“I’m grateful for those church ladies,” Will said, standing beside Christine in his studio.
She chuckled, knowing what he meant, because she agreed.
“I noticed they’re even helping with her therapy now. Those women deserve stars in their crowns.”
“I told them that, but they love it. Grandma is a blessed woman to have so many people care about her.”
“The only thing I don’t like,” he said, pulling supplies from drawers beneath his workbench, “is the quicker she gets better, the faster you’ll be leaving.”
Christine didn’t want to think of the inevitable either. Her mind shot back to the conversation with Will’s father five days earlier. Will had never asked what they were talking about, and, being preoccupied with his mother’s conversation, she hoped he hadn’t noticed.
She shook her head. “Don’t think about that now. I’m here until my vacation’s over, and then longer if I use a family medical leave, and I’m thinking I may do that. All I can hope is Chet doesn’t push too hard. He could make life very difficult for me at the office if he follows through.”
“I don’t want to see that happen, Christine. I know you love your work.”
She looked at the sincerity in his eyes, and her pulse skipped. She’d always said she loved her work, but watching Will in the studio—the joy he had in creating, the lack of stress, the delight in living—sometimes she wondered about her situation at Creative Productions. Still, that’s the work she knew, and that’s where she excelled.
“Okay, ready to learn about making beads?” He slipped on his safety glasses and lit a torch he’d clamped to his worktable.
Beads. She’d wanted time to talk with him. She’d thought about what she’d said to his father, and she told herself she wasn’t trying to change him, but just make things better for him. But she observed his eagerness with the beads. “Sure,” she said, though her heart wasn’t in it.
“I’ve already coated the mandrel with bead release. That’s a fireproof coating.”
“Great, but what’s a mandrel?”
His mouth curved to a grin. “This metal rod.” He lifted it from the equipment on the table. “You need this to make beads.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling the heat of the torch.
She watched him heat the mandrel, then warm the glass rods, rotating them until they formed what appeared to be a honey-type liquid blob. As the glass melted, he touched the mandrel tip to the glass and rotated it to form a circle. When it reached what he apparently thought was the right size, he pulled away the rod and continued to rotate the bead to a smooth surface. She felt her mouth gape at the ease with which he created the lovely bauble.
“Want to try this?”
She stepped back. “I don’t think so, Will. That’s your talent. Mine is advertising and marketing. Now that, I could help you with.”
He moved back the mandrel and rolled the bead on a special surface, then lowered it onto a cooling mixture. When he looked at her, disappointment had registered on his face. “Did my father succeed in influencing you?”
She drew back at his question. “No. Not at all. I told you a long time ago I had some ideas. I would never do that to you.” Her shoulders tensed with his accusation.
In a heartbeat, he lowered the mandrel and turned off the torch, then drew her to him. “I’m sorry, Christine. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She felt as if he’d slapped her.
“I have no excuse,” he said, his voice strained. “I saw my father talking to you at the restaurant. He seemed intense, and so were you. You haven’t mentioned the conversation, and I hated to ask. I figured you’d say something.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t.” She hadn’t wanted to tell him that his father had tried to influence her. She’d prayed for reconciliation between them.
“When you didn’t say anything, I started assuming what he talked about. Naturally I figured he wanted you to coerce me back to Detroit.”
Her muscles knotted as disappointment spread over her. “I’m sorry you’d think I’d do that, Will.”
“No, Christine. It’s me. I get this way with my dad. My mother had eased a little, and I thought maybe—”
“I defended you. I told your father that real love had nothing to do with forcing someone’s will. It had to do with trust and confidence in them. I’d never try to manipulate you, and I’m disappointed that you think I would do that.”
He stepped away and turned his back. “I was wrong to accuse you, but you know, I’ve sensed you pulling away since my parents came. I realized our friendship is...temporary. It’s—”
“I don’t want to hear that. Please. I treasure the time we’ve spent together. I’ve changed, and I attribute that to my grandmother and you. I’ve learned something about myself. It’s nothing to do with how I feel about you. It’s—” She stopped herself. Not now. She needed to think, to weigh her feelings and take a long look at her life. She needed time.
