9

The rest of the week passed slowly, with Grace’s routine not changing. She’d get up and open the shop by half eight.

Elliott would appear about ten with coffee and news on where they were with the insurance. This update usually consisted of nothing happening, or still waiting on the insurance or the surveyor’s report.

Her flower arrangements were gradually beginning to resemble what they should, and the thought of the wedding on the twenty-eighth of January was no longer quite so terrifying.

Saturday morning, Elliott appeared with a tray of coffees. “Morning, ladies.”

Shana grinned. “You got some for all of us this time? What’s the occasion? Is it your birthday?”

Elliott laughed. “Not quite.” He handed Grace a letter. “This came.”

“What is it?” She glanced at the envelope. “It’s addressed to you.”

“Read it. Your copy is in the post, most likely.”

Grace opened the letter and read it. Her heart pounded and she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “They said yes?”

Elliott’s grin widened. “They said yes. All of it. Attic room, conservatory—all exactly as you wanted.”

Grace squealed and impulsively hugged him. “Thank you.”

He hugged her back. “We start Monday with the foundations. It’s a timber frame so won’t take long for the shell to go up once the foundations are in, but lasts years.”

She grinned. “That’s good.”

“Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Grace swallowed her amazement. She’d overheard part of the conversation he and Joel had had about women the other day and this was the last thing she’d been expecting. Perhaps she was the “random woman off the street.” But he was offering dinner, and she had to eat at some point. “OK, thank you.”

He smiled. “Do you like Chinese?”

She inclined her head slightly. “Yes, but I haven’t had that in ages.”

“Chinese it is then. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

~*~

Grace sat opposite of him in the small restaurant on the High Street. She’d ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, and hoped he hadn’t noticed. The talk had turned to color schemes for her house. “Lime green and orange,” she suggested.

It was worth it for the look of horror on Elliott’s face. “You can’t be serious.”

“With a sparkly silver disco ball and those hanging chairs—” She broke off, laughing. “No, I’m not being serious.”

“Good. Otherwise I’ve completely read you wrong.”

She tilted her head, moving the chopsticks through the noodles. “And don’t go painting everything magnolia either.”

“What’s wrong with magnolia?” he asked straight-faced.

“What’s right with magnolia?” she replied.

“Everything. It’s bright, makes the rooms look bigger, and doesn’t clash with your sofa.”

“It’s boring. And I don’t have a sofa.” She twirled the noodles around the chopstick. “Maybe I’ll just decorate myself. And then buy the furniture to match.”

“No.”

She looked at him, the food pausing in front of her mouth. His firm tone surprised her. “No?”

He grinned. “I’ve seen you decorate. Destroy is more like it. Curtain poles, shelves…so maybe I should do it.”

Grace widened her eyes and tried to appear indignant at his teasing. “I’m quite capable of putting a bit of paint on a wall, thank you.”

“No paper?”

“No. Paint.”

He winked. “No paper and no paint? Just bare plaster walls, then?”

She stabbed a chopstick in his direction. “You, Mr. Wallac, are incorrigible.”

“Joel’s been telling me that for years.” Elliott sighed as the noodles fell off the chopsticks again. “Will you come with me tomorrow?”

It didn’t take long to work out what he was talking about. “To church? Why?”

“Because God hasn’t given up on you and neither have I.”

“Maybe I’ve given up on religion.”

Elliott studied her. “Religion is good news for good people. A list of do’s and don’ts they can keep.”

“Like the Pharisees?”

“Exactly.” He smiled slightly. “Whereas Jesus is good news for bad people.”

Shock resonated through her. “I’m sorry?”

“Simply put, we’ve all messed up, right? A list of rules, in other words, religion, isn’t going to do us any good. I’m preaching tomorrow morning if you need an incentive to come.”

“You preach?”

“Sometimes. When they ask me to.”

“Is there no end to your talents?” she asked wryly. “You cook, build houses, fix the gas and broken shelves, preach…”

Elliott shrugged. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“And does that include nagging people into going to church?”

Hurt flashed in his eyes for a moment before he hid it.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I have plans for tomorrow. Now I have the laptop back, I need to finish the website.”

“OK.” He turned his attention to his meal.

Grace looked down. Nice one, Gracie. Way to go to ruin things. May as well just kick him hard and run.

“Do you want dessert?” he asked as she finished.

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

He signaled the waiter. “Then I’ll get the bill and take you home.”

~*~

Elliott sat in church the following morning, looking at the notes in his hand. His stomach still churned at the thought of the previous evening.

