Chapter 22
For we have not a high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.
—Hebrews 4:15
A week later, Ethan called me at the flower shop.
“Are you busy right now?” Ethan said after he knew it was me.
“No. In fact, I was just about to close up. Why? Do you need to order something?”
“No. But I would like to see you. I was thinking if you were free for dinner, I know this really nice restaurant I’d like to take you to . . . you know, to thank you for being so supportive last week.”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Oh no. That’s not necessary at all. I’m just glad I could be of some help. Your daughter being safely back at home is enough thank-you for me.”
“Oh, you were more than just some help. You got me back focused; reminded me that I was in spiritual warfare and that our weapons are not carnal but mighty through God. There were lots of folks with things to say on that day last week. Not many of them were slapping me back into a place of faith, not the way you did.”
“Well,” I said, with a controlled sigh, “it was my pleasure to give whatever help I could. I’m just glad everything turned out the way that it did.”
“You and me both,” Ethan said. “So let me take you to dinner as my way of saying thank you.”
“As I just said, that’s really not necessary. That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Yes, that’s what friends are for.” He paused a second. “All right. Since you won’t let me take you to dinner, may I at least stop by and bring you something?”
“Oh, Ethan—”
“You know: you’re the hardest person I’ve ever seen when it comes to graciously receiving blessings. You’re good at giving them; now when are you going to learn to accept? I hope you know that you’re blocking my blessings right now.”
“Is that right?” But his words did sort of slap me around a little bit. I hadn’t thought about it, but he was absolutely right. I didn’t like people doing things for me.
“So if you’re going to be at the shop a little longer, I’ll stop by and drop off what I have for you.”
“E-than.” I slightly sang his name. “Really, you don’t owe me anything.” Although in truth, I was curious about what he had.
“May I please come by?” He released a loud sigh. “Okay, let me try it this way. Will you still be at the shop twenty more minutes?”
“I’ll be here,” I said, looking at the clock on the wall and seeing that even if I wasn’t going to be waiting on him, I’d still be around, if doing nothing more than putting things away.
* * *
Ethan arrived at my shop twenty minutes on the dot carrying a large brown bag in his hand. Although clothed quite casually, he was still dressed to the nines. As I locked the shop’s door back, I quickly brushed my hair down with my hand. I stood there in my silver flat shoes wearing a one-hundred-percent polyester, wash-and-wear, black with thin red stripes, sailor-looking pantsuit. My head looked like someone who’d finished a day of buffing hardwood floors, and not with an electric buffer, either, but with a rag and on my hands and knees, as my mama would say.
Ethan stared at me, then let loose one of his signature grins. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” I brushed the side of my hair again and prayed my hair looked better than the last time I’d seen it in the mirror.
“You look fine,” he said, as though he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I waved him off. “Oh, please. We both know better than that.”
“Thank you for allowing me to come by so late. I’m sure you’re anxious to get home.” His deep baritone voice was smooth and so easy on the eardrums.
“Well, I won’t very well stay in business long if I close my doors when people might be interested in coming in.”
He stepped a little closer to me. “I wanted to properly thank you and to let you know how much I truly appreciate you.”
“You’ve already thanked me. I’m serious. Saying it was more than enough.”
He flashed me a sheepish grin. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me, but I wanted to do a little more. I’m disappointed that you wouldn’t allow me to take you to dinner. Nevertheless, this . . . is for you.” He held out the bag to me by its twisted rope handles.
I glanced at the bag. “Ethan—”
He presented the brown bag to me again. “Please take it.”
So I took it and, with a rather cheesy grin and sugar in my voice, said, “Thank you.”
“You can’t thank me until you’ve looked inside to see what it is. It could be something you don’t want to thank me for. With me, you never know.”
“You want me to open it right now?”
“That would be nice. I would like to know whether or not you like it.”
I walked over to the table and set the bag on it. I peeked inside, almost afraid of what was in there.
He laughed. “It’s not going to bite you. It’s not alive.”
“Yeah, well . . . when it comes to you, one can never be sure.” I pulled out a nice-sized, gold-colored box. “Oh my,” I said. “No, you didn’t? Is this a cake?”
“I did . . . and it is. Is it okay?”
I looked for a picture on the box; there wasn’t one. He pulled out a paper with a picture of the cake on it and handed it to me. “Is it really a chocolate mousse torte cake?” I said. “Wow, this looks like it will seriously do damage to somebody.”
“Oh, it’s rich now, that’s for sure. I had one like it once. One of the higher-ups at the company had one at her Christmas party last year. As soon as I saw it, I immediately thought of you.”
“Really now. You thought of me?” I looked at the picture of the cake again, then back at him. “And why, exactly, is that?”
“Woman, please! The way you love chocolate. At least, you used to love it. Well, this is the platinum standard when it comes to chocolate.”
“Platinum, huh? Okay, let’s see what’s all in here.” I found where it described the chocolate mousse torte and began to read it out loud. “ ‘Two chocolate layers filled with luscious chocolate whipped cream mousse.’ Ooh, my . . . sinful. ‘Covered with milk chocolate frosting and dark chocolate glaze . . . garnished with fudge rosettes and dark chocolate shaving topped off with a Belgian chocolate plaque.’ Wow, I think I just put on five pounds merely reading this. You’re really trying to tempt me, aren’t you? You really are.”
“Oh, and that chocolate plaque that’s on top?” Ethan said.
“Yeah?”
“It says, ‘Thank you.’ At least, that’s what I told them I wanted when I ordered it.”
