Project Love (Cascade Brides Series)

PROJECT LOVE

by

Bonnie Blythe

Book Three of the CASCADE BRIDE SERIES

A Christian Romance Novel

Kindle Edition copyright ©2012

All rights reserved.

Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL
VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society.
Used by permission of Zondervan.

All rights reserved.

Cover by Magyar Design

Cover photo by
© Aleksey Mykhaylichenko

© Tomorapan

...
if I have a faith that can move mountains, but
have not love, I am nothing
.

I Corinthians 13:2

Chapter One

Charity Conrad pulled her phone from her purse and
glanced at the unfamiliar number. Sighing, she silenced the ringing.
One time she had made the mistake of using her cell number online
signing up for what, she couldn't remember now.
One time
. Now
she was inundated with time-share offers, vouchers for cruises, and
other assorted robo-calls.

“
Another one?” Jessie, her co-worker and assistant
manager, asked as he tied his apron around his waist. His dark skin
contrasted with the regulation bright white T-shirts they had to
wear, emblazoned with the artsy Rose City Java logo.

“
Probably,” Charity said. “I keep forgetting about
registering with that Do Not Call thing.”

“
Live and learn, girl. Let the record show it was me
who told you never to post your number online.”

Charity rolled her eyes. “You should stay on my good
side, because today's the
day
.”

Jessie grinned. “You say that every day. For about the
last three months.”

A tone sounded on her phone, indicating a voice-mail.

His brow went up. “Do your telemarketers usually leave
messages?”

“
Not so far.” Charity glanced at the clock. One
minute until her shift at the coffee shop started. She dialed her
voice-mail. on the off chance it was important.

“
So, are you saying it might actually be a friend
calling?” Jessie teased. “Now that would be something.”

Charity swatted his arm as he headed toward the swinging
doors that led from the break-room to the counter.

“
You better make that quick because you're just about
on.”

“
Okay,
Boss
.”

Jessie nodded. “You keep that in mind.”

She smiled as he went through the doors. He was newly
promoted to assistant manager and was still in celebration mode.

After keying through the options to retrieve the
message, Charity peeked at her reflection in the small mirror inside
her locker. She scrunched the phone between her ear and shoulder as
she adjusted her ponytail.

“
Charity? I hope I have the right number. It's Hope.”

Charity froze and her reflected eyes in the mirror
widened.

“
I got this number off the Internet. I'm looking for
Charity Conrad. If I have the wrong number, can you let me know? I'm
trying to find my sister. And if I have the right number, please call
me—”

Charity yanked the phone from her ear and ended the
call, her respiration heightened. Swallowing hard, she stared at the
number. It was local. Did that mean Hope was in Oregon? Could she
even be in
Portland?
A thousand childhood memories cascaded
through her mind—each one steeped in angst and frustration, each
one born from want and deprivation of what she'd desired.

“
Girl
,” Jessie hissed through a crack in the
doors. “
We have customers!
”

Firming her lips against unwanted reminiscences, Charity
deleted the number. She shoved the phone in her purse on the locker
shelf, slammed the door shut, and grabbed her apron.

“
It's about time,” Jessie said under his breath as
she appeared next to him at the counter, still tying the back of her
apron.

“
Next!” she said, motioning a patron in line.

Charity was thankful for the morning rush that kept her
mind off the phone call. Instead, she focused on the artsy coffee
shop ambiance with its muted blue-green and orange wall tones—the
electric copper and art glass lighting—the shelves stocked with
French coffee presses, novelty mugs, grinders, and bags of house
beans. Through the large plate glass windows, scenes of bustling city
life passed by. She loved the smells of fresh-roasted coffee and the
warm baked goods inside the glass case, loved the cute neighborhood
of well-kept older homes where the store was located amidst small
restaurants, florists, and gift boutiques, all just off the main
road.

But most of all, she loved the interaction with
customers.

Just like the customers who came for their daily shot of
caffeine, Charity was infused with energy and purpose working with
the public. Gourmet coffee wasn't something people had to have. They
didn't come to Rose City Java because it was on their list of chores.
They came because the coffee was a treat, a little luxury, which
meant most people were friendly when they opened the glass and chrome
doors.

Most people except one customer named Daniel.

All she knew about him was his first name—and that he
liked his coffee in a large cup and black, without a single additive.

That and the fact he never smiled.

She'd been trying for some reaction from him for the
past few months. Maybe she could coax a smile from him today. Every
weekday at precisely ten o'clock, just after the morning rush, the
tall, dark, and serious Daniel came in, ordered his coffee, and sat
at a table with his cup and paperwork from his briefcase. All around
him patrons visited and chatted away, their conversations punctuated
by laughter and camaraderie. Was this Daniel lonely? Or did he prefer
his solitary table in the corner?

And did she really only notice him because he was so
attractive?

“
How are you doing, Charity?”

A blonde woman with a little girl on her hip was next in
line.

“
Hey, Tammy!” Charity said. “It's been a while
since you've been in. A grande Americano?” After the mother nodded,
Charity sent a warm smile to the little girl. “Hello, Miss Julie.
Are you having hot chocolate today?”

Julie buried her face in her mother's shoulder, though a
tiny smile slipped past her shy reserve.

