Chapter 39
SAGE
Elijah Petersheim.
The name and the face—or at least those gorgeous eyelashes—have been on my mind since we first met at the game last week. I’m not sure what it is about him, but I feel like we shared an instant connection.
Which is weird, because I’d never met an Amish person before Jude’s friends showed up at the game. It turns out, they’re not much different than me. Of course, I only sat with their group for one game, but I felt a commonality with them somehow. I’ll have to thank Jude for prompting me to help his friends feel comfortable.
When Dad said he signed on a new player, I was blown away when Amish Eli showed up. No, seriously. I literally swooned when he walked into the arena clad in his Amish attire. Most men had to work out for broad shoulders and biceps like his. But apparently, working on a farm yielded a sculpted physique that rivaled a full-time gym membership. And I won’t even mention the rest of him.
I sigh. So, I might have a tiny crush on the new player.
“What was that sigh for?” Mom’s voice pulls me out of my musings.
“Oh, uh, nothing.” I chastise myself for getting lost in my thoughts again.
“Are you almost done with that salad?”
I glance down at the bowl. “Yes. It’s ready to go in the fridge.”
“Sage.” Dad’s voice calls from behind. “I need your help, sweetie.”
I swivel toward Dad. “Anything.”
“I’ve got a phone call that’s going to take a while. Would you mind stopping by Jude’s to pick up Elijah Petersheim?”
I blink. Did my dad just ask me to drive a hockey player? “What?”
“He won’t bite, honey.” Mom chimes in. “He’s Amish, after all. I think they’re good people, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but?—”
“Thanks, Sugar Plum. You’ll need to get going. I told him five-thirty.” Dad says before he speaks into his phone and heads to his home office down the hall.
I survey my outfit. I’d hoped to at least change and apply a little bit of makeup before Eli arrives.
“Hurry, honey. The lasagna will be ready in thirty minutes.” Mom reminds me.
It will take me at least ten minutes to get to Jude’s place if the traffic is decent. Which makes me wonder…what will he think of my car?
It’s with these thoughts I slide into my beloved 1966 Dodge Dart.
My car brings back fond memories with my parents. They’ve always been into classic cars and oldies music, so I couldn’t help but follow their lead. I don’t know how many car shows, Hula Hoop contests, and sock hops we’ve been to over the years, but the culture is certainly ingrained in me. I feel like I’m a child of the sixties, even though I missed it by several decades. Heck, my parents missed it too.
As I stroll up to a traffic light, I notice a middle-aged man admiring my wheels and dipping his head in approval. That’s one thing that comes with the territory of owning an oldie but a goodie. Attention—whether you want it or not.
At the next stoplight, a group of young guys look over, point, and chuckle. I ignore their ignorance and inability to appreciate a bygone piece of art. But the dig does hurt a little, if I’m honest.
The truth is, I’ve never really fit in with the popular crowd.
Oh, sure. I’m the daughter—adopted daughter—of a famous hockey coach. But at social gatherings I’ve always felt, well, awkward.
Maybe that’s why I felt a connection to Jude’s Amish friends. Why I feel a connection to Eli. They’re different than everyone else. I noticed all the stares they received at the game. I also noticed how it didn’t seem to bother them. Like they were used to it.
And that’s where I’m different from them, I guess. Because I can’t imagine ever becoming used to people’s rudeness and prejudice.
But perhaps, maybe I could learn something from them. From Eli.
When I pull up to the curb, Elijah is sitting on the front steps of the apartment building clasping his hands. Something dark is beside him, but I can’t make out what it is. Since he isn’t familiar with my car, I open the door and walk around the front.
“Eli?” Man, does he look good.
Those thick lashes move upward, and he catches my gaze with his piercing blue eyes. A look of recognition passes over his face, and he stands and swings what looks like a coat over his arm. “Oh, I didn’t…”
“Dad had to make an important phone call, so he sent me. Ready to go?” I do my best to still my heart and act nonchalant, but with Eli walking toward me in all his masculine glory makes it nearly impossible.
He swallows, revealing an Adam’s apple I hadn’t noticed before. “Uh, jah .”
We slide into my car, and I’m inundated with cologne. Way too much cologne. Drenched cologne. I sneeze and roll down my window for some fresh air. Then I sneeze again. And again.
“Are you okay?” A concerned look flashes across his face.
“I’m sorry. I’m sensitive to smells.” That didn’t come out quite right.
I sneeze again.
He hands me a handkerchief. Like, a real one. Up until now, I didn’t realize people still used them. Unless they were gang members. “It’s clean.”
I don’t want to offend him, so I take it from his hand. “Thank you.”
I blow my nose. Way to make an impression, Sage .
“Sorry. The spray on the bottle was broken and it kind of spilled out. I tried to wash it off my hands. I would have changed into a different shirt, but this is the only for- gut one I brought along.” He grimaces and shakes his head.
“No, it’s okay. It’s probably fine for most people.” I say this as I’m dabbing my watery eyes.
“Do you want me to roll down my window too?”
“Yes, please. If you don’t mind. It’s that crank right there.”
The weather outside is a little chilly, but I’ll have to make do. It’s a good thing I brought along a thin sweater.
As soon as we’re in motion, the smell dissipates some and I can breathe again.
