfortable as she, and she felt odd trying to put a man she hadn’t wanted to meet at ease.
“I was told you’re a youth pastor.”
“Told? Are you saying this wasn’t your idea?”
Grace blushed. “Well . . .” Why not be honest? “You seem like a very nice person, Brian, but meeting someone through a website hasn’t been on my list of things to do. My friends created my profile and set up this date without me knowing. And they wouldn’t give me your contact information so I could call and set the record straight.”
Brian grinned. “My youth group did the same thing to me.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. They both laughed.
Brian leaned back. “Well, we could call it an evening right now . . . or see what happens.”
She liked his attitude. “We’re here. I’ll pay my share.” She could afford a dinner salad. A pity her friends had suggested such an expensive restaurant.
“The youth group gave me a gift certificate generous enough to pay for two very nice dinners, dessert, and wine.”
“I don’t drink.”
“That makes two of us.”
They talked easily. Brian had met his future wife, Charlene, at the Urbana student missions conference when they were still in high school. They discovered they were both headed for Bible college in Wheaton, Illinois. Both worked and went to school, and they married after their sophomore year. While working on his master’s, Brian took a position at a megachurch on the outskirts of Chicago. Charlene worked in an after-school day care program. One winter night, less than a mile from home, she hit black ice, spun off the road into a tree.
Brian had tears in his eyes. “It’s been four years. I needed to get away from all the familiar places. I put out applications across the country and ended up here in LA. Still a big city, but much smaller church. A challenge. Room to grow.”
“How long were you and Charlene married?”
“Six years.”
“That’s not very long when you love someone as much as you clearly loved your wife.”
“No. Not nearly long enough. How about you? Any serious relationships?”
Grace sighed inwardly. Just tell the truth. “I’m sorry. I guess my friends left out a few pertinent facts in the profile they created. I’m divorced, and I have a child.” When Brian didn’t say anything, she figured this one date would be the end of what might have been a promising relationship.
“I’m listening.”
She looked up in surprise. How much do you tell someone on a first date? Her story was bleak and embarrassing, enough to expose her stupidity and stubborn foolishness.
“Patrick was a high school football star struggling with algebra, and his coach said I’d make a good tutor. Patrick received better than a passing grade and asked me to the prom. I think that was his way of paying me.” She winced. “That sounds terrible.”
“Is it true?”
“I don’t know. I’d rather believe he liked me as much as I liked him, but my aunt didn’t think so.” And Aunt Elizabeth was always right about everything. Why hadn’t Grace seen the warning signs?