Oh, y’all. I have a confession to make. You’re probably already well aware of it, but I feel like I need to confess it all the same.
I’m a miserable failure at marketing.
Two weeks ago, The Plan went live on Amazon. I was so excited about this book because I loved the characters so much. I didn’t even hate them and want to punch them in the face like I usually do with most of my characters during the revision process. I just knew everyone was going to love this book!
I shared the cover. I shared the link. I posted about it. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. Maybe a tweet here and there.
And then? Nothing. I mean, NOTHING. I was already flitting over to the next book! I love me some Mark Jackson and don’t want to punch him in the face! (Yet.) And I couldn’t get into that one without getting into the NEXT one. I love me some Isaac Lucas and don’t want to punch him in the face! (Yet.) I was in four books at once, writing a little here and a little there, outlining and —
Wait. The Plan. I had a new book… which I’d already totally forgotten about!
Sigh.
Seriously, if you were off social media on that one day that I did 100% of my “marketing” for that book, then you probably have no idea that I even wrote a book. Apart from my book writing issues (finish one, start three more) and how they keep me a little preoccupied and scatterbrained about the more practical side of this indie publishing thing, I have serious qualms and hesitations about flooding your timelines and feeds with constant ads for my books, mentions of my books, requests for reviews of my books, etc. I don’t want to annoy you. (Although can I tell you that one of the last books I read and really loved was one that I finally got because the author just wouldn’t quit putting her book out there for me to see? Every day there was a blurb about that book, week after week, until I finally said, “I need to get that book!” It works. I know this. But still.)
That said, I feel so bad for poor Eli and Charlotte. They would probably like to punch ME in the face, quite honestly. Because I’ve rushed on and forgotten to actually MARKET the book. I put out books quickly enough that this happens, but The Plan was one I loved so much that I’m going back to it.
So, I wrote a book. It’s called The Plan. You should read it! And if you like it, you should write a review! (See? Terrible marketing. But I’m trying!)
If you haven’t read it yet (or haven’t even heard of it until now), I’m going to get you started by posting the first chapter right here, on the blog. I hope you enjoy it! I hope you enjoy it so much that Eli and Charlotte won’t feel compelled to come off the paper or the Kindle and punch me in the face. (I’m sorry, guys! And after all the laughs and warm fuzzies y’all gave me, too! Shame!)
Here it is…
Eli
He was going to be rich.
Filthy, gloriously, supremely rich.
He looked over the signed contract one last time, a serious, contemplative expression on his face, one that would befit a tycoon of his standing, strong and capable, emotionless and detached to those beneath him.
On the inside, though, he was practically doing cartwheels, whooping, and generally acting like a mad fool who was about to get paid.
“Well, everything looks to be in order,” he said soberly, his finger following along the fine print as it had been for the past thirty minutes. “I suppose we can file these then, since the deal has already been made.”
“Already did that, you dunce.”
He lifted his gaze up and across his desk to speculatively eye the brunette who sat sprawled out in one of his chairs, her knees under her chin, where he could see the beginnings of holes in her worn out jeans.
She grinned at him.
“How did you already do that if the contract is still here in my hand?” he asked.
“Technically, it’s not in your hand,” she said. “It’s on your desk.”
“Yes. And already filed, like you said,” he noted.
“The originals are filed,” she answered him. “That’s a photocopy you have.”
He looked back down at the document, squinting. “Are you sure?”
“I’m positive,” she said, dropping her feet to the ground and leaning over his desk, pointing sharply at the bottom of the first page. “Look at your signature. That’s not ink. That’s a photocopy. Eli Herbert Lucas.” She grinned at him again. “Herbert. I’ve been working for you for four years, and that never gets old.”
He frowned. “It’s a –“
“Family name,” she said, leaning back, one knee coming up again. “I know, I know.”
“Like Charlotte is a better name,” he muttered, looking back down at the contract.
“Shut up,” she answered.
“Are you sure this is a photocopy, because it –“
“It’s the new copier,” she said, explaining this away. “Our contract was up with the other company. I found this one. They’d lease us an upgraded machine for half the cost.”
He stared at her. “How did you work that deal out?”
“By virtue of my sparkling personality,” she said.
Not likely.
“No, really,” he said. “How?”
“Told the salesman what we do. His daughter is going to have to make an A in geometry next semester to keep from going to summer school and ruining their big travel plans. I told him we could make a deal if he could make a deal,” she shrugged. “They’re going to Tahiti. Woo, woo.”
She was like that. She could spend five minutes with someone and have their whole life story… and use it to her advantage.
She was brilliant, quite frankly.
“You found out all of that, just to get a deal on a copier lease?” he asked, still impressed every time she did something like this, even all these years later.
She nodded. “Uh… yeah. Isn’t that why you hired me?”
No, honestly.
He’d hired her to be a tutor four years ago when they’d been undergraduates, back when his tutoring service business was just getting off the ground.
Seriously. Just getting off the ground, as in he was the only tutor on the payroll he hadn’t even started.
He could remember the day he met her as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
Calculus I. He was going to be a math major, and it was a class he wanted to ace so as to get himself preference for the more competitive classes later on.
He would’ve aced it… but some other nerd kept screwing up the curve every time they took a quiz.
Grades were always posted by the last four digits of their social security numbers, and loathsome 8392 was consistently at the top of the list. Perfect scores again and again.
Eli had despised the guy from the start, and the third test in, just as he was cursing yet another set of scores that 8392 was leading, he’d seen Charlotte.
She had been turning from the posted scores with a smile on her face. While everyone else had been groaning and moaning, she had been smiling.
Eli had very nearly gasped. “8392!” he’d yelled at her.
She’d startled for just a second, then glancing around her, she’d looked back at him. “Yeah?”
“You keep messing up the curve!” he’d exclaimed, following her as she began to leave the building.
“Maybe you should study harder,” she’d said, her back to him.
He’d run to keep up with her, to get up close so that he could see her face.
It wasn’t anything special. In the thousands of undergraduates on campus, she wouldn’t have been one to stand out. Brown hair, blue eyes, perfectly average in every way, just a nameless face in a sea of thousands of others just like it.
It was entirely possible that they never would have met, if not for calculus.
“I studied my freakin’ butt off for that one,” he said, thinking back to the test. “I just missed one question. How did you get them all right?!”
“Because I’m smart,” she’d said slowly, condescendingly. The nerve. “And I’ve got a scholarship I’ve got to keep.”
He’d understood that. He could relate. He was trying to keep his own scholarships.
And then, he was trying to keep up with her.
Why had she been in such a hurry?
“Am I keeping you from something?” he’d asked.
“I have an interview for a work-study job,” she’d answered. “Not that it’s any of your business. Why are you following me?”
But his mind had rested on the word job. He’d already started his business, but things were really new. He’d been to one of the local high schools, and they’d expressed a need for calculus tutors.
He’d determined he’d have to do it all himself. But in light of the way she kept screwing up the curve…
“Forget the work-study job,” he’d said. “I can hire you as a tutor.”
She’d stopped and looked at him. “Wow. You really are serious about that class, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You want to hire me to tutor you,” she’d answered.
As if.
