Chapter 17
“Who wants to help with raking?” Anson clapped in a bid to rally enthusiasm.
The middle school students sat facing forward, yet not one of them met his eyes. Only Mercy and Hadley had signed up. Blaze probably didn’t give her sister a choice, and Hadley never missed an activity.
The others treated the three-hour event like a prison sentence.
A total of six students between both youth groups were on board.
Meanwhile, eight adults—not counting youth leaders—had signed up for something that was supposed to be a youth service project.
The leadership board wasn’t happy. “The more of you who come, the more fun we’ll have, and the more people we can show God’s love by helping with their yards. ”
“I’ll be there.” Nolan lifted his hand.
None of the kids followed suit.
“You guys know it’s a competition, right?” Blaze’s question drew everyone’s attention. “After we work, we’ll come back here for pizza and”—she stretched the word, despite Anson’s motion to stop inventing plans—“whichever team rakes the most yards gets to throw a pie at the leaders.”
The kids traded wide-eyed looks.
So much for the students serving the community to show God’s love to their neighbors. Pizza wasn’t in the budget, and the leaders hadn’t agreed to be pied.
Blaze was lucky he liked her.
He cleared his throat, because even the thought rang too loud.
Blaze was not the woman for him. He’d gone to The Depot last Thursday figuring if he had a real conversation with her, he’d see for himself all the reasons they were poorly suited for each other.
The plan had backfired. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He even missed a pass during game time because he’d been watching her instead of the ball.
“How many people on each team?” one of the boys asked.
Blaze scrunched her mouth in thought. “As many as you want, but there are only three leaders, so there will only be three pies to throw.”
There would also be two Branching Out leaders, but Anson didn’t mention it. Three pies were more than enough.
As the boys conferred, Hadley twisted in her seat to face Blaze and raised her hand. Once Blaze pointed at her, she asked, “What kind of pie?”
“Whipped cream.” Looking pleased with herself, she added, “It’ll be very messy.”
An eighth-grade boy gave a definitive nod. “Okay. We’ll come.”
At least the leadership board would be satisfied. Anson handed over the sign-up sheet. They passed it around, adding three names.
“Can we be on teams with high schoolers?” asked a girl whose sister attended Branching Out.
Finally, Blaze’s bright eyes looked to him.
He found himself nodding. The girl and her friend committed to come. At the end of the night, the kids picked up permission slips on their way out the door.
As they filed out, Blaze bumped his arm with her shoulder. A whiff of floral perfume followed. “Wouldn’t it be great if they all followed through?”
“Sure.” Anson rubbed his neck. A glance from her had made him forget his hesitations. Why did she have such a strong effect on him?
“You don’t think they will?”
“They might.”
He’d always thought her face symmetrical, but her hairline was higher on the left than the right, and that eyebrow tended to arc slightly higher as well.
Her nose was a touch off-center, and the right corner of her mouth sat a fraction higher.
Instead of taking away from perfection, the differences rendered her face more interesting. More uniquely hers.
The lips he hadn’t meant to study stretched into a mischievous smile. “You just don’t want a pie in the face.”
He turned away under the pretense of cleaning up. “A kid almost broke my nose with a pie a couple years ago. We’ll have to put the whipped cream on paper plates and set up a line they can’t cross.”
“Wow. That’s intense. Yeah, paper plates and boundaries.” She popped into his peripheral vision, straightening chairs. “What else do we need to do to make this work? I can tell you’re still not a fan. If that’s because of the pizza, I’m buying.”
He held up one hand. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to let me give money to the church. In fact, you’re supposed to encourage it.” A tease brightened her tone.
“Not if it’s for the wrong motives.”
“What do you think my motives are?”
He checked for listening ears. Mercy and Hadley had their heads tipped together as they watched something on a cell phone. Nolan chatted with the only other remaining student by the door. He stepped closer to her. “You’re trying to save my job.”
Blaze feigned a horrified gasp. “How awful.”
His failure with the kids ought to bother him. Instead, he pictured catching Blaze’s hand and tugging her closer. He returned to straightening up, but the kids hadn’t left much of a mess. He collected his Bible and notes from the lectern.
Blaze’s voice followed. “Did a lot of high schoolers sign up?”
“Four, but it’s not just the numbers. The kids’ motives matter too. I want them to serve without strings attached.”