“You really are trying to tempt me. Sinful indeed!” I teased. “So you ordered this? You mean to tell me you didn’t walk into a store and just pick it up off a shelf?”
“Me, just walk into a store and merely pick up something for you? Oh no. I couldn’t just saunter into any old store and merely pick you up something. No, that would never do. For you—only the best, no matter how far away it must be shipped,” Ethan said with a fake, exaggerated British accent.
I laughed. “Now you’re trying to make me sound like I’m some kind of a diva or something.”
“A diva? You? Oh no, you’re definitely not a diva.” He shook his head.
“I don’t know whether I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
“It’s undeniably a compliment. You’re the most down-to-earth person I know.”
“Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do anymore.”
“Fair enough. But the person I knew years ago, and the person I went to lunch with that time, not counting the person I’ve walked with in the park a few times, is not a diva.”
“Okay, so where did you get the cake?” I said, then quickly recalled how many times I’d chastened my girls for doing something just like that. “The reason I’m asking is in case I fall head over heels in love with it and I want another one.”
“You can just let me know and I’ll gladly order you another one,” Ethan said, grinning.
“And make you my pusher man?” I shook my head. “Nope. I think it would be best that I get the information and, if I want more, I order the next one myself. You know: cut out the middle man.”
“All right then.” He rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “I ordered it from a place called Bake Me A Wish! and an exclamation point is actually included at the end. I’m serious; there’s an exclamation point at the end of the company’s name. They give five percent to a fund where they will send cakes to our troops.”
“Impressive. So you just call them and place an order?”
“Yes. You call. They’ll tell you what all they have to choose from. And trust me: you may find that you’ll have a hard time deciding. I believe they have a Web site, but you’ve probably already guessed by now that I’m computer challenged, to say the least. The woman who took my order almost talked me into going with the Triple Chocolate Enrobed Brownie for you. But I knew for certain that the torte was delicious. So I decided to play it safe and go with what I knew.”
“Ethan . . . playing it safe? Now that’s an interesting concept.” I then realized I was possibly teetering on flirting with him, so I decided to pull back a tad. “You’re right. I just might be in trouble now that you’ve introduced me to this company. I bet they charge a pretty penny for this, huh?” I said.
“Oh now, they’re definitely not cheap. But they’re not too expensive. Shipping is what will get you. The company uses overnight shipping to ensure that what they ship is fresh when it arrives. And as soon as it came, I brought it to you.”
“You really went to a lot of trouble, didn’t you?”
He smiled. “You don’t even know the half of it. They shipped it UPS, so I had to make sure I was home when it arrived.”
“I understand that it’s food, but why did you have to make sure you were home?”
“Because if my wife had even the slightest hint that this torte was in town, it would never have made it over here.”
“You didn’t buy one for your family?” I shook my head. “That’s not right.”
“That thing cost too much to buy two of them at the same time,” he said, then started chuckling.
I picked up the box and held it out to him. “Look, you take this back home with you. Really.”
“Nope.”
“Yes! Ethan, I want you to take this home to your family.” I held it out again. “Take it and give it to your wife.”
“No,” he said refusing to take the box. “I ordered it specifically for you, and that’s where it’s going to stay—with you. So end of discussion.”
“Well, what if I tell you that it’s going to be a problem for me to take it home and explain it to my husband?”
“Woman, please!” He snickered. “You need to try that one on somebody who doesn’t know any better. If your husband asks you where it came from, just tell him the truth: a satisfied customer bought it and dropped it off at the shop. There’s nothing false in that statement.”
“So you’re not going to take it back?” I said, taking a step closer to him as I tried to push the box into his hand (without hurting the cake, of course).
He shook his head. “I bought it for you and it will remain with you. It’s my gift to you. You told me that you liked it, so you’re going to keep it.”
“What if I tell you I don’t like it?”
“Then you wouldn’t be telling the truth. And one thing that I do know about you is that you don’t lie. You are one of the most truthful people I’ve ever known.”
I smiled that he knew that about me. “You’re right; I don’t lie. At least, I try my best not to. Anybody will tell you that I’ll either tell you the truth or I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“I know that. I bought the cake for you”—he further closed the distance between us—“you like the cake, at least you like what you know about it so far”—he carefully took the cake out of my hand and set it on the table—“so you, my dearest among friends, are stuck with it.” He took my hand and held it up as though he was about to bring it to his lips.
I nippily pulled my hand from him. “Okay,” I said. “But only because you’re insisting.” I stepped closer to the other side of the table, making it a safe barrier between us. “Would you care for a slice of my torte?”
“I would. But since you declined my dinner offer, which was supposed to be part of my thank-you package with the cake being dessert, I guess I should pass.”
“You could take your slice home with you, since you seem to be one of those fanatics who won’t eat dessert before you eat real food.”
He looked at me, pretending he was insulted, then nodded as he flashed a warm, quick smile. “Yeah, I guess I’m just old school like that. But . . .” He came around to the side of the table where I stood. I would have run, but that would have looked too much like children playing a game of tag or something. So I stood my ground. Ethan was now standing in front of me, too close for comfort. My heart was beating so loud, I thought for sure he could hear it.
He blinked his eyes several times as he bit down on his bottom lip. “I have been known to indulge in dessert before din-ner . . . when the dessert was too tempting to hold off from,” he said.
I swallowed hard. I know he heard that. “Ethan—”
And before I could say another word, he leaned down and kissed me.