But she was doing better than he was, and —
“Not me,” he’d clarified, determining silently that he’d study even more for the next test and show her. “I run a business. Hire out tutors. I need a calculus guy.”
“Do I look like a calculus guy?” she’d asked.
“You look like the guy I’ve been waiting for my whole life,” he’d answered. “Or at least this semester. Seriously. I could get you three commitments for the semester. And that’s just what I’ve got waiting right now. Word gets out, and your work can triple. Easily.”
She’d studied him for a while. “Okay, so I’m interested.”
He’d been glad to hear that. “Awesome,” he’d answered. “So, come with me, and I’ll talk through the details with you, and –“
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she’d said. “This is how human trafficking works, right? Small, naïve girl on a college campus goes off with a random guy and ends up being sold into the sex trade, right? Or maybe you’re in it for some organ confiscation thing, huh? Gonna knock me out, take my eggs for a profit?”
Good grief. What in the world?
He’d frowned at this. “No. Why would your mind jump to that?”
“Oh, these things happen,” she’d said, wisdom in her tone. I’m taking a criminology class. Hear all about crazy stuff happening all the time to naïve girls.”
“Well, clearly, you’re not naïve. A little suspicious and nutty, maybe, but not naïve.”
She made a face at this and opened her mouth to say something, likely unpleasant, but he cut her off.
“And I assume you’re making an A in criminology, too?” he’d asked.
“Yeah, screwing up the curve for them as well.”
He needed her on his team. Obviously.
“I’m thinking you could tutor any subject, so go ahead and triple that load I already told you to triple, because you’ll have more students than you want,” he’d said. “Can we at least go on campus somewhere, in public, where we can talk this through? Then maybe you’ll trust me once you get to know me?”
“Once I get to know you,” she’d added, watching him suspiciously before holding out her hand.
“Charlotte Jackson.”
He’d breathed a smile, seeing dollar signs dancing all around 8392’s face.
“Eli Lucas.”
He’d hired even more students, smart students, from that point on, all of them to be sent out to younger students in all subjects, charging fees that were competitive to established learning centers, with the added bonus of sending the college students directly into homes and schools to work with younger students one-on-one. He paid work study wages to his workers and had made a tidy little profit. The business had expanded from then on. So much so that Eli had to close up his other business venture — goat soap production — and sell the goats for an even tidier profit, all because his tutoring business took all of his time.
(Yes. Goats. Goat soap. He was a big deal in the big city, but before then, he’d been on his way to being a big deal in the far reaches of nowheresville. Always a businessman, always a man with a plan.)
His tutoring business was an even bigger success than he ever could have planned, though, and part of the reason was Charlotte.
She’d worked just as hard as he had, not just as a tutor but also as his accountant, and as things had grown, she’d picked up more responsibility, more hours, and more investment in the business.
She did everything now, right alongside him. More than he even asked her to most of the time. She was the reason the business was what it was, the reason that he was what he was, honestly.
She knew him. He knew her.
And she knew what she was doing.
“I love you, Charlotte,” he said very simply, looking at the numbers and thinking about all the money he was going to make.
“Right back at you, Herbert,” she said, tapping the papers again. “That’s yours, by the way. Made the extra copy so you can read it as a bedtime story.”
“You know my favorites,” he said, picking up the whole stack and tapping it into a neat pile, taking the folder Charlotte slid across to him, and sighing appreciatively. “Another reason why I love you.”
“You better watch it,” she chided. “If Alicia hears you declaring your love for me, she’ll come after you. Or after me.“ She frowned. “Maybe I better watch my back, huh?”
“Until the end of tax season,” Eli reminded her. “You’ve promised to do my taxes even –“
“Even though I’m leaving you in another month,” she said.
Eli didn’t like thinking about the transition. They’d graduated nearly six months ago. Jobs were hard to find, though, so Charlotte had stayed on with him until her dream opportunity came along. She’d just recently gotten an offer from a huge accounting firm in Houston, and certain that she would take it, he’d made her promise to come back and do his taxes after the new year, just for old times’ sake. (And because she was the best. He didn’t know how he was going to replace her, frankly.)
“Yes,” he said, putting down the folder and looking at her. “And Alicia and I? Aren’t even exclusive.”
Charlotte gave him a dubious look. “You’ve been dating her for a year, Eli.”
“So?” he asked. “We’re just dating.”
“A year,” Charlotte said again, more insistent. “That means something to a woman, you know.”
Likely. He thought about Alicia, about how he’d met her a year ago when he’d gone from sorority house to sorority house alternately looking for tutors to enlist in his program and dropping off information for services for those who might benefit from having their own tutors.
Smart girls… not so smart girls.
It could go either way in a sorority house full of women. He’d seen plenty of both as he’d made the rounds, and he’d been quite ready to be done with the whole thing when he finally got an audience with the most exclusive group on campus.
Alicia had been the sorority’s president and the scholarship chair both and had ushered him in for a meeting after giving him the runaround and rescheduling him three times. Charlotte had not had similar trouble with the fraternities on campus, as she’d gone to them dressed “like a girl” she’d told Eli later.
He was sorry he’d missed seeing that, honestly.
She’d been granted access every time she’d knocked on a door, of course, and she’d come away with a few good contacts and even better business. Fifty new clients. Eli had been thinking about the numbers when Alicia had finally glided into the room he’d been waiting in and sat down across from him.
“Bless your heart,” she’d murmured, holding out her hand. “All these broken appointments and the waiting, and now, we finally meet face to face, Mr. Lucas.”
He’d given her hand a cursory shake. “You’re the lady in charge, then?”
“Alicia Primrose, yes,” she’d answered daintily, crossing her legs at the ankles as she smoothed out the sundress she wore.
“The Phi Mu lady,” he’d said, knowing that mentioning the house letters was always a big win with these groups. He personally didn’t give a rip, but what was good for business was good for him. And saying two simple Greek letters always seemed to boost business substantially.
Work smarter, not harder. That was his motto.
Alicia had been unimpressed, though. “The president of this chapter of Phi Mu, yes,” she’d said tightly, touching the drop on her necklace. The letters. Again. “A legacy. From my great aunt and my father’s sister both. But I get the sense that you only mention it because it helps your business. Schmoozing the ladies, as it were.”
He’d been impressed by her discernment. She wasn’t a dumb sorority girl.
“Guilty,” he’d said, shrugging. “I’ve talked to so many Kappa Whosits and Gamma Tron Whatsits that I’m not even sure what I’m saying. So, forgive me for insulting your intelligence.”
She’d studied him for a long moment. “Not a Greek yourself, then,” she’d murmured. “I didn’t think I recognized you.”
“No way,” he’d said, thinking that this was totally not his scene. Parties, spending money, socializing, being someone hoity-toity. Not him.
“Hmm,” she’d said, watching him with a question in her eyes.
So, he’d clarified. “I’m from some backwoods town you likely wouldn’t ever go to for fear of ruining those very expensive shoes you’re wearing. My dad is a factory worker. And I was dirt poor when I showed up here. So, I don’t fit the mold.”
He really didn’t. Everything he’d done was intentional. The grades so he could keep the scholarships he’d won. The business so he could set himself up financially for whatever came next. The hard work so that he could be someone bigger than who he’d been his whole life.
