Chapter 18
Brandon
And here I thought I understood women. I even had the audacity to believe I was great with women.
The Lord really has a way of humbling a person.
It turns out that when I can’t rely on oodles of flirtatious banter, a charming wink, or the occasional compliment, I am utterly useless.
Completely disarmed. I have never felt more clueless in my entire life than I do attempting to navigate a working relationship with Evie.
And I have already made a critical error—in my attempt at keeping things “professional,” I swung so far in the opposite direction of flirting that I ended up acting like a class-A jerk.
I even threatened to fire her at one point.
Good grief, what is wrong with me? I can’t get over the way those big brown eyes widened before they fell to the ground.
They haven’t looked directly into mine since.
She’s reverted back to how she was with me before becoming my assistant—skeptical, closed off, petulant.
Just as the clouds were beginning to part and reveal that fun, playful side of her that I adore . . .
I bow my head over my desk and massage my temples, at a total loss.
Lord, help me. How do I fix this? In the silence, I get the keen sense that He’s telling me I can’t, that I’m doomed to love a woman who is intent on loathing me for the rest of my life—and that floors me.
God, why won’t you help me fix this? You can do anything, so why not this? Why not help me reconcile with Evie?
A memory rushes back to me. Evie once confided that being a Christian “wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be” because God didn’t answer her prayer—at least not in the way she’d hoped.
I explained that it doesn’t work like that—that God isn’t a genie who grants our every wish.
Rather, He’s a Father who loves us beyond measure and knows what’s best for us—even when what’s best for us doesn’t make sense from our limited, earthly perspective.
That was a hard pill for her to swallow.
It’s a hard pill to swallow for me, too, sometimes.
Being a Christian doesn’t mean life gets easier.
Oftentimes, it gets a whole lot more complicated.
I learned that rather quickly, when I wanted to continue living in sin and had to fight the current like my life depended on it.
But there’s beauty in the battle, too, because you’re not struggling in vain.
Still, it’s hard.
As I pray over the situation and focus on His presence, an unexplainable sense of peace settles over my shoulders like a warm cloak. His love feels like summer sunshine against my skin, even while I’m sitting in this drafty office in the dead of winter.
All at once, I understand what He’s saying. He’s asking me if He’s enough. He’s asking if Evie never came around, would His love for me be enough?
My head says Yes, Lord, but my heart resists, dragging its feet.
Despite that, I’m feeling a renewed sense of hope because God is ever gracious with me. I head to the lobby, mentally preparing myself for another round of mental gymnastics and walking on eggshells with my infuriatingly stubborn assistant.
Evie is standing behind the front desk, her arm lifted over her head in a stretch. She’s watching a silent pharmaceutical ad on the TV above the lobby couch. When she spots me entering the area behind the front desk—an area she has deemed her space—her nose pinches in distaste.
Resisting the urge to sigh, I head to the back counter and pretend to organize a stack of papers while I try to find a way to break the ice. Her attention returns to the TV.
Food seems like a safe topic. “Evie, have you thought about what you want for lunch?”
“I brought my lunch,” she replies curtly, her gaze still fixed on the ad.
“You can save it for tomorrow. Lunch is on me today. I was thinking Italian, from Little Italy down the road? I can go pick it up.”
She faces me with a frown and props her hands on her hips.
I resist a grin. She’s adorable. Today, she’s wearing a plaid skirt with a hem line barely long enough to be considered appropriate.
I wouldn’t dare mention it, though—not unless I wanted to get slapped.
On her top half, she’s wearing a cream sweater with a dangerously low neckline.
My eyes linger on her decolletage, mesmerized by the way her felt choker hugs her smooth, sun-kissed skin.
“I’m not interested in your pathetic attempt at sucking up to me, Brandon,” she gripes. “So, no, thanks. I’ll eat my own lunch today.” She turns and resumes her stretch.
I smirk. When she’s like this, all pouty and prickly like a cute, harmless porcupine, I can’t help but mess with her head.
It’s a major flaw—one I will probably have to work on correcting for the rest of my life.
“Fine.” I jot my order down on a sticky note, then stick it to her clavicle.
Her shoulder rocks from the force of my touch, and she stumbles back, glaring at me before glancing at the note I’ve planted on her.
She rips the sticky note from her chest and reads it. “This is two meals.”
“Congratulations, Spitfire. You can count. One meal, two.” I say that last part like I’m reading from a Doctor Seuss book. “One for me, and one for Gladys. And nothing for you.” I boop her nose.
Her cheeks go pink, and it makes me chuckle.
I know I’m playing with fire teasing her like this, especially after yesterday.
But I took the wrong approach before. I was afraid that if we acted too comfortable around each other, that it would devolve into flirting.
However, remaining aloof is not going to work.
Clearly. It’s just not my style, and Evie’s self-esteem is too fragile.
Plus, she wouldn’t let me touch her with a ten-foot pole these days, so there’s no real risk of us falling onto the nearest flat surface together.
So, we’re back at square one, and I’m taking the new approach.
Well, the old approach, technically. I’m going to butter her up with banter, and she’ll eventually open up to me again.
I know I keep messing up, but I’m not a quitter.
I’m prepared to do this song and dance with her for as long as it takes.
I arch a brow. “Unless you’d like to backtrack and allow me to treat you to lunch today?”