Forgive me, Lord. I pushed her too far and probably did more harm than good. I’ll stop asking her to come, just be there for her in other ways. I don’t understand why I’m so attracted to her. If that’s even how I feel. I saw what Caroline did to Joel and maybe he’s right. Maybe I am scared of letting that happen to me—or have her leave me like Mum did.

He buried his face in his hands. He was so lost in his own petitions that the corporate prayer went over his head. Please, work in her. The things she said gave me pause. Perhaps she never really knew You at all. Whatever is bothering her is huge, and it seems much more than just losing her sister. It’s preventing her from coming into a proper relationship with You. I want to help her, but I’m not the only man…the only person who can do that. As long as she finds You, that’s all that matters.

The sound of the organ playing made him look up. He rose to sing the hymn, intending to go up to the pulpit during the last verse. Safe under God’s almighty hand, protected as a child He loves; I cast my cares and fears on Him, and safely leave them there.

Elliott stood and went into the pulpit, attaching the microphone Pastor Carson handed him to his tie, and sliding the battery pack into his jacket pocket. He read the text again and then started preaching on first Peter five verses six and seven. Humble yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.

As he spoke, he glanced around the chapel. His gaze fell on a figure that sat right at the back by the door. Grace. His heart leapt for joy. Thank You. He didn’t let his gaze linger, but carried on preaching with renewed vigor. At the end of the service, he looked for her, but she’d left. He was about to set off after her, but got waylaid and the chance was gone.

~*~

Grace sat with the laptop on the table, a half designed page on the screen in front of her. She couldn’t concentrate. The verse Elliott had preached on ran rampant through her mind. She pulled up the Internet and searched for it. She still didn’t know why she’d gone to church after she’d told him she wouldn’t.

She read the verses again.

His voice echoed in her thoughts. God’s hand is mighty, all powerful, yet all caring. Humble yourself under it when things are going great so you don’t get proud and when times are hard so you know where to turn. God is in overall control no matter how bad things get. He will intervene at just the right time. He cares for you, so give up all your anxiety and cares to Him and leave them there. We don’t deserve His love, but He loves us anyway. He showed that by sending Jesus. The cross shows us the depth of God’s love.

Grace shut the laptop and stood. She didn’t need God. So why did she feel as empty as she did? Moving to the window, she looked over the road at the gap between the houses—the hole almost mirroring the chasm within her. Snow began to fall. The site had been cleared, ready for work to begin the following day. Ready for Elliott’s hands to rebuild her home.

Elliott…

She shook her head. She needed a man in her life just as much as she needed a hole in the head. She needed that even less than she needed God.

So why did one particular man keep appearing and taking center place?

Love was…love wasn’t for her. It was dangerous. A stab in the dark. A leap of faith—Faith—God—church—Elliott.

She groaned. Why was all this so linked? Why did one man keep doing this to her? What had she done to deserve any of this?

Nothing a voice whispered. Love comes not because we love, but because He does.

She shook her head. She’d go for a walk. Fresh air would help.

Perhaps.

~*~

Snow fell softly as Elliott crossed the park. It swirled around him, covering the grass in a light coat of white. Snow was fine on Christmas cards, but not otherwise.

A woman stood by the pond, shoulders slumped, hands shoved in her pockets. Snowflakes lay in her hair and she shivered, yet didn’t move. Grace…he’d recognize her anywhere.

Joel was right. The thought hit him with the force of a thunderbolt.

Grace had stolen into his heart whether he liked it or not. She was the reason for this unsettled feeling that swelled within him, but he didn’t dare act on it. What if she said no?

He’d committed to rebuilding her house. She lived next door. He couldn’t avoid contact with her even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. He sucked in a deep breath, tugging the collar of his full length coat around his neck. Did he just leave? She hadn’t seen him, but something drew him over to her.

His feet crunched on the gravel and fallen snow as he walked down the path and stood beside her. His umbrella offered her some protection from the snow. “Hi.”

Grace looked up. “Hello.”

“Least it stopped raining.”

“True.”

A slight uplift teased the corner of her mouth, causing a spear to twist through him.

She turned to him. “Is this going to affect the building work?”

Annoyed with his body for the way it was reacting to such a small smile, Elliott shook his head. “No.”

“Good.”

Did he mention seeing her in church that morning? No. He’d wait and see if she said anything. “You look cold.”

“I am a little.” Grace hugged her hands deeper in her pockets. “But I had to get out of the flat. I’m going stir crazy in there.”

“Come on. I’ll buy you a coffee, warm you up a little.”

“On a Sunday?” Her gaze held his, pulling him into the depths. “Doesn’t that break a commandment or something?”

Elliott pretended to think. “The twelfth I think it is.”

“Twelfth? I thought there were only ten.”

