Love Starts with Elle (41 page)
Heath eyed him. “What are you saying?”
“Heath, do you love her?”
He clicked his pen on, then off, on, then off. “Yes. I do.”
“Then be with her. If there’s any good in Ava’s death it’s that you understand life is fleeting. You have a second chance at love. What are you doing here?”
“Taking it slow.”
“Slow? Heath, I know you’re trying to be wise, keep your word and loyalty to me, but I really can’t stand to see your long face around here anymore. I’ll figure out a way to deal with Doc and Tom.
Selling out and playing tennis all day looks better all the time. Now, get on the plane or you’re fired.” Rock pulled the door behind him as he left.
“Nice try, Rock,” Heath called after him, looking again at the gray day, pieces of Elle’s e-mail floating across his mind.
I love you. I
do. No strings, no conditions, just you and me.
Heath reached for his office phone. “Pam, get me two tickets to Charleston, nonstop. I don’t care about the cost.”
Then he dialed Junie. “Pack Tracey-Love for a week in South Carolina. Pick her up from school and meet me at JFK. I’ll call you with more details.
Snatching his coat from the rack, he thought he’d have enough time to swing by Tiffany’s.
Elle sat between Caroline and Jess under the lights of the Frogmore Café, listening to Wild Wally reminisce about Mitch O’Neal’s first touchdown pass at Beaufort High’s star quarterback. Wild Wally, of course, was his lead blocker.
“I looked around and the defensive end was in my face. Plowed me right into the turf, but not before Mitch threw a perfect spiral to Olinski.”
They’d heard the story a gazillion times. And they listened for the gazillionth time. Tradition.
“Mitch.” Andy Castleton, the Frogmore’s Emmitt Smith-sized owner, leaned over the country singer’s shoulder. “Some of the customers wonder if you could sing a song or two. It’s not our normal music night, but what do you say?”
His wide smile offered Mitch no option to say no.
“Come on, Mitch,” Elle urged. “I’d like to hear some of your new stuff.”
He checked with Caroline. “What do you say, babe?”
“Go for it. Your music saved this café over a year ago.”
Mitch stepped onto the stage and tapped the mike. “Well, Andy said some of you wanted a song, and since you’re the hometown crowd, I’m more than happy to oblige.” He strummed and tuned. “Like always, it’s good to be back in Beaufort.”
Elle sat back, at peace, at home. She’d kept her vigil of prayer and painting, missing Miss Anna. Missing Heath. But content.
“In case some of you didn’t know,” Mitch said as he perched on the stool, “Caroline did the honor of marrying me over the summer.”
A light applause peppered the room. Elle ran her hand over Caroline’s shoulders.
“This is a song I wrote for her.”
Elle eased down in her chair as Mitch’s elegant serenade billowed over the Frogmore, cushioning her soul. But when her backside vibrated, she jerked her bag to her lap and retrieved her phone from the clutter of things she called “what I need to carry around every day.”
She had one text message. Tipping the phone toward the stage lights, Elle read the tiny screen. From Heath. She smiled and opened the text.
“Where r u?”
Elle hit Reply. “Fgmr with gang. C and M r here.”
What a weird message. Why would he text her on a Friday night? Holding her phone in her lap, Elle propped her chin in her hand and listened to the last of Mitch’s song. She was definitely going to get his new album.
Somewhere in the middle of his fourth song, chairs scooched around behind her, people were shifting, and Julianne was whispering too loudly to Jess, who reached around to tap Caroline’s shoulder.
Elle slapped the table with her palm. “What are y’all fussing—”
Heath stood at the end of the table, looking like the last minute of a long day with his fading blond hair going every direction, his tie drooping, and his tan herringbone coat skewed across his shoulders.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Elle rose slowly, her pulse thickening. “What are you doing here?”
“Is there room at this party for one more?”
Julianne jumped up so fast she tripped over Danny. “Yes, please, take my seat. Hey, Heath, welcome.”
“Hey, Julianne. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“I dropped Tracey-Love off at your folks. Rio was still squealing when I left.”
“She’s been missing her.”
“Julianne,” Elle said, “did you know about this? Jess?”
“Not at all.”
“How would I know anything?”
From the stage, Mitch continued to sing. Heath walked over to her. “Rock fired me. Said I belonged down here with you.”
“He didn’t.”
Heath nodded. “Yeah, he did. And he’s right.”
She shimmied as a
swoosh
splashed her emotions. All her composure began to leak. “What are you saying?”
He stepped closer. “I love you. I want to be with you. If it’s possible, you’re the second first-love of my life and I’d be stupid to spend another moment away from you.”
Okay. Yeah, that’s a good reason to be here.
Elle flew into his arms with a burst of tears. “I’ll move to New York with you, Heath. Whatever, but I want to be with you.”
He kissed her, firm and unyielding. “Marry me.” His lips brushed her ears. “Marry us.”
Mitch’s song ended and his last strum rang out over the café.
Heath went to bended knee. “I spoke to Truman. He says I can have you if I want you.”
“Way to sweep a girl off her feet.”