“
I don't know how you remember everyone's name,”
Tammy said. “And their usual orders!”

Charity rolled her eyes piously to the ceiling. “It's
my gift,” she said solemnly.

Tammy laughed. “Wait until you have kids. Your memory
will go right out the window!”

Chuckling, Charity hurried over to the machines and
quickly assembled their order. After handing over the drinks, Tammy
tossed a couple of dollars in the tip jar, which was nearly full.
Charity sent a look Jessie's way. He gave an impressed nod.

Her next customer was an older gentleman who came in at
least once a week. “Good morning, Mr. Vance. The usual espresso to
get your day under way?”

“
You know it, young lady.” Another two dollars in
the tip jar.

There was a running joke in the shop that Charity earned
the lion's share of the tips. It was probably true although she had
to split the money with the other employees most of the time. But she
didn't do it for the money—not that she minded a little extra cash
to go along with her meager paycheck. Instead the bills and coins
were a barometer of customer satisfaction. And if her customers were
adding a tip to an already pricey drink order in a tight economy,
they must be pleased indeed.

The morning rush wore on and the tip jar began to
overflow. Jessie emptied it once, but it didn't take long to fill up
again.

Charity blew out a breath as the last customer in line
left the shop, order in hand.

“
Nice work,” Jessie said, cuffing her on the
shoulder. “You're my secret weapon.”

“
It's not secret, Boss. Just a smile and good
attitude.”

“
You just hold onto that. Before you know it I'll be
managing this store all on my own.”

Charity
raised a brow in mock churlishness. Jessie worked harder than anyone
she knew. He'd
earned
every
bit of his promotion by the sweat
of his own brow. The gleaming store and happy customers were a
testament to that. She grabbed a towel and began wiping down the bar
and restocking supplies for the next rush, ignoring a little pang of
wistfulness.

For as long as she'd been working, she should've had her
own management position by now. But she never seemed to stay long
enough in one place. By the time she'd logged enough hours and sweat
equity in one venue, she found herself feeling twitchy and a little
bored—lured by the siren song of a new experience. So holding the
position of coffee barista was the last in a long line of jobs that
ran the gamut from retail to data entry to laundromat attendant.

Rose City Java had been her longest gig. So far, so
good. As she dumped grounds in a bucket destined for another
employee's compost pile, Charity hoped she could maintain this chill
feeling. She wasn't getting any younger and burning through jobs
faster than a high school student didn't bode well for her future.

She went to the storeroom and pulled fresh pastries from
the fridge. Charity wrinkled her nose when she looked at them and
wished Jessie would let them purchase different goods. Their stock
had the distinct look of mass production. She'd been playing around
in the kitchen with recipes. Maybe Jessie would let her make some
items at work and sell them in the case. Might be fun. She headed
back to the counter and loaded the shelves.

“
Hey, Charity!”

Charity turned around and saw Jill, the neighborhood
window washer. In addition to keeping all the plate glass on Rose
Street squeaky clean, she also painted colorful window images for the
holidays and handed out posters and handbills at the behest of local
organizations.

Her long braids bounced on the straps of her baggy
overalls as she approached the bar. “You guys wanna put a poster up
for the theater down the block? Looks like they're putting on
Canticle For Liebowitz
.”

Charity leaned on the counter and examined the colorful
poster featuring a block-printed monk. “Jill, what exactly is a
canticle?”

The young woman shrugged.

“
Well, I better ask Jessie.”

“
About the canticle or the poster?” Jill said,
amused.

The assistant manager, hearing his name, ambled over.
“Are you sure that's all you got? If I'm not careful, the windows
would be covered with all this paper.”

Jill grinned. “I've only got one more—this one for
an ivy abatement event.”

“
What's wrong with ivy?” Charity said. “I think
it's pretty.”

“
According to this, it's an invasive, parasitic
species that's taking over our parks.”

Charity raised her brows. “I thought the state motto
was Keep Oregon Green...or something like that.”

“
Not this green, apparently,” Jill said, letting out
a laugh.

“
Abating sounds like it could be fun.”

Jill and Jessie stared at her with wry expressions.

“
For the fresh air,” Charity asserted.

Jessie peered at the posters. “Okay, but just these
two. And tuck 'em down in the lower left corner on the east side
window.”

“
You got it.” Jill turned and headed toward the
door.

That's when Charity noticed Daniel standing at the
counter. “Oh! I'm sorry, Mr...I didn't notice you.” She pressed a
hand over her heart, embarrassed that she hadn't been doing her duty
to her customers. And there'd be no chance of getting a smile out of
him after having to wait while they'd chatted about posters. How had
he made it all the way to the counter without detection anyway? Maybe
he was part cat. “The usual?” she said, her voice a little
breathless.

He nodded.

Charity scurried to where the cups were stacked and
grabbed the largest, then peeked over her shoulder at him. He was
tall and had dark hair and light brown eyes fringed with thick
lashes. Such beautiful eyes—a feature she'd admired many times
before. How much more appealing if they ever glimmered with
amusement. Today they seemed resigned. And while he carried the air
of someone in his mid-thirties, the lack of lines on his face made
her think he was closer to late twenties. Maybe he had serious
concerns that weighted him down. Maybe he hated his job.