“Nope.” She lifts her hand and curls her fingers. “Card?”
As I’m reaching for my wallet, an idea drops into my mind. I fish my business card out and hand it over. “Keep this after you’ve ordered us lunch.”
She gives me a quizzical look but doesn’t argue.
Bracing her hand against her lower back, she lowers herself into the chair, moving as if she’s heavily pregnant.
While she orders our lunch, she rubs the muscles at the base of her spine.
I sit down on the counter behind her, wondering if she’ll ever visit the doctor about her back pain.
“And why, exactly, am I keeping your card?” she asks after a few minutes of loaded silence, her foot bouncing beneath the desk. She always fidgets when I’m watching her . . .
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said on Monday. About how even non-Christians enjoy a little bit of Christmas cheer.”
Her face lights up like a Christmas tree, just like I knew it would. She turns to me with a reluctant smile, and the sight makes my heart drum against my ribs. Success. “Have you reconsidered decorating the office?”
I nod. “It’s a little late in the game, but if you wanted to get a tree—”
She holds her hand up. “Say less, Brandon. I will order a tree tonight.”
I laugh softly. “Why would you order a tree online when you could visit the tree farm that’s two miles down the road? I’m meeting up with Cora to discuss Teddy’s holiday schedule this evening, but we could go afterward if you want.” I try to keep the hope from creeping into my voice.
To my surprise, she looks like she’s considering it before she shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” I ask a little too quickly, still holding on to hope. “Do you have plans?”
She purses her lips and nods. Curiosity momentarily eclipses my disappointment. What might she be up to on a Friday night? And with whom?
“Hot date?” I joke, trying to keep things light. But I’m dying to know. I hate the streak of jealousy that scorches through me as I picture her on a date with another man.
She grimaces. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” I prod as she rises and shrugs her coat on. I throw my own coat on as I trail her to the door.
She eyes me skeptically as I follow her out of the building, the bell above the door jingling behind us as it closes. “What are you doing?”
Rounding my shoulders, I shrug, bracing myself against the nip of the wind. “I need some fresh air.”
Evie frowns, crossing her arms as she picks up her pace. Luckily for me, my legs are much longer than hers, so it’s easy enough to match her stride.
“So?” I press. “Who is this not-exactly-a-hot-date with?”
“It’s not a date, Brandon,” she all but moans. She’s concentrating on her feet as she walks, dodging small patches of ice as we amble down the street.
My arm lifts toward her unconsciously, and I leave it there to hover behind her protectively as I look around us, taking in the cheery, bustling view of Blairs Ferry’s business district as it prepares for the Christmas holiday.
Main Street is currently aglow with twinkling lights, garland, and tinsel; the glimmering decor shimmers and winks at us from nearly every lamp post, fence, and shop entrance that we pass by.
Christmas trees, wreaths, mistletoe, and boughs of holly adorn almost every window and door that we stroll past.
Evie was right. I’m probably the only business owner in Blairs Ferry who hasn’t decorated his office space for the Christmas season.
And it’s a darn shame.
“Who?” I insist.
“What’s it matter to you?”
“I need to know if he’s worthy of you.”
She snorts.
“Tell me.”
“Adam,” she eventually admits, throwing her arms up as she pauses and spins to face me. “Why? What’s it to you who I hang out with, anyway?”
“Adam?” I question, pulling her closer by the arm so we’re not blocking the path. She shuffles forward, a disgruntled look on her face. “You’re going on a date with Adam?”
“I’ve told you a million times that it’s not a date,” she snaps as she crosses her arms and looks away. “And even if it were—why not Adam? I’m single. I can do whatever I want, with whoever I want.”
I thumb her chin back in my direction. She bats my hand away. “Adam might still have feelings for you,” I warn her, reluctant to give away Adam’s secret. But she should know. “And I seem to recall a conversation where you told me you don’t enjoy being intimate with—”
Her jaw drops, and then she’s lurching toward me, slamming her hand over my mouth.
For one split second, I contemplate wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing her senseless.
Right here in public. She might not have enjoyed being intimate with Adam, but I can remind her just how much she enjoyed it with me—if that’s what it takes to end this drawn-out game of cat and mouse she’s forcing me to endure.
But then reality weighs heavily on my heart as she pulls back.
“Don’t!” she whisper-shouts, outraged as her eyes dance between mine. She’s acting as if she’s afraid to have the truth spoken out loud.
But maybe it wasn’t—isn’t—the truth. Maybe . . .
Maybe she wants to be with Adam.
It suddenly makes perfect sense. Why else would God want me to stand down, if not to let Evie find her way back to Adam—and maybe the faith, too?
And if that’s the case . . . then who am I to stand in the way of His plans?
He told me not to hold my breath where she’s concerned, so I should be happy for them.
Right? This might be the miracle Adam’s been praying for.
I won’t be the reason they don’t end up together again.
I was selfish with Evie once before, but I made a promise to myself—and God—that I would never, ever become that man again.
I will never put my desire to be with Evie—or any other woman, for that matter—above her mental, emotional, or spiritual well-being. Never.
If this is my cup, then so be it.
Slowly, Evie retracts her hand from my mouth, taking a sizable step back. “Ugh. You are so—” She teeters and squeals, her arms flailing out around her as her foot slides sideways.
I lurch forward, but it’s too late—she’s already lying face up on the ground.