The woman at the booth next the party table leaned into Heath and Elle’s private circle. “This is way better than that boy’s singing.”
Elle cut her a glance. Mrs. Paladino. Figures. Local gossip columnist. “Hush.”
With his eyes fixed on Elle, Heath retrieved a blue box from his pocket. “Will you marry me?”
“My stars. Tiffany’s,” Mrs. Paladino burst out, apparently unclear about the meaning of
hush
. “If you don’t marry him, I will.”
“Marie,” the man at her table protested, “you’re married to me.”
Mrs. Paladino beat the air in front of him. “Pipe down. Well, girl, are you going to say yes?”
Elle bent down to her knees, wanting to confess her love face to face, eye to eye, heart to heart. “For a summer, you were my friend, my sanity, the one who challenged me to believe when it felt impossible. I am so honored to know you and call you friend. I can’t believe I can one day call you husband. Yes, Heath McCord, I’ll marry you.”
His lips touched hers, soft and tender at first, then hungry and passionate, finding the core of her heart.
Around them, above them, the café erupted with cheers. Mercy Bea shoved in between them, shouting, “Cake, on the house!”
Heath pulled Elle to her feet and whirled her in his arms. Folks congratulated them with shoulder pops and teary hugs.
Mama and Daddy breezed in with Rio and Tracey-Love, followed by a harried-looking Sara Beth and her brood.
“At the risk of my beauty reputation, I herded everyone to the car when Mama called. I did
not
want to miss this.”
In the midst of the celebration, the rest of the Garvey Girls arrived as the Frogmore staff passed plates of Andy’s fluffy white cake.
Heath never loosened his grip on Elle’s hand.
It’d been a long year, but Miss Anna was right: promotion often comes from the wilderness. Elle had learned about herself, about love, and the hope of prayer.
“Elle, where’s your cake?” Mercy Bea fussed. “Andy, I need a piece of cake for the bride-to-be.”
Elle pressed her hand over her stomach. “I’m not sure I can eat, Mercy Bea.”
When the cake arrived, Elle reached for it. One bite would be nice. But the bottle-blonde jerked the plate back.
“What in Sam Hill?” Mercy Bea squinted, pinching free a perfect white feather. “Good grief. Elle, don’t worry, I’ll get you another piece. Giving the bride a feathered slice of cake . . .”
Heath slipped his hand around Elle and squeezed her close. She peered up at him through a blur of tears. God knew. He always knew and in His unique way had blessed Elle with His signature touch.
He’d always been with her—now and then—in the moments of darkness, in the times of light, when she doubted and when she believed.
Did she understand true love, soul mates, the perfect one? Not at all. But she understood God was blessing this moment, giving her Heath as a true gift.
“Mercy Bea, please, it’s fine.” Elle held out her hand. “I want that piece of cake, and the feather.”
“What? It’s contaminated. You don’t know where that feather’s been.”
Heath laughed, taking the feather between his finger and thumb. “Yeah, actually, we do.”
Scripture tells me to owe no one anything except a debt of love. Often during the journey of writing a book, I forget to pay, though I’m indebted to many. This is my feeble attempt to thank them.
Jesus, the God-man—real, eternal, everlasting, full of love and mercy. I’m undone to think that I know and love You because You first loved me. My debt of love to You can never be paid, but daily I give You my heart. I am Yours;You are mine.
My husband, who encourages and prays for me and keeps me on the right side of the yellow line. I absolutely could not do this without you. Joyfully I pay my debt of love to you. You are an amazing, true-blue, godly man.
Susie Warren, friend of my heart, brainstorming machine, fiction queen, and my sanity check. Thank you for being on the other side of the phone so many times while writing this book and for cheering with me in the good times. Your friendship is an incredible gift and blessing.
Christine Lynxwiler, for a really fun Sunday-after-conference of brainstorming, and for your friendship and constant encouragement.
My family. I’m so glad to be your daughter (in-law) and sister, niece, and cousin.
My friend Chelle, for praying, listening, and asking, “How’s it going?”
The fabulous team at Thomas Nelson, for giving me a chance to live my dream. Y’all are the rock stars. Thanks for sharing your stage.
Ami McConnell, editor extraordinaire. Thank you for believing in me, for your insight into this manuscript, and for encouraging me with words that still linger in my heart.
Leslie Peterson, another editor extraordinaire. Thank you to the power of ten for your time, insight, and ability to say, “Well done. Now, here’s what you need to fix.”
Karen Solemn, for your insight and encouragement, and for leading the way.
Katie Sulkowski, for becoming a fast friend and for challenging me to look and see farther down the road.
To the artists who shared their experiences: John Houghton, Elizabeth Brandon, Deana Bowdish of The Gallery in Beaufort. And Brett Stebbins, who put a brush in my hand.
My father-in-law, John Hauck, for “standing on the wall” in the Aleutians during WWII so we can be free. I will not forget your sacrifice. I love you.
When a Southern waitress inherits a
Lowcountry café, she suddenly has to balance
more than just her next food order.
An Excerpt from
Sweet Caroline