“Ah. Well, learning how to make work fun is a helpful life skill. And you know what’s not fun?
Watching a group of preteens shut you down.
” She poked his chest. “I bet helping people was enough motivation for you, even in middle or high school. Most kids aren’t that generous.
Or maybe they have a hard time picturing how big of a difference their help can make. ”
He laid his Bible on the counter and picked up his coat from a nearby chair. Blaze’s was underneath, so he passed it to her. “We can’t throw pizza at them every time we want them to show up.”
“Once in a while, though ….” Her smile bloomed. “And technically, you won’t be throwing pizza at them. They’ll be throwing pies at you.”
“Even worse.” He pulled his coat on.
“It’ll be great. I promise.”
“If it’s not, do I get to throw a pie at you?”
“There will be enough pies flying as it is.” She winked.
A smile fought past his defenses. He could endure a disturbing amount of teasing when it came from her.
Nolan came up behind her. “I don’t remember signing up for a face full of whipped cream.” He put a hand on her shoulder and mimed squishing a pie into her pretty features.
Jealousy slithered through Anson’s chest, but he couldn’t touch her like that. He could barely keep his wits about him as it was.
With a playful shrug, Blaze slipped away. “At least I didn’t say dunk tank—and I could have. The dealership owns one.” She donned her coat and motioned the girls to follow her. “’Night, guys!”
Giggling and echoing the carefree farewell, Mercy and Hadley followed her out as they slid into their own coats.
Nolan chuckled and shook his head. “That one’s trouble.”
“Yes, she is.”
The following Tuesday afternoon, Blaze left work early for her doctor’s appointment. Instead of multiple appointments and assessments like Mercy had gone through, the doctor had her answer two pages of questions.
His frown deepened as he read her answers. He set the page aside and folded his hands loosely in his lap. “The trouble, Blaze, is that your assessment isn’t definitive.” His tone remained conversational, but his words slashed through her confidence.
She wasn’t even good enough at having a disorder?
“ADHD is a lifelong disorder, not something that crops up in adulthood. That, combined with your symptoms, leads me to suspect anxiety instead.”
Her mouth went dry. Was twenty minutes long enough to come to a conclusion, let alone such an unexpected one?
She’d always liked her doctor. He’d treated her iron deficiency, a UTI, and a nasty upper respiratory infection. She hadn’t felt misunderstood or rushed those times.
“I’ll write you a prescription for an antidepressant that’s often effective in treating anxiety and a referral for talk therapy.” He gave a perfunctory smile. “Between the two, I believe you’ll start to find some real relief.”
“Anxiety ….” Enough to require medication and therapy?
The doctor adjusted his glasses as he peered at his tablet. “Diet and exercise can also significantly impact your overall well-being. Exercise increases serotonin, reducing feelings of stress and anxiety. Meanwhile, changes to your diet, such as including more protein—”
“I changed my diet a few weeks ago to include lots of protein, fewer processed foods, and a lot less sugar.” Getting up in the morning had become slightly easier, and the jeans that used to bite into her stomach were no longer uncomfortable.
Her office and the reports that awaited her there, however, were.
He straightened his lab coat’s lapel. “Your caffeine intake is higher than I like to see. Four to five cups of coffee per day could contribute to an inability to focus and anxiety.”
That word again. “I don’t have panic attacks or feel nervous all the time.”
“You reported worrying ‘often’ about your job performance, how people perceive you, and your parenting. Worry is a synonym for anxiety.”
She rubbed the growing tension in her shoulder. “I’m forgetful. I have trouble concentrating on tasks I need to do, like reports for work.”
“Anxiety can cause that, especially when triggered by stressors like a promotion. An anxiety diagnosis is good news. ADHD can be treated, but it’s incurable.
Anxiety, on the other hand, sometimes goes away entirely with treatment.
It may be a long road, but starting treatment can improve your quality of life immediately. ”
“Okay.” She pressed her hands into the seat and scooted back. Immediate improvement sounded good. Mercy’s appetite had finally returned, and she’d cleaned BunBun’s area on first request last time, but the wait for change had been grueling.
The doctor handed her pages that recapped the appointment, his recommendations, and general information about anxiety. “What pharmacy would you like to use for the prescription?”
“Um …” The antidepressant was so unexpected. How had she been right about Mercy and wrong about herself? But who was she to disagree with an expert? “The pharmacy here’s fine.”