Eli’s frowning and I realize I should probably put him at ease. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time. Anytime I’m in church and someone with a lot of perfume sits close by, I start sneezing.”
“Would it be better if I didn’t wear any?”
“No, a little is perfectly fine. I actually like that scent.” Like a lot. Just not so much of it. And maybe I shouldn’t have admitted that because his mouth inches up at one corner.
“You go to church?” There’s a bit of curiosity in his eye.
“Yes, with my parents.” I glance his way as we come to a stoplight. “Church is a big part of the Amish culture too, isn’t it?”
“ Jah .” He studies me. “We meet every other Sunday. Next Sunday will be my folks’ turn to host.” He frowns after he says this.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“I just feel bad because I’m not there to help my folks. It takes a lot of work to prepare. Painting, cleaning, baking.” He shakes his head. “I should be there to help.”
“Oh, wow. You paint your house just for church?”
“Not the entire house. But jah .”
“That would be weird having church at our house.” I cover my mouth as I realize how that sounds. “Oh! I’m so stupid. I didn’t mean weird weird. I mean. I didn’t mean that you or your people are weird.” I continue rambling. “Just that if a bunch of church people were to come over to my house, it would feel awkward.”
His lips tremor at the corners, then he breaks out in a chuckle.
I gasp in mock offense. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Maybe.” Amusement dances in his eyes.
“Would you like to visit our church?” The offer tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop it. “I mean, since you can’t go to yours.”
“I’m allowed to?” There’s surprise in his voice.
“Of course. Aren’t other people allowed to attend your Amish church?”
“Yes, but our community is more liberal than others. There are some communities that don’t allow visitors. And most wouldn’t get anything from it since the preaching isn’t in English.”
My lips twist. “Oh. I guess I never thought that it might not be in English.”
“If visitors attend our church, they’ll preach in both German and English.”
“Oh, that’s considerate.” I nod. “I think it would be interesting to attend an Amish service.”
He shakes his head. “For real?”
“Yeah, why not? I mean, it might be kind of strange if I was the only person there who wasn’t Amish. But I think it would be an interesting experience.” I would never go by myself, but if I got to sit next to Eli, and maybe hold his hand during the service, I couldn’t imagine it being terrible.
We come to another light and stop. But when it turns green, my car stalls. “Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Not this again.”
Concern floods Eli’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“My car stalled.” I turn the key and attempt to turn the engine over. Cars behind us honk. “Oh, man. I need to get out of the intersection.”
“What should we do?” He glances back at the people honking behind us as I stick my arm out the window and try to wave them around us.
“Could you get behind the car and push? I’ll put it in neutral and steer.” I point up ahead. “We can go to that gas station across the street, but we’ll need to wait until the light turns green again.”
He blows out a breath. “Okay.”
“I’m guessing this is something you never had to worry about with a horse and buggy.”
“ Nee . But sometimes other things could happen. I’ve had my horse throw a shoe before. And one time, he freaked out when we were driving in a storm. It can be frightening.”
“I guess I never considered that.” The light turns green. “Okay. Hop out and push until we get to the gas station parking lot.”
He nods and jumps out. I slip it into neutral as we ramble along at two miles per hour across the intersection. I sigh in relief as we pull into the gas station parking lot.
I step out and join him at the back of the car. “Thanks. I’m glad you were with me to help.”
His hands slide into his pockets. “What now?”
I slip my phone out of my purse. “I’ll call the tow service, then I need to call my dad and let him know why we’re taking so long.”
The wind picks up and I shiver.
“Should we get back into the car?” He suggests.
“Yeah. Good idea.” We slip inside our protective cocoon. But without the use of the heater, it’s beginning to get downright chilly.
“Are you cold? You could use my jacket.” He grins sheepishly. “There’s no cologne on it.”
Somehow, the cologne isn’t bothering me anymore. Maybe it’s worn off.
“You’re sure you don’t need it?”
“ Jah , I’m sure. Actually, I’m quite comfortable.” He hands over his coat.
I examine it before putting it on, taking note of the thick quilting inside. The outer layer appears to be wool. “Wow, is this homemade?”
“ Jah . Can’t remember if my mom or sister made it.”
It’s huge on me, but I feel like I’m wrapped up in Eli’s arms. I shiver at the appealing thought.
“Still cold?” His brow lowers in concern, and he beckons me near as he moves closer on the bench seat. And have mercy, his large hands rest on my shoulders and gently slide up and down my arms. His attempt at generating warmth works beautifully because my face and arms are now on fire. His assessing eyes study mine and I struggle to look away. “Is that better?”
I blink in a futile attempt to break the power his stare has over me. I force myself to nod as his hands continue to move over my arms. Speak, mouth . “Thank you, Elijah.” I peep. “That helps.”
“My pleasure.” At his grin, my stomach flips a somersault. I can’t help but wish that the tow truck guy takes his sweet time getting here.
I’m tempted to lean into Eli’s touch. Something about his presence is just so peaceful…so disarming. Gazing into those ocean blue eyes make me want to know everything about Elijah Petersheim.
Then there’s a hard knock on the window, and we scramble apart. Elijah smacks his head on the ceiling in his haste to return to his side of the car.
“Oh, dear! It’s my dad.”