Eli Lucas. Someone from nowhere.
Nobody.
Hanging out with frat boys and sorority girls who had life handed to them on a silver platter wasn’t his scene.
“We’re not all like that,” Alicia had said, but he’d known she was like that, at least. The diamond studs in her ears suggested it, as did the highlights in her hair, the very fancy manicure she was sporting, and, yes, those expensive shoes she was wearing.
“I’m sure you’re not,” he’d said when he was sure she was. “But all that said, I’ve not had time to, and I quote, schmooze the Greek world, which includes rushing a frat. Not until now, and not until it had to do with my business, as you’ve already pointed out.”
“Yes, as I have,” she’d sighed, reaching out for the folder he’d offered her.
He’d gone on to explain things to her, to tell her about job opportunities for her sisters, to talk through the offerings the company had for their incoming pledges to get the help they’d need to boost the sorority’s GPA.
She’d listened, studying everything in his portfolio, quietly watching his spiel without offering any words.
He’d been quite certain that this day was a bust. Just as he’d been getting ready to get up and get gone, she’d looked up at him… and smiled.
“Not dirt poor anymore, are you?” she’d said.
“Pardon?” he’d asked, not certain what she was getting at.
“It’s brilliant, actually,” she’d said. “What you’ve done. What you’re doing. Admirable. A man with a plan and all.” She’d nodded. “We’ll have about 120 pledges this fall, and I think tutoring for each of them will be an excellent requirement of their pledge period.”
Glory. He’d done the math in his head and was mentally pumping his fist in the air even as he’d calculated the profit. Take THAT in your girly clothes, Charlotte!
“That’ll cost you,” he’d said with a shrug as if it was no big deal.
“Won’t cost me,” she’d said. “Will cost them. But their daddies can afford it.”
No doubt. Her daddy, too, probably.
But who cared? He was going to be rich, thanks to Phi Mu and this snooty woman in front of him.
“When would you like it set up?” he’d asked, thinking that he’d hand it off to another tutor. “When are you getting the pledges in?”
“Soon,” she’d said. “What’s the process look like?”
“I’ll have someone over to set it all up when it’s convenient for you,” he’d answered. “Study hours here at the house would be easy. Or on campus. Or whatever. I’ll make sure whoever I send has a list of tutors and numbers.”
“I’d prefer it if you’d come by and handle it yourself, Mr. Lucas,” she’d said.
And he’d raised his eyebrows at this, wondering if she was questioning the validity of his business and the people he’d hired. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re cute,” she’d said simply.
He’d played it off as a silly, bubble-headed comment from a woman who certainly didn’t mean anything real by it. He’d told her goodbye that day, giving her his word that he’d be the man to come back and get it all going.
Before long, he’d come back. Over the next few months, he’d gotten the tutors all set up, gotten everything running smoothly, gotten paid… and gotten himself a girlfriend he wasn’t all that sure he’d wanted, honestly.
She’d done it effortlessly. The attention was flattering, and he’d been non-committal about it all.
But he’d kept coming back.
Because she was beautiful. Smart. Easy to be around. She took care of him in ways he hadn’t even thought to want. And it was a good feeling, being admired for who he was.
And quite honestly, it made him feel like a real self-made man, coming from where he did, having a woman with her background standing by him.
Shallow. Oh, yeah. But it was the truth.
Charlotte got it. More than he wanted her to, honestly.
“You’re such a jerk,” she said to him in his office, chiding in her voice even though he hadn’t said anything about what he was really thinking.
“Alicia knows it’s not serious,” he said, waving away her concerns. He’d made no promises, at least. Just reciprocated the affection she showed, showed up when she needed him in her life, and… well, that was it.
She didn’t want to be part of his business, his past back in his no-name town, or… well, much of what was going on with him. She just wanted him to be there for her.
See? Not serious.
“Eli…” There was chiding in Charlotte’s tone.
He hated that. Because it was convicting. And it suggested that Charlotte knew what he was really thinking. Which she did.
“Why does it always have to be serious?” he asked.
“Because,” Charlotte said. “It just is.”
Probably. Alicia had been making large hints about what would happen now that they were no longer undergraduates. She was in law school, and what time she didn’t spend there or in study or in meeting up with her sorority sisters to help plan the dozen weddings she was in, she spent micromanaging him and questioning what they were going to do.
Apparently, they couldn’t keep doing what they were doing, which was just hanging out and having a good time. She’d had no problem with it that last year of college, dragging him around like her prize, introducing him into a world he’d never known, and just keeping it low key and simple, all glitz and parties, nothing serious.
It didn’t seem to be enough now, though. Alicia was getting pretty snippy about it all, about how many weddings she had to be in and isn’t this the perfect time of year to start planning a wedding, and, Eli, are you even listening to me —
Snippy.
She’d gotten pretty snippy about Charlotte lately, too.
With that thought, he pushed back from his desk. “Speaking of serious,” he said, reaching in his back pocket for his wallet, “the deal you worked out with the pregnancy centers was incredible.”
Incredible was an inadequate word for what she’d done when she’d booked up another ten commitments and hired out more tutors to take care of it. It had all been on her own initiative, too, like most things were that she did.
She knew what he needed, what the business needed.
“I worked it out with your sister-in-law,” she said, grinning.
“Your pastor’s wife,” he clarified.
“Yours, too, you big dope,” she added.
His mind went to Sunday mornings, with Charlotte leaning over to where he was attempting to take notes on whatever dull sermon his brother, Craig, was preaching, and scrawling, “Wipe the drool off your chin, man. People are looking at you.”
Sundays were always good. And they always concluded with lunch together, just like they spent most days.
He smiled at the thought.
“Yeah,” he said, “but you worked out the new contract. And it was great. They love you down there.”
They really did. All the women at the five pregnancy centers his sister-in-law, Hope, oversaw loved Charlotte. Hope loved Charlotte.
Everyone loved Charlotte.
“Well, maybe,” she said.
“I thought you needed a token of my appreciation,” he said, pulling it out of his wallet with a flourish and handing it to her.
She took it from his hand with a grin that only grew as she saw what it was. “Lloyd’s Tacos. Fifty bucks. That’s a lot of tacos, Eli. Thank you.”
“You’re going to share, right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Where else would we go?”
It was their go-to place. Eli had finally talked Alicia into going a few days ago, and she’d practically held her nose the entire meal, looking around at the dive. But the sour expression she’d had over the accommodations had been nothing compared to the look she’d given him as he’d told her he was getting a gift for Charlotte.
For all the work she’d done, obviously.
Alicia had argued her point that any woman would be irritated that her boyfriend was buying his female friend a gift, and when he’d told her that it was just Charlotte, she’d bitten back several words, then hissed, “Should’ve gotten her a gift card to get some new clothes because she needs them. Or a manicure. Because she needs that, too.”
“Alicia signed the card, too,” he said, thinking about the argument that had erupted after all that.
Charlotte smiled at the name, scrawled on later when Alicia felt bad and was trying to make it up to him.
“She probably thought a pedicure would be a better gift,” she murmured.
Well. It was like Charlotte was psychic sometimes.
“Maybe,” Eli shrugged.