“Let’s leave it at that.” He picked the bead from the fiber and rolled it between his fingers, then dropped it into her hand. “So what are your thoughts?”
“About us?”
“No. You mentioned your ideas.”
Her ideas seemed so unimportant now. She weighed the value of causing more tension between them with sharing the strategies she’d thought of earlier. She couldn’t help herself. Marketing was her work.
“This has no reflection on your father’s opinion. When I first came here and saw the great merchandise you have—all those wonderful pieces of art—I thought about marketing. I know you have a captive audience in the summer, but you could enhance the late autumn, winter and early spring months by using the Internet.”
“You mean selling online?”
She nodded, her enthusiasm growing. “All you need is a Web site that offers photographs of your work—the jewelry, sun catchers, small windows, vases, things easy to mail—and a brief description with the price. Once you know the shipping cost, you can set up a secure site and use charge cards or an Internet bank service, and that’s it. You could hire someone to do packaging and handling or do it yourself.”
Her heart pumped at the thought of how his sales could rise. “Do you know how many people shop on the Internet? It’s amazing.”
His eyes widened and glazed. “I don’t mean to sound ignorant, but, Christine, I don’t know anything about creating Web sites and finding secure sites. I’m an artist.”
“But some people do.” She swallowed, fearing where she was headed. “I do. I could help you get started. You’re a great photographer. You can take the photos, or I can, and I’ll—”
“Christine, I’m not sure I want to do this. Once you’re gone, then what do I do?”
“I—” She stopped herself, seeing the expression on his face. She remembered what Ellene had said. “You have a wonderful business, Will. I don’t know why I’m even suggesting this. It’s just a gold mine for you.” His expression reminded her of the truth. Will didn’t seem to want a gold mine. He loved his simple life, so why change it?
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your ideas,” he said, relaxing and moving closer. He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You’re suggesting what is so natural for you. I need to think about the reason I would do this. Why complicate my life?”
She wondered if she had already complicated his life by just being there. Christine lifted her gaze to his and her stomach rolled with a sweet sensation. “You’re right, Will.”
“As always,” he said, a smile brightening his face. “Let me think. I need some time to weigh what you’ve said.”
I need some time. So did she. Christine shrugged, wishing she could learn to keep her ideas to herself.
“Don’t be sad,” he said, tilting her chin upward. His gaze drifted to her lips, and her heart squeezed in anticipation.
Will’s mouth bent to hers, but this time the gentle touch deepened. He held her close, his hand cupping her head, his fingers plying her hair while his free hand held her shoulders with a tenderness that made her knees weak. Emotion took away her breath, and her lungs cried for air.
Will eased back and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m thinking,” he said, his mouth so close she could feel his lips move against hers.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but before it could reach the surface, his lips met hers again.
Dear Lord, she thought, I’m lost in this man’s arms. I’ve never felt this way, but how can it ever be? He’s so young. I’m so much older. My heart is fighting my head, and I’m so afraid I’ll be hurt again. Help me, Lord.
“Should we leave for the airport?” Will asked.
“Ellene said she wouldn’t take off until noon, so we have time...”
Christine looked gorgeous with her legs tucked beneath her in his recliner. Will wished he owned a sofa so he could hold her in his arms. Maybe his parents were right about one thing at least. He needed a bigger apartment if he was ever going to find someone to share his life.
He patted his lap. “Come here a second.”
“Why?”
“I want you near me.”
“That’s silly. We’ll break the chair.”
“Not so, but if we do, I’ll buy another one.”
She laughed, her long hair sweeping over her face as she gave him a coy look as if playing hard to get.
“Please,” he said, sending her a coaxing smile.
She pulled herself from the recliner and sauntered toward him, an elfish look in her eye. “This is silly, you know.”
“Sometimes it’s fun to be silly.” He reached forward and grasped her hand, pulling her down.