“Usually there are.” He winked. “The eleventh is thou shalt not get caught. And the twelfth is—”

“Thou shalt not buy coffee on a Sunday,” Grace finished.

He chuckled. “But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“OK. Thank you.”

Ten minutes later, Elliott carried two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream, sprinkles, and a chocolate flake, across the Inn at the Park to where Grace sat.

She smiled at him. “No coffee?”

“Not breaking the twelfth commandment this way. Besides, this looked far more enticing,” he said. He slid into the chair opposite her.

“It does.” Grace wrapped her hands around the cup. “I’ll have to buy some gloves tomorrow if this keeps up. And a scarf.”

“And a hat,” he added.

“Yeah, along with everything else. I’ve bought some bits, but the washing machine is cleaning my few clothes on overtime. My mum always said three outfits were enough. You know, one on, one off and one in the wash? Well it isn’t anywhere near enough.”

He sipped his drink, trying to keep the conversation on neutral ground so as not to upset her anymore. “How’s the website going?”

“OK, I guess.” She sipped the hot chocolate. “I managed to upload the new logo. I ordered new signs and the uniforms and they should come this week, but I’m beginning to wonder what the point is.”

A rock settled in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean? Are you—” he broke off. Surely, she didn’t mean she was leaving?

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, if business doesn’t pick up a bit, I can’t afford it, then…” She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, the cup inches from her lips. “I wish I had the answers, but I don’t. More questions and doubts than anything. Mostly about the business and my ability to run it.”

“Any new business takes time to get off the ground—and you’re still less than a month into yours. Once word gets out and people know the shop is back, things will pick up, you’ll see. Tilja wasn’t rich, but she made enough to live comfortably.”

“At least I don’t have a mortgage,” she whispered.

“Exactly.” Elliott sipped his drink, the heat from it warming his throat as he swallowed. “And, trust me, you don’t want one of those.”

“Doesn’t your brother help with that?”

“Yes, but it still takes most of what I earn. Just like everyone else.”

“Yeah.”

He watched as she drank, closing her eyes as she swallowed, so obviously savoring the scent and taste of the chocolate. Sadness emanated from every fiber of her being, creating a murky aura around her, one that was almost palpable. What was bothering her? Was it simply the house and shop, or was it something more?

“What are you thinking?”

Her voice jarred him out of his thoughts, and he struggled to reply. “Me?”

“Yeah. You’re sitting there, staring at me.”

Elliott shifted, his cheeks burning, embarrassed at having been caught. “Honestly? I was wondering what made you look so sad.”

“Oh?”

In for the proverbial penny… “Don’t take this the wrong way, but even though you smile and so on, it never seems to come from inside you.”

“There isn’t much to be cheerful about.” Grace set the cup down, her fingers gripping the base. “Not anymore.”

“It’s more than that.” He wanted to reach out, touch her fingers with his, but he kept his hands still. “Or am I wrong?”

He’d hit home, he knew that by the way she fidgeted on her chair and played with the cup. The silence grew, but he wouldn’t speak again. If she chose not to answer that was fine, but he prayed she would. He wanted to help if he could.

Finally she spoke. “I just feel so empty. Everyone else has something I don’t.”

“Like what?” he prompted.

“It varies. A home, family, friends…a life.”

“You have all of those.”

“Not exactly.” Grace sucked in a deep breath. “My home is a space between two houses. My family, what’s left of them, live three hundred miles away. Friends are, well, the least said about that the better, and my life—hah, right.”

Elliott reached over and touched her hand. “OK. Continuing to be blunt here. Your home is where your heart is, or your hat if you go by the song. And don’t point out you don’t have one either.”

“I wasn’t going to, but I can if you want.”

“Your family is always here,” he continued, touching his heart with his free hand. “Distance is no object. Life is what you make of it. Every day is a gift. We chose how to use it.” He held her gaze. “And as for friends? You have Shana and Mandy…and me.”

She didn’t move her hand away from his. “You?”

“Yes, me.” He gently caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I care about you, probably more than I should do. This is hard…” He paused, not sure how to phrase this. “I watched a woman destroy my twin, and I swore that would never happen to me—”

He didn’t want to see her any more. She sighed, she was destructive. Grace frowned and pulled her hand away. “I see. Thank you for the drink. I should get going.” She stood and turned, tugging up her collar in the same movement.

Elliott sat motionless as she hurried from the inn, his insides knotting. What just happened? What had he said to make her leave? He stood, intending to go after her. He had to put it right.

Snow churned around him in a blizzard as he exited the warm building, matching the way his emotions soared and tumbled. His breath hung in the frigid air.

Grace was nowhere in sight.

He was alone.