“But I’ll take tacos over pretty toes any day,” she said. “Though I probably do need to step up my game for this weekend. My toe game, not my taco game.”
“Your taco game is already on point,” Eli agreed.
“That it is,” she said.
“What’s going on this weekend?” he asked, settling back in at his desk.
“Tyler has a big announcement,” she said, smiling. “Told me to wear my best dress. He’s getting the whole family together.”
“His, not yours,” Eli murmured, knowing already that Charlotte’s family was for all intents and purposes non-existent. Her dad had passed away when she was too young to even know him, and her mother had been distant long before Charlotte had moved out to go to college. About the only family she kept in consistent touch with were her grandparents, who were missionaries overseas, and her uncle, Mark, who worked for the mission board and was gone more often than he was stateside.
“Yes, Tyler’s,” she said, nodding.
“What’s his big announcement?” Eli asked, thinking about Tyler, Charlotte’s boyfriend, a guy who seemed too heavenly minded to be any earthly good a lot of the time, quite honestly. She’d met him a year ago at some missions conference they were both at, her for her Uncle Mark, and him, there to hear about the mission field. They’d connected over her stories about her grandparents and her uncle, and Tyler had been a consistent part of Charlotte’s life ever since.
Which was annoying to Eli, quite frankly. He couldn’t say exactly why, other than the way Charlotte seemed to become a different person around him. With Tyler, she was all soft looks and soft words and gentleness. With Eli, she was her — brash, honest, and tough.
Why the difference? Because she was in love with Tyler. Or at least that’s what Eli suspected.
Charlotte confirmed the suspicion with a smile. “I’m not really sure what the announcement is,” she said demurely. “But he’s been talking about the future a lot. About a plan he has. A plan that he wants me to be in on.”
Plans. A future.
That sounded like Alicia, which meant…
“Do you think he’s going to propose?” he asked, surprised to hear the shock in his voice.
She shrugged. “I don’t know… maybe.”
“Are you even a couple?”
She frowned at him. “Yes, Eli,” she said. “Because unlike you, Tyler has no problem committing.”
“I don’t have a problem with committing,” Eli said.
He didn’t. Or, at least, he didn’t think he would. One day. Eventually. He couldn’t imagine it with Alicia, but…
“Oh, yeah, you do,” Charlotte said. “I can tell by the look on your face.”
Well, maybe he was frowning a little. “You’d tell him yes, though?” he asked. “You’d marry Tyler?”
And become some homely little submissive wife who changes all the good in you to please him? He didn’t say that last part. He was surprised that he thought it, quite honestly.
“This is a weird conversation to be having with you,” she murmured. “It’s a little personal, and I’ve already told you too much.”
“We talk about everything, though,” he said.
They did. Charlotte knew him better than anyone else did. His list of friends was… well, short. He didn’t have time for friends with the business and all that it required of him. It was mainly just Charlotte.
He was good with that. Why ruin a good thing? Charlotte was just about the best person he’d ever known, and they had the best relationship he’d ever had, honestly, so —
“We do,” she said. “But, you know, maybe that needs to change. Especially if Tyler…”
If he wants to marry you.
Who wouldn’t?
“You’re going to tell him yes?” he asked again, more than a little hurt at the thought of anything changing with Charlotte, especially because she was thinking about… well, marriage. To Tyler. Stupid, irritating Tyler.
She simply smiled.
And for the first time in their long friendship, Eli found he didn’t have any words for her.
Charlotte
She looked down at her glass and noted that her drink was vibrating, just slightly.
No wonder. Her hands had been shaking all evening, her manicured, totally unnatural nails giving away the truth of how nervous she really was.
Why the nerves? Was this the way all women felt right before getting a marriage proposal? Did all women have a moment (or three or four) of pure panic, even as they were looking at the most perfect, godly, handsome guy, even as he was making a gesture for everyone to quiet down because he was ready to make his big announcement?
She wasn’t sure, but her stomach had been tied in knots all evening. Tyler’s whispered reassurances that he was so glad she was here, that she looked beautiful, that she should wear a dress more often — well, none of anything he said had made her feel any better. She’d even caught herself nearly saying “really?” at some of the more critical things, like when she loaded up too much food on her plate, when she laughed a little too loudly at one of his uncle’s jokes, and when he told her she shouldn’t bite her nails because they looked so nice.
He was nervous, too, though. Surely. They were both nervous because this was a big night. That’s all it was.
Because he’d never been anything but perfect since the day she met him. The day she’d known that God had a plan for her life and that her future was going to be amazing.
Even as her hands shook, she thought back to that day a year ago.
It had been a Saturday she’d been irritated to give up, if she could remember correctly.
“Lottie,” her Uncle Mark had said on the phone back then, “you’ve gotta help me out. The college kids I had signed up to help out with our Middle East table at this missions fair totally and completely begged off.” A long pause as he’d let out an irritated breath. “You’re part of the flakiest generation ever born, you know?”
“Likely,” she’d murmured, thinking that she wasn’t flaky… but she sure didn’t want to get up at the crack of dawn to man a table that no one in their right mind would stop by anyway.
These missions fairs were held at collegiate Christian conferences in their area, where students came to hear about opportunities to serve, to listen to sermons about Christ’s call to the nations, and to spend time with other students who were considering a lifetime of mission service themselves. All the mission board’s regions had their own tables set up for down time, hoping to snag the ears and attention of students so that they could highlight needs in their part of the world and encourage them to think about their place in God’s great plan.
The East Asia table had awesome pictures of the Great Wall and even better stories about backpacking through Mongolia. Exciting stuff. South America had the corner on the Amazon and all the Spanish speaking church plants there as well. Thrilling, actually. Sub-saharan Africa had huge cardboard cutouts of elephants — elephants! — and video of Masai believers worshiping. Amazing, quite frankly.
And then, there was the Middle East.
It’s the desert. It’s hot. The languages are hard to learn. There aren’t many converts. Lots of terrorists, you know. And people get killed here all the time, simply for having faith in Christ, much less for sharing it.
So, do you want to be a missionary to the Middle East?
Yeah, Uncle Mark rarely had any takers at these events.
“Why do you even need college students to man the table?” she’d asked. “You can do it. You’re stateside right now.”
He had been. Mark worked personnel for the board, but he spent most of his time overseas. Most of that time was spent in the Middle East, where he and Charlotte’s father had grown up, sons of lifetime missionaries to Egypt who were still serving, well past the age of retirement.
But he’d been home. Which meant there was no need for her to go and spend a Saturday at a table that no one would stop at and —
“I would do it myself,” he’d said. “But I just got word that they’re sending me to Iran.”
She’d frowned at this as she’d held the phone tighter. “The board has personnel in Iran?”
“I can’t give you those details,” Mark had sighed, “but it’s a great possibility that if we do, theoretically, they may need someone to come in and help them sort out some challenges they’re dealing with. Theoretically.”
She couldn’t imagine what that meant, but she knew Mark would be able to handle it. His Farsi was nowhere near his Arabic, but he could get by.
And who could tell a man like that no, right? There he was, going out to save the world in a very dangerous situation (a thought that made her breath catch in her throat like it always did, imagining her beloved uncle in danger), and all he needed was for her to give up a Saturday. Just one measly, little Saturday.