Christine rested her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her, loving the feeling of being close to her.
“See. This is perfect.”
She wriggled as if to get comfortable. “I’m sorry about the bead making, Will. Maybe one day I can concentrate. I’d love to learn how to make them.”
“Like you said, it’s not your expertise.”
“No, but I expected you to build a Web site and sell online. That’s not yours, either. I have a controlling nature, and I’m not really happy with it anymore.”
“I’m happy with everything about you.”
“That’s because you’re so...you. It’s your natural way. You have every fruit of the spirit. I wish I knew how you do it.”
“I don’t do it, Christine,” he said, running his finger along the arm of her sweater. “It’s the Lord.”
“But how do you get Him to do it?”
He couldn’t help but laugh at her question. “I don’t know. I study the Word. I pray for God’s direction.”
“I’ve been doing that. I really have.”
“And I allow the Lord to work in me. Your grandmother talks so often about the fruits of the spirit, and they’re almost inseparable from Jesus’s new commandment.”
“You mean there’s an eleventh commandment?” She tilted her head upward, smiling at him.
He shook his head. “You’re teasing,” he said, enjoying the sweet scent of her perfume. “Jesus said ‘I give you a new commandment and that is to love one another as I have loved you.’ So it’s easy. We respond to things in the best manner we can to emulate Jesus.”
“Easy? I find that very hard.”
“No one’s perfect, but we can try.”
She swung her legs downward and shifted to sit more upright. “Do you mean that by trying to be more like Jesus we become closer to Him?”
“I think so. I know that the Lord is beside me now.” He brushed his fingers against her soft cheek.
“If you have all of us on your lap, this chair is really going to break.”
He gave her a teasing poke. “Stop. We’re being serious now. Jesus is always with me. It’s that personal kind of relationship that people talk about. I can just toss out my concerns, and I know He is here and He hears me. He’s beside you, too.”
She lowered her head. “Funny, but since I’ve been on the island, I can better understand what you’re saying. Maybe it’s less distractions or—”
“Less competitiveness, less media, less traffic, less of the things that aren’t important. On an island, you depend on people—on personal relationships. That’s what’s important. Then kindness and compassion are natural.”
“Why are you so young yet so wise?”
Will felt her tense as if the comment was something she hadn’t wanted to deal with. Her reaction rocked him. Was that why she’d become so withdrawn after brunch with his father? He’d felt it, then watched it fade as they spent time together. But it really hadn’t faded at all.
“Do you want to talk about this?” he asked.
She lowered her head, dismay on her face. “I’m sorry I said anything. I’ve been trying to not let it bother me. We’re only friends. We can—”
“Christine.”
She faltered when he said her name, and she lifted her gaze to his, her eyes filled with concern.
“Do you really believe we’re only friends?” He waited, watching her face shift from one emotion to another, until he saw tears well in her eyes.
“Please,” Will said, drawing her against his chest again, “don’t be upset. Age is a state of mind. I guessed a while ago I was a little younger than you, but I hoped it wouldn’t bother you.”
“When your parents were here and I heard some of the conversation, I calculated you’re twenty-eight or so.” She looked at him with question.
“I’ll be twenty-nine in January.”
“Do you know how old I am?”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do.”
“You mean too much to me to let something as finite as age affect our relationship. What we have is precious.”
“What do we have, Will? That’s what I want to know. I live in metro Detroit. You’re up here. I can never see you leaving the island. I can’t picture me living here. I’m bossy and stressed much of the time. You’re easygoing and so wonderful.”
“Remember what I said. Let the Lord handle this. I don’t have all the answers, but if the feelings I have for you are real, then I know God has the answer. I trust in Him.”
He felt her tense against him. She turned and clasped his face in her hands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I trust Him, too.”
He drew his fingers along her hair and brushed the softness of her neck. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear you say that.”
They were silent a moment, each perhaps in their own thoughts.
Then she stirred. “I’m thirty-nine, Will. I could almost be your mother.”