Teacup Novellas 02 - Strike the Match (17 page)

He chuckled. “Well sir . . .” he repeated.

She sat up to look at him. “I said, you do that—”

“Marry me.”

For the second time in five minutes, she was speechless.

“Well sir . . . I think we should make it a double.”

“What?” she whispered.

“I think we should make it a double ceremony.” His eyes warmed as a smile crept across his face. “Marry me, Keri McMillan, and make me the happiest man in the world.”

Her eyes searched his, her brow dipped briefly in question, then she grabbed him, shouting, “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

They laughed, they kissed, and then they kissed a little more.

“Ahoy, there!” came a voice from the
Sarah Jane.
“What’s all the racket out there?” Nita shouted. “You’ll wake the whales!”

“Then let ‘em wake up! WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!” Grant shouted.

“Shep! Did you hear that! Grant said they’re getting married too!”

Silence followed, the waves lapping against the beach the only response.

Then, from across the water . . .

“Well sir . . .that’s nice . . . that’s real nice.”

Epilogue

I couldn’t help it. Not that I tried. If I had a mirror positioned over my desk, I’m sure the smile reflected in it would be slap-dog silly. But hey, I make no apologies. I
love
how this one ended. A double wedding! How fun would that be?! It was hard not to add another chapter and celebrate the happy occasion with my characters, but sometimes you just know when to close . . . Isn’t that a line from some Kenny Rogers song?

Speaking of songs . . . I leaned over, searching for MJ’s
Thriller
on my iPod, ready to commence my own celebration ritual. Even now I could hear the mint chocolate chip calling my name from the freezer . . .
Luuuuucccyyyyy!

My cell rang before I could crank up the opening rift of my favorite Michael Jackson song. “Hello?”

“Hey, sis. Just wanted to let you know we’re running a few minutes late.”

Eh?

“Apparently Beth had some kind of
wardrobe malfunction
.”

Lucy could hear a giggling female in the background. “Beth? Who’s Beth?”

“Elizabeth Frazier. She teaches with me, remember? Anyway, she’s appropriately dressed now and we should be at your place in—”

Oh no.  No no no no no!

“—about twenty minutes.”

No no no! Tell me I did not—

“Mark’s gonna meet us at your place, so he should be there any time now.”

I stood up, searching for the note on my calendar. And there it was:

Friday night – double date/Mark

No no no no no!

“Sis? You there?”

“Yeah, sure. No-problem-I’ll-be-ready-when-you-get-here-bye.”

I threw the phone on my desk and ran down the hall, grabbing the bathroom doorframe as I accidentally slid past it. Socks on hardwood. Risky business.

You don’t even want to know the dialogue going through my head as I showered, blew my hair dry, did a drive-by with my make-up, and rushed in my closet to find my black dress. I started to dig through my underwear drawer for a pair of black hose, when I suddenly stopped.
No one wears hose any more, do they?

 I took a quick assessment of my scrawny legs, immediately noticing the ugly scar down the front of my right shin from a shaving mishap last week.
Lovely.
I blew my hair out of my eyes, cracked open the L’eggs egg and starting pulling on a pair of black hose. At least they had a pattern in them—thankfully, not fishnetty.

I grabbed my heels and raced back to the bathroom. I’d just lathered up with my Extra-Brightening Crest when the doorbell rang.

“Ahlbeyarinamint!” I shouted before spitting.

Yeah. Like he understood that?

A quick rinse, a final brush through the hair, a spritz of cologne, and I was ready. I grabbed my gauzy black shawl, draped it over my shoulders, stepped into my strappy black heels and tried to find some semblance of poise in me as I walked toward the front door.

Deep breath. Relax . . .
I closed my eyes for just a moment then fixed a genuine smile on my face before opening the door.

And there he was. My Mark.

A smile as big as Boston on his face.

A huge bouquet of flowers in his hands.

Dressed in his UPS browns.

Brown shirt.

Brown shorts.

Brown socks.

“Oh.” It slipped out. Honest. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. But even I could hear the tinge of disappointment in that tiny little word.

“Hi Lucy.”

I blinked. Three, maybe four times. I simply couldn’t find the words . . . My imagination kicked in as I watched us walk into Fitzgerald’s. We made our entrance, passing  linen-covered tables set with crystal and fine china, aglow with soft candlelight, as easy jazz played on a Bose sound system . . . with  every eye riveted on the man in brown escorting the girl in the little black dress.

I blinked again, realizing my eyes had traveled downward from his sweet smile, to that shirt, those shorts, and those socks.

His eyes followed mine. “Oh—yeah, I know. I’m still in uniform.”

I swallowed. As an author, I’m paid to piece together words that communicate. But I have to tell you—I got nothing here.

“No! Oh, you think . . .” He laughed, throwing his head back. “No, I’m not here for our
date
, Lucy!” He laughed again. It was a great laugh.

A wheeze flew out of me on a gust of relief. “Oh!” I laughed in return, trying to act nonchalant. “Oh, sure. I knew that. Really . . . duh?!