“You owe me, Uncle Mark,” she’d muttered.
“I always do,” he’d agreed. “Get Eli to go with you. He’ll at least keep it entertaining.”
“It’s not really his gig,” she’d murmured.
And it wasn’t. Apart from the whole missions aspect (which most definitely was not Eli’s gig), it was a Jesus thing, and while Eli did believe and had been going with her to their church for the past three years consistently, he wasn’t one to go out and actually do anything with his faith.
Which probably said a lot about the depth of his faith, quite honestly.
But like Charlotte had any room to talk that Saturday, when she found herself at the missions fair, bored out of her skull. Eastern Europe was giving out koozies, and Western Pacific was handing out slinkies.
Uncle Mark had provided pens.
Koozies and slinkies were way cooler than pens when you were trying to reach the flakiest generation ever born, you know.
She’d been sitting there wondering how long she had until she could pack it all up and head to lunch, a lunch comped to her by Uncle Mark for doing his dirty work, when someone’s shadow actually passed by her table and stopped.
Interest in the Middle East? Well, that would be a first. (Well, other than those who came by to ask if they’d have to ride camels when they got over there. Charlotte always had to resist the urge to slap these idiots upside the head for saying it and being so colossally stupid.)
She had raised her eyes and saw… him.
Oh, wow. He was handsome. And kind. Compassionate. Gentle. She could see it even then, in the way he hesitantly smiled, as though he was disturbing her, as though he didn’t want to inconvenience her at all.
No inconvenience. Not like she was doing anything anyway.
“I’m… I’m lost,” he’d said.
And heaven help her, she was the granddaughter of foreign missionaries and the niece of one as well, so her genes were already predisposed to answering a statement like this in one way…
“Like, spiritually lost?” she had asked softly.
For a moment, he had looked puzzled at this, but then, he’d smiled.
Charlotte was certain she could hear angels singing. Oh, his smile…
“No, I’m good, spiritually speaking,” he’d said. “Well, as good as any of us are, as we’re always learning and growing, and… no, I meant I’m lost as in, I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”
“Oh,” she’d said, embarrassed by her words, her wandering thoughts…
But his smile had been reassuring. “I’ve been told to go to some lunch. Um…” And here, he pulled the paper out of the bag he was carrying, running his hand through his hair and squinting down at the words. Sooo cute. “The… the long term opportunities luncheon?” He glanced up at her. “I was told I might be a good candidate for the long term.”
Hallelujah.
Long term. This guy right here. She’d certainly started thinking like that. He was really, really cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, a quirky little smile…
“I’m going to that one, too,” she’d said, forcing her mind back from the ledge. She made a mental note to give Uncle Mark a giant kiss for having scheduled her for that very luncheon. He’d done it on the condition that she work the table for him (done) and be available to assist his friend who was giving the keynote address at the luncheon…
… but whatever. She knew what she was going to spend lunch doing now.
“Oh,” the young man had smiled, very nearly reading her mind. “Maybe we could go there together, then?”
Yep. Forget the speaker. Forget the table. Forget the Middle East. Yes. Yes, she would go with this handsome stranger.
“That sounds great,” she’d said, standing to her feet, ready to leave with him right that very second.
“I’m Tyler,” he’d told her, smiling.
“And I’m Charlotte,” she’d answered.
“Charlotte,” he’d said, glancing at the name tag Mark had made for her. Lottie. Thanks a lot, Uncle Mark.
Then, there was recognition. “Oh! Charlotte. Lottie. For the missionary?”
Yes, she’d been named for the patron saint of missions and all, at least as far as the American South was concerned. The face of foreign missions, the woman who went to China and gave all she could. The one who little children all over their denomination still talked about, wanted to be like, and would forever associate with the mission field.
Her father had thought it a strong name, likely, the strongest a girl could have. And her mother was probably already too dissociated from it all to protest that Charlotte was an old name, that Lottie was a truly awful nickname, and that she might grow up without a desire to be in ministry or missions either one.
There she was, though. At a missions fair.
And there he was, smiling at her because her name reminded him of why he was thinking long term.
“The very one,” she’d said, just as they began to make their way towards the ballroom where the banquet was all set up.
Lunch had been informative. Not regarding long term opportunities, which she knew all about, thanks to her family, but about Tyler, about his heart for ministry, about how he was new to even the concept of missions, and how he wasn’t sure what the future held or what his plans were.
She had appreciated that about him. It was humility to know that God could change things, that you weren’t always in charge, and that your plans could and should be left to Christ.
She’d reminded herself of this when Tyler had left without getting her phone number or saying anything about ever seeing her again.
But she’d seen him again. Later on that night, as she’d stepped from her car to go to her apartment… right across the lot from him, as he’d gone to do the same thing.
Neighbors, all this time, and they’d never known.
And now, here they were, after a year long relationship. Tyler didn’t know what was next, but they’d been together.
He’d grown. She’d grown. They knew Christ better than they had. He had Uncle Mark’s tentative seal of approval, as the older man had spent time around him, mainly talking about opportunities overseas. Tentative because she was his niece, likely, and no one would ever be good enough for her, according to him.
But Tyler was. He was good enough. He was perfect for her.
She reminded herself of this again, even as her hands shook, even as he turned to her with all of his family watching them with interest.
“So, you all know that a year ago, my life changed in a huge way.” With this, he looked to Charlotte, and his smile grew.
Everyone knew why his life had changed. He’d met her. They’d begun their relationship.
“Suddenly, I began to see the world in a whole new way,” he went on. “And I’ve known since then that I would never be the same, that my life was going to be lived for someone else, and that I was going to be a new man. A man with a plan, so to speak.”
Wow. So deep. He was even more serious than she thought. His life was going to be lived for her, which was an odd thought…
“I’ve been thinking and praying about the best time to do this, and… well, Charlotte and I have been talking about it all. About how in this new year, things are going to be brand new.”
He’d not come out and said the words, of course, in all of their talks, but she’d known enough to read between the lines and knew what he meant. This new adventure was going to start just as the new year was beginning. Marriage. It would make for a short engagement, of course, but that had been her grandparents’ story, too. Her grandfather had actually asked her grandmother to marry him on Christmas Eve, and by January 1st, they were on the mission field.
They were still there, all these years later. Still married, still in love.
Short engagements could work.
And besides, that was the kind of guy Tyler was. Quick to say what he wanted, quick to go forward with his plans.
He wasn’t like Eli Lucas in that.
Knowing all of this, Charlotte had planned her life accordingly, ready for Tyler’s announcement and the quick plans that would unfold shortly thereafter.
A new year. A new life.
She hadn’t signed a new lease on her apartment. She would be Tyler’s wife by then. The thought of it all happening, though… her hands were still shaking, just as they’d been when she’d signed the papers to let go of her apartment. She’d also turned down the job she’d been offered in Houston, knowing that her place would be beside him, not in another state. Her hands had shaken as she’d made the phone call to kiss that job goodbye.
Just nerves. Totally normal. Right?
She wasn’t sure as Tyler’s relatives smiled over at her, waiting to hear him ask the question they were all clearly anticipating…
“Best get to it, then, huh?” he asked, smiling that charming smile, just like always, prompting his relatives to laugh.
He reached into his back pocket while facing Charlotte, and she took a breath, waiting to hear the words, waiting to see —
A letter.
He pulled out a letter.
Oh, wow. Had he written something he was going to read out loud?
This was really out of her comfort zone. She was wearing a dress. And heels. And everyone was watching her. Chalk all that up to some apprehension.
And now, he was going to read something to her with everyone listening.
What a weird proposal. But still, he was trying to be romantic probably. Wasn’t this a grand, romantic gesture?
She steeled herself for it.
“Dear Mr. Morris,” he read, smiling, “it’s our pleasure to inform you that you’ve been appointed to serve a three year term in the Middle East region with our mission board. Your training will begin in the new year following a commissioning service at Christmas.”
Oh.
This wasn’t part of the plan… was it?
He smiled at her. “Charlotte,” he said. “I want you there with me.”
Yes, like she’d suspected. A very, very short engagement. She mentally congratulated herself on having neglected to sign another lease, on having turned down the job.
But, goodness, the reality of it all. The reality that she would be married in two months time, off to a training center for a really odd honeymoon, then to the Middle East.
Well, she’d be seeing more of her grandparents and Uncle Mark, but…
… did she even want to be a missionary? Was she called to it?
In all of her planning and preparing, she’d not thought through the reality of it all. And now, here it was, staring her in the face as Tyler kept on talking.
Faithless, fearful Charlotte. She chided herself as Tyler smiled at her. He was saying something else, but she couldn’t hear it. She was too busy mentally prodding her heart, saying, Go, Charlotte! Go, go, go, Lottie!
And then, Tyler stopped talking.
Oh, no. He’d asked her something. They were all watching her, waiting for her answer. She hadn’t heard the question, but what else could it have been?
So, she took up her courage and gave him an answer.
“Yes, Tyler Easton Morris,” she announced dramatically, trying to remember the details of this marriage proposal while trying not to pass out all at the same time, “I’ll marry you.”
All around them, she could hear gasps. She wasn’t sure why at first because surely they’d all been expecting it. Surely they’d all planned on this. Surely they were all ready to come over, welcome her in, and…
Wait. Wait just a good, long minute.
That was genuine surprise in their eyes. Shock, actually. Completely unmasked shock in all of their eyes.
And pity. She could see that in a few of them as well.
Pity? But why would…
Her answer was there in Tyler’s eyes as he stared at her, his mouth hanging open.
“Charlotte,” he said softly, turning to shield her horrified face from them all as she finally realized what had happened.
She’d told him she would marry him…
…. but he hadn’t asked.
“I just asked if you would be part of my commissioning service,” he said.
And what was there to say to that? From a bride to… well, nothing.
All of her dreams and hopes…. all of the stupid plans she’d been making, gone, just like that.
“Oh,” she managed, right before she turned on her heels and left as quickly as she could, ignoring Tyler even as he called out after her.
Eli
He’d sent Charlotte a text, totally forgetting that she had that important froufrou event with Tyler, that the sap was likely going to propose, and that it would mean the end of his business partnership with her, given that she would marry, move away, and do whatever Tyler wanted her to do.
Okay, so he hadn’t forgotten.
Lottie, can’t find the invoices from the Kappa Whatevs. Or the Smithville High school campuses. Help.
He’d sent it, and she hadn’t responded. Not for a whole hour.
He wasn’t going to be thatguy. That guy who kept texting her on her off hours. (But he really didn’t like Tyler, and he kind of relished the idea of a post-engagement celebration being ruined by Charlotte’s beeping phone.)
So, he picked up his phone again. But before he could even begin typing, there was a knock on the front door.
It wasn’t Alicia, surely, he thought to himself as he stood to his feet and put down the plate of tacos that he’d been eating. She was off doing some girls’ night thing with friends, and he was glad, frankly, because he wanted to eat his disgusting, greasy tacos without hearing her tell him that he was going to get fat, that he had to think about these things the older he got, and they were getting older, and have you thought about the future, Eli —
Blah. Blah, blah, blah.
They weren’t exclusive… but maybe they shouldn’t even be casual.
Not the time to think about it, though, because it was time to enjoy his tacos after he scared off whoever this was.
“What?” he asked, opening the door… and shutting up completely when he saw her.
Charlotte. Dressed like a girl. Wearing a dress and heels, with makeup on, and looking like a girl.
A woman, actually.
Well. No wonder she’d gotten all those frats to sign up for tutoring.
“Here,” she said, her frown a stark contrast to the rest of her appearance, even as she tossed a small stack of papers his direction.
The invoices. Of course.
“Well, thanks,” he said, just barely catching them all. “I didn’t mean for you to rush on over –“
But she was already walking back to her car.
“Hey, wait up,” he called out, following her.
“Long night, Herbert,” she said, not even turning around, unlocking her door with her key, something odd in her voice. “I just wanna go home.”
Then, she gasped.
“Home,” she said. And… was she crying? “He’ll be there, right across the parking lot, and… I… oh…”
What? What was she talking about?
“Hey, Lottie –“
“It’s… oh…” She finally turned around.
And there it was. The girl clothes had obviously flipped some switch in her brain because she was crying. Like a girl.
He’d never seen her do that. Ever.
“Are you crying?” he asked, horrified by the sight.
She continued whimpering into her hands.
He didn’t like this. Not just because he was bad with emotions and feelings and ugh (because he was bad with it) but because it was Charlotte.
She was crying. And he was amazed to find that her tears were hurting him, that he felt upset just watching her weep into her hands.
How weird.
“Oh, no,” he said, putting on his tough voice, trying to set himself straight and Charlotte, too, hopefully. “No, no, no, I don’t docrying, Charlotte. It just… no. Not me.”
And then, he heard it. An outright sob.
Good grief, could this get any worse? His capable, competent, kick butt business partner was wearing a dress, makeup, and really tall shoes and crying. She was being a girl.
Which was a shame, since she was really great at being a guy.
But… well, he wasn’t a jerk. Well, okay, so he was a jerk. But this was Charlotte, and she was crying. She probably needed to talk about what she was feeling and…
“Oh, boy,” he sighed, thinking about the arduous task of talking about feelings and sharing emotions. Bleh. All while he had a business to run.
But it was Charlotte. He could suck it up and be empathetic for her. (Because it would help her do the taxes faster and then he could probably talk her into looking into some other accounting issues. Talk of feelings would lead to better productivity, more money, more money…)
That wasn’t all of it, though. Of course not, not when he was feeling just as upset as she was.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“No,” she sobbed. “I never want to talk to anyone about tonight. I just want to die.”
Dramatic much? And if she didn’t want to talk, why was she still talking?
“Horrible, awful,” she continued on, gasping now because she was crying so hard.
“Okay, so clearly, you need to talk,” he said.
“No,” she sobbed. “No… I can’t…”
She could. Because she was. On and on and on.
“Oh, come on, Lottie, just –“
“Don’t call me that!” she hissed, taking her hands from her face and clenching her teeth at him.
Well, that was better. Anger sure beat tears.