“Oh Lucy, I swear—I’d
never
dress like this for a date.” He chuckled this time. “I promise I’d never do that to you. See, I was on my way home to change when I got a call from our dispatcher. My buddy’s truck broke down on the interstate and I’ve got to go help him transfer his load into my truck, then finish the deliveries. It’ll take hours. I didn’t want to just call, so I swung by on my way out there. Oh, and I just got off the phone with your brother, explaining what happened. I’m so sorry, Lucy. I was really looking forward to going out with you tonight.”

She leaned against the door jamb, wrapping one ankle around the other.
He came to tell me face to face. How sweet is that?

He handed her the bouquet. “Any chance you’d give me a rain check? Say, Sunday night?”

And so it was, my first date with my handsome UPS guy was postponed.

After we said our goodbyes, I kicked off my heels and padded into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. Truth be told, I wasn’t
that
disappointed. Now I’d have time to anticipate our date the right way. I’d set the alarm on my cell phone on Sunday afternoon to remind me. I’d take a long hot bubble bath, do my nails, maybe try an updo.

I took my beautiful bouquet back to my office and pushed aside some clutter on my desk to give them the priority they deserved. I sat down, propped my feet on the ottoman, and welcomed Gertie who also seemed pleased my plans had changed.

“Gertie, life can be funny sometimes. You just never know what you’ll find at the front door.”

I noticed the Lomonosov teacup and saucer sitting beside my keyboard. I’d washed it that morning, still admiring its glistening blue and gold netting-like design. I couldn’t believe it was time to put it back on the shelf.

It’s hard, finishing a story. Sure, the sense of accomplishment feels great. It feels
amazing
. But then there’s the necessary letting go . . . having to step back out of the story line and say goodbye to my characters. That’s the part I hate. It always feels a little like I’m packing them up in a shoebox and sticking them in the attic. Not exactly a fitting farewell for people who made my story come alive! Could I really walk away without witnessing Grant and Keri’s double-wedding with Shep and Nita? Would Keri ever finish her degree? Or would she and Grant start a family? Would Tyler’s business recover? So many unanswered questions.

And yet, ask any author how they determine where to end a story and they’ll tell you.

You just know.

I sat there pondering my next adventure.
Time to pick another teacup and begin another story.

I already knew which was next. That interesting cup and saucer with the mysterious history . . . at least, a history I’d soon create for it. So many secrets in that one. I couldn’t wait to unveil them.

I reached for the cup, blew the dust from its interior, and listened to the sound of a motorcycle roaring through my mind on its way to that quaint little Tennessee town . . .

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Acknowledgments

To Glenn Hale, for his incredible knack for catching those elusive typos. It only goes to press after ol’ Eagle Eyes has first had a look. Thanks, Dad. Love you.

To Katie at
The Vintage Teacup
on Etsy. Thanks for the beautiful picture of the gorgeous Lomonosov teacup and your willingness to share its beauty on my cover. If you’re ever in the Nashville are, we must have tea! I adore your Etsy shop and trust my readers will stop by often, as will I: 
http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheVintageTeacup

To Dan Logan for his spectacular log cabin fire photograph, taken in Crown Point, Alaska. The moment I found your picture, I knew I’d found my cover shot. Thank you for your generosity in allowing me to use it. You are a gifted photographer, my friend. Check out more of Dan’s stunning pictures at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/dcsl/sets/

To Ken, my husband and fellow OBT Bookz conspirator. Thanks for your endless encouragement, for pushing me when I need a lift, and for helping design another beautiful cover! I love doing life with you.

And finally, to Sally Wilson. Yes, I know—I dedicated this book to you, but I can never thank you enough for the trail you have blazed for me and others in this passion we call writing. From the first time we met at the ACFW conference in Houston, I knew we were kindred spirits. I am so blessed to know you, to brainstorm over paninis with you at Red Tree, and to experience life with a true blue, albeit quirky friend who lives “just down the road.” You are one of my most cherished friends and I thank God for you.

About the Author

Born in Texas and raised in Oklahoma, Diane Moody writes both fiction and non-fiction. Her first book,
Confessions of a Prayer Slacker,
released in 2010 followed by
Don’t Ever Look Down: Surviving Cancer Together
in 2011
,
co-authored with Dick & Debbie Church. Her first novel,
The Runaway Pastor’s Wife,
debuted in 2011 as well.
Tea with Emma
and
Strike the Match
the first and second installment in a series called
The Teacup Novellas,
published by OBT Bookz.
Blue Christmas,
the first of her newest series,
The Moody Blue Trilogy,
released in the fall of 2011, and quickly became a bestseller on Amazon Kindle.

A former pastor’s wife, Diane and husband Ken now live in the rolling hills just outside of Nashville, Tennessee. They are the proud parents of two grown and extraordinary children, Hannah and Ben.

Visit Diane’s webpage at
www.dianemoody.net
.

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Blue Like Elvis

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