It gave him an idea.
“I get that you’re upset, even though I have no idea why,” he said, running back towards the house and grabbing something right out of the garage. A baseball bat. That would work. He rolled out the trash can, too, knowing how this kind of thing would go.
“Well, yeah,” she said, and the tears kept coming.
“Oh, no, you’re angry, not sad,” he said, handing her the bat. “Hit something. It’ll make you feel better.”
“That won’t solve anything, Eli!” she said, sobbing.
Heaven help him, she was falling apart. Pretty soon, she’d be useless. A pile of quivering tears and emotions and feelings. Oh, with the feelings.
Not during tax season, woman.
“Come on, Lottie!” he yelled. “Hit something!”
The name was enough of a trigger. She swung the bat right at his head, missing him by inches.
“Whoa!” he yelled. “Not me! The garbage can! The garbage can!”
And she glanced at it. For a moment, he thought she’d tell him again that this wouldn’t help. She was a girl, after all, and hitting things wasn’t therapeutic for them like it was for guys.
Or was it?
Charlotte hauled off and began destroying his indestructible garbage can with his favorite baseball bat, still crying.
And screaming.
Good grief. He looked around, wondering if his neighbors would call the police as Charlotte lost her freakin’ mind in his driveway.
Just as he was certain it couldn’t get any worse, she tripped over those impossibly tall shoes and nearly fell over. He brought his arms up to catch her, but she righted herself at the last minute, kicking off the offending shoe with gusto.
She stood there for a long moment, the bat still in her hands, her breathing heavy, and the tears still coming. He watched her cautiously, uncertain of what to say or do.
She was still holding the bat, after all.
“Hey,” he said, trying to put a calm edge to his voice, approaching her slowly, just like he would if she was some scared animal ready to bite his head off. (Which seemed an apt comparison given what she’d just done to the garbage can.)
“Hey, Herbert,” she said, the sadness back in her voice.
More of this, then. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t give him an answer. She simply sat on the curb in her fancy dress, put her arms around her knees, and laid her head down.
Not okay. So clearly not okay.
Eli took a breath, watching her from a distance, then closing the gap between them as he joined her on the curb.
“You know, it’s warmer inside,” he said after a long moment of silence. “And I can’t hardly see you in the dark out here –“
“Good,” she mumbled from beneath her arms. “I’m glad you can’t see my stupid face.”
Stupid face. Not even.
“You don’t have a stupid face,” he said. “Nothing about you is stupid. It’s one of the most annoying things about you, actually. That you’re almost always right –“
“Oh, but I was wrong tonight,” she swore, looking up and taking a shaky breath.
“Tonight,” Eli repeated. “Did the fancy party not go well?”
His mind, of course, went to the proposal. How could Charlotte have been wrong about a marriage proposal? How could she have been wrong about “the plan” and all?
Oh… maybe she’d told Tyler no. Maybe she’d broken up with him!
Eli couldn’t pinpoint exactly why this thrilled him (maybe because Tyler was annoying and had a stupid face, huh?), but he had to bite back a relieved breath, especially as Charlotte raised wounded eyes to him.
“The fancy party was fine,” she sighed. “His family did it right. All that money they have, a buffet spread out like it was, actual musicians on the lawn, playing for us, and these white tents… it was like a wedding reception.”
The mention of a wedding had her tearing up again.
The tears.
He only knew one way to stop them.
“Well, that sounds like a beating,” he said. “And with you dressed like that. Fancy pants and all.”
“I’m wearing a dress,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m not wearing pants, you idiot.”
Critical Charlotte. There she was. Eli was more comfortable with her.
(And he’d noticed the dress. Obviously.)
“You can get arrested for not wearing pants, you know,” he noted. “Public indecency and –“
“Shut up, Herbert,” she sighed.
He smiled at this… and felt his smile slip away as another tear slid down her cheek.
“Charlotte,” he said softly, surprised by the emotion in his voice. “Talk to me.” He leaned in closer to her, trying his best to be supportive, to look the part, to mirror what he was feeling, wanting to be there for her even if he had no idea what he was doing.
She seemed to appreciate it as she looked up at him and gave him a sad frown, scooting closer to him.
“Well,” she said, wiping her nose right onto the sleeve of his shirt (there was the Charlotte he knew), then leaning her head right onto his shoulder, “I made a fool of myself.”
“I doubt that,” he said, pulling her closer, his arm around her waist. “Did you have too much champagne and dance on one of those buffet tables?”
“Even better,” she said softly. “I waited until it was super quiet and really serious, with all of Tyler’s family watching us, and I told him I’d marry him.”
Oh. Well, this was bad news.
Except… well, the way she was acting actually did suggest that it was bad news. The worst news ever.
She’d accepted his proposal, agreed to marry him, and was now yelling about how she was wrong.
What in the world?
Women.
“I don’t get it,” he said, meaning many things with this.
“I told him I’d marry him, but he never asked,” she said, looking up at him with humiliation in her eyes.
Oooooohhh.
Sure enough, there was no ring on her hand.
Eli felt another unexplainable rush of relief at this.
“Wow, just announced it all to the group like that, all of Tyler’s fancy pants family and all,” he said, imagining it. Quiet, reverent Lottie — the kind that only came out around Tyler — boldly telling everyone that she was going to marry him. Tyler — annoying, irritating, stupid face Tyler — looking at her in shock.
“Well, he’s stupid,” Eli said simply.
“Why is that?” Charlotte asked, a sob still there in her voice. “I’m the one who thought he loved me. I’m the one who was so obsessed with this plan to marry him that I freakin’ imagined that he asked me when he didn’t!”
“Maybe he would have, eventually, if you hadn’t blurted it out like that,” he said diplomatically. “But he’s stupid because he didn’t say, the minute that was out of your mouth, that it was the best idea ever.”
“Marrying me?” she asked, pulling away from his side to stare at him as she began to cry again. “That’s like the worst idea ever. Now especially, no matter how he ever felt. Because I’m an idiot.”
“No,” Eli said, pulling her back into his arms where she continued to cry. “He’s the idiot. Who wouldn’t want to marry you, Charlotte?”
“Tyler wouldn’t,” she sobbed.
Which is why Tyler had a stupid face. Eli was about to affirm this again (because it could only be helpful for Lottie to hear it another eight thousand times tonight, right?), but she kept right on talking.
“He got us all together to tell us that he’s going to the mission field, and what kind of terrible person does that make me, crying because he’s going… because he clearly never intended to take me with him?”
“Did you want to go with him?” Eli asked, looking down at her. “Missions… is that something you want?”
She bit her lip in between gasping breaths and managed a barely audible, “No.”
Eli smiled at her. “Then, isn’t this a good thing? Everything working out like this?”
“No, this isn’t a good thing!” she shrieked, very nearly in his ear as he held her close.
“Well, there went the hearing in my left ear, Lottie,” he said. “It’s a good thing you signed us up for that health insurance plan because I think I’m going to need a really expensive specialist to repair what you just damaged –“
“Oh, the insurance! Work!” she shouted, her hands to her face.
Enough with the shouting. He moved away fractionally.
“What about it?” he asked, his hand to his left ear. (Seriously, his ear was ringing now!)
“I don’t have a job lined up!” she said. “Eli, I turned down the job in Houston because I thought Tyler would be here! Not in the freakin’ Middle East –“
“The Middle East?” Eli interrupted. “Is that where –“
But she kept on.
“And I thought I’d be married to him, so no matter where he went, I’d go, too, and find a job where we went or not, you know, because I was going to start having children right away –“
Well, this was interesting news.
“I’m out of work!” she said, the sobbing starting up again. “I’m an idiot! An unemployed idiot!”
He could actually fix this part of her problem for her. “Hey, you still have a job working for me,” he said.
This made her cry harder.
Ouch. Well, that hurt a little.
“But you don’t pay squat, you tightwad,” she sobbed. “That’s why I was going to go work for a bigger company. You only gave me health insurance this year and only because I was the one who set it up.”
Truth.
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers, Lottie,” he said. “Point taken, though. Maybe we can figure something out. A raise. But in the meantime, you have a job.”
“A job,” she said, nodding, wiping her tears away with her fingers, taking a deep breath. “Okay, so that’s going to work out, but…”
But what?
“What, Lottie?”
“I didn’t sign a new lease on my apartment,” she said. “They wanted me to sign for a full year, and I assumed that… that I’d be getting married, and –“
“When does your lease run out?”
“New Year’s.” She looked at him with great embarrassment.
She hadn’t left a lot of room for wedding planning, then. “Did you think he was going to propose and… marry you in the next month?!”
“I had hoped,” she said, beginning to cry again. “Eli, I had so many plans. I was going to have a Christmas wedding. A Christmas wedding!”
“You were planning the wedding before you even got the proposal?” he asked.
“Not as specifically as some women do,” she said. “I mean, Alicia has a whole board on Pinterest full of ideas.”
This was news.
“She has a what on what?”
“You should see it,” Charlotte sighed, wiping her eyes. “She’s going to have these adorable favors with Eli and Ali written in this fancy script on these mason jars full of mints.”
What?!
“She doesn’t even go by Ali!” he exclaimed, starting with that.
“But it’s going to be so perfect,” Charlotte sniffled. “She just needs you to propose. Then, she’ll get it all done.”
Insane. All women were insane.
“Well,” he said, trying to forget all this nonsense about Pinterest and wedding planning (mason jars full of mints?), “you’ve got a month to figure out something.”
“And I will, but I can’t go back there tonight,” she said. “I can’t go back and potentially face him. I can’t live there for the next month either. I’ll see him all the time, and I…”
Just can’t.
He heard it even though she didn’t say it.
And even though he could very nearly hear Alicia shrieking at the very thought he was having, he still thought it. (Hey, he was shrieking a little on his own. Mason jars full of mints! Eli and Ali! What in the world?!)
He’d bought the duplex he was living in with plans to rent out the other side eventually. The plan was to one day move out himself and use the whole place as a rental investment, but in the meantime, he was making improvements to the place while he lived on property.
He’d just about finished all the renovations to the other side and had been thinking about where to best advertise for renters.
No need to do that now, though.
Maybe. Possibly. Probably.
“Charlotte, I haven’t leased out the other half of the duplex,” he said. “Haven’t even found a tenant. Haven’t even posted about it.”
The relief in her eyes was guarded… but it was there.
“I can’t live here,” she said after a long moment. “You’d be my boss and my landlord.”
“That would stink,” he confirmed. “But it beats living on the streets.”
“I’m not sure I could afford it, since my boss is a tightwad, and –“
“Even more reason to consider it,” he told her, “as your landlord would know your dire financial situation and could adjust the rent accordingly.”
She bit her lip again, tears in her eyes once more. “Why would you do that for me?” she practically whispered.
Because you’re killing me, crying like this. Because I want to make it all better. Because I like the idea of you being here with me instead of there with him.
What was that last one about anyway?
Eli simply shrugged, playing it off. “Because I want to go to sleep tonight, and the only way I’m going to get you to stop blabbering on and on about the most awful night of your life is by offering you a place to stay. There. Happy?”
She opened her mouth to likely insult him, but he stopped her words before she could get them out.
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” he said. “Just… just stay tonight. And make a decision about the long term once you’re thinking more clearly, okay?”
She nodded at this. “Okay,” she murmured softly.
“Come on,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her along and into his side of the duplex, like she was too shell shocked to move on her own, which she very nearly was. “I’ll get you some things. It’s already furnished. Well, enough. Or maybe…”
He was just about to offer to take the vacant side himself and let her have his place for the night. Much more comfortable than the cold, sparsely furnished side —
“I’ll be fine,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself.
She’d need something more comfortable to wear, too. Not that he had any problem with that dress, but…
He made his way to his room, grabbing up his pillow and the blanket off his bed. Then to his closet to grab a shirt, over to the chest to get a pair of shorts.
It would be enough for tonight. She could figure out what she wanted to do tomorrow, and he’d help her out however he could.
He went back to the living room and bit back a smile when he saw that she was eating his taco, right off the plate where he’d left it.
“Sorry,” she murmured, her mouth full. “Ran off before the big dinner at Tyler’s grandparents’ place. Had a huge plate from the buffet but no time to eat it. I’m starving. Didn’t eat anything all day so I’d be sure to look good in this dress.”
Oh, and she definitely looked good.
“Then take the rest of them, too,” he said, grabbing the bag that held everything he’d gotten in his take out order. “Alicia says they make me fat.” He thought belatedly that this probably wasn’t what Charlotte wanted to hear, seeing as how her mouth was full.
“Not like I care if I get fat,” she said, as she took the offerings in his arms, along with the key he held out and started making her way outside.
He made a move to watch her from the door, to make sure she made it in okay, when he noticed she was hobbling.
Little surprise, since he still held her shoe in his hand.
“Charlotte,” he said, as she turned back to him, his pillow and his blanket in her arms, her make up all but ruined now, tears still in her eyes.
Stupid Tyler. Eli wanted to hunt him down and kick his butt.
“What?” she asked, watching him with such sad resignation.
“Your shoe,” he said, holding it up as he made his way over to her, apology in his expression.
“I hate those things,” she muttered. “Just another way to please him. Little good that did.”
Little good. Except she was beautiful, and he was certain that Tyler, for as dumb as he was in not knowing how to respond to what she’d said, had noticed that.
“Here,” he said, the shoe still in his hand, kneeling down on the sidewalk in front of her and glancing up. “Don’t kick me in the face, slugger.”
“I’m not angry anymore,” she sighed. “Just sad.”
He hated that. Hated Tyler for doing it.
“Maybe the sadness will make a way for something better,” he said, knowing that she wasn’t defined by what had happened tonight, that God had much better things in store for her, no matter what she likely thought right at this moment.
So with tenderness, he guided her foot back into the shoe, thinking again that he’d give anything to have spared her this whole night and all the humiliation.
“I was going to be like Cinderella tonight,” she said, a tremor still in her voice. “That was my big plan. A big happily ever after and all. Stupid Tyler.”
“Stupid Tyler,” Eli echoed. “Maybe there’s a better plan, huh?”
“Doubtful,” she murmured. “But thanks, Eli.”
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Jenn Faulk 