Chapter Five
Operation Ignore the Beast was turning out to be the hardest thing Charity had ever done.
Harder than when she’d tested for her black belt or any of the extra degrees that came after it.
Harder than when she’d sat home on Prom Night because the boy who’d asked her chickened out and stood her up.
Harder than moving out of her parent’s home and living on her own for the first time.
Kolby was, simply, hard to ignore.
And it wasn’t only because they worked together in the same office. Most of his days were spent hunched over his computer with his door closed while he downloaded wedding photos, assessed them and then put them into files for the happy couples to look at and choose which ones they wanted.
Nine times out of ten, they wound up buying all the photographs because they were all equally good.
Charity was mature enough to concede the man was a phenomenal photographer.
It wasn’t like he was bothering her all day long, either, asking questions, or to do something for him.
He’d arrive promptly at nine every day, work until lunch, emerge from his sanctum and ask if she wanted or needed anything, and then leave to pick up something to eat.
No small talk between them, just business as usual.
He’d been so solicitous of her during their field trip. She’d never leaned on anyone before when she’d had a migraine, so to have someone actually help her through an episode was, well, it was nice.
Really nice.
He’d even brought her back another Diet Pepsi with her lunch, which went a long way in easing the pain.
He hadn’t lingered at her desk, simply delivered her order, told her again it was his treat, and then gone back to his office to continue working for the day.
She made all the calls and spoke with every client and upcoming venue she needed to in order to confirm dates and details.
At the end of the work day he’d emerged, keys in hand, asked if she needed anything and when told no, wished her a good night and left.
He’d looked eager to go.
Probably has a hot date.
She pouted. Probably with Shannon, I have great fake breasts, Jayne.
Before leaving for the day, she took the mail from its slot, delivered Colleen’s to her office, where she knew Slade would pick it up before the weekend, and then Kolby’s to his office.
Something caught her eye in his wastebasket.
When she bent and retrieved it, she saw that it was a phone number with Call me written next to it with five-FIVE!
-exclamation points, and a red lipstick kiss.
Charity immediately recognized the vibrant color.
Why was Shannon Jayne’s phone number in his wastebasket? She answered her own question immediately. He'd probably already plugged it into his phone and didn’t need the physical reminder any longer.
She locked up, then drove back to her apartment.
After doing a load of laundry, she nuked some leftover steak and potatoes she’d made a few days ago, then brought it into the living room, settled down and clicked on Blind for Love.
An hour later, she sighed and stretched. While brushing her teeth, she thought back on the couples she’d just watched fall in love by simply speaking to one another, never knowing who they were speaking to until they were ready to commit to becoming engaged.
Could you really fall in love that way? Was it wishful thinking in this day and age, for people to develop feelings for someone else and never know what they looked like until after those feelings had formed?
The idea seemed overly romantic and not forged in reality to Charity, which was laughable because it was a reality show.
Charity wanted to fall in love. She wanted a special someone to come home to every night, talk the day over with, share things.
She wanted children, the current version of a family minivan, and to grow more in love with her partner every day they were together.
But meeting men in Heaven wasn’t the easiest thing to do.
She hadn’t grown up here, so she didn’t know the backstory of most of the people who had.
Colleen was a font of information about the town’s lifelong residents, and from what she’d related, most people married young, unfortunately divorced, and then remarried. Sometimes more than once or twice.
Charity didn’t want someone with that much emotional and bad relationship baggage, and she knew how pompous and self-righteous that sounded, but still. She needed a plan. Everything she’d ever done in her life, every goal she’d ever set, every single outcome she’d achieved, had started with a plan.
After dragging her laptop from her messenger bag, she opened to a new page in her notebook app and typed OPERATION FIND A MATE along the top.
Bullet points had never let her down before, and had always helped organize her thoughts and show her where she should concentrate her efforts and time.
Done, and now with a plan for how to proceed written out in front of her, she closed the laptop and grabbed her phone.
With a sigh, she punched in a single digit. The phone’s camera engaged after just one ring.
“Hey, Baby-girl.”
Instantly, Charity smiled.
“Hey, Mama.”
Hair the color of a full moon-God-given and not from a bottle-swirled about her mother’s face, highlighting the cheekbones etched in glass, and skin the color of ripe peaches.
Her mother was the most beautiful woman Charity’d ever known, and that wasn’t offspring pride talking. Through her youth, CarlieRae Jessups had won countless county and state fairs before Rory Quinlan swept her off her feet.
“You sound down, my baby,” her mother said. “You tell your mama what’s heavy on your heart, sweet girl.”
Just the honeyed, singsong cadence, so familiar and so comforting, had all of Charity’s anxiety fleeing.
“Just busier than a one-legged gal in a butt-kicking contest,” she replied. “And a little tired with it.”
The southern drawl she’d worked years to erase pushed out whenever she called home. Mississippi freely wove through her speech.
“Sounds more than simple tired,” her mother said, wise even when she wasn’t in the same room with one of her chicks. CarlieRae squinted. “Yo’re lookin’ a little thin and dull ’round the edges, baby. You havin’ spells?”
Referring to the debilitating migraines as spells was her mother’s way of dealing with the guilt she felt over them, something Charity had told her numerous times she had no reason for.
But CarlieRae believed she’d somehow caused them while pregnant, since none of the boys suffered through them, just her only girl.
“I haven’t had one in a while,” Charity admitted. “Then today, I got caught up in one.”
She related the venue tour and the competing scents of the event coordinators.
“The woman,” Charity said, rolling her eyes, “smelled like she’d jumped into a vat of fresh-pressed apple juice mixed with gardenias. So sweet, honey bees winged each other to death around her.”
Her mother laughed, the sound a full-fledged belly shaker of a guffaw. Charity grinned. Making her mama laugh was something she never tired of. The sound, so natural, so rich, so darn happy, always brought joy to Charity’s heart.
“Oh, sweet girl,” CarlieRae swiped at her eyes, “that there is the best description I’ve heard in a month of days with a Y in’em.”
She fanned herself with her hand, then looked back at the screen.
“Now, tell me. Any’o those Northern boys payin’ you any mind? You meet any nice fellas yet? Anyone gettin’ your heart a flutterin’?”
A sudden flash of Kolby’s face swept across her mind’s eye as he stared across the truck cab at her, concern mixed with kindness in his expression.
She blinked to rid it of the image, and said, “It’s hard to meet men here, Mama. Heaven’s like Gulches End. Small town. Everybody knows everybody. Everyone’s up in everyone else’s business. I’m an outsider. Still, even after three years.”
CarlieRae tsked then waved an impatient hand in the air. “What about in karate class? Gotta be some young men there who’d be thrilled to squire you ’round.”
Charity sighed. She’d explained to her parents too many times to remember that the guys in karate class, although they respected her for the rank she’d achieved and treated her accordingly, weren’t exactly lining up to date her.
None of them wanted to be with a girl who knew sixteen ways to kill someone without it showing, or who could toss two hundred pounds of attacking man over her head with one quick wrist flick.
Not to mention the ability to emasculate a guy with a well-aimed dropkick.
“They’re all married or in relationships,” she fibbed, crossing her legs instead of her fingers.
“Well, then how ’bout that hunky-man picture taker you work with? What’s his name? Cory?”
“Kolby,” she said. “And he’s not the kind of guy I want to be with.”
Her mama’s eyes narrowed. “Why? He a hittin’ man?”
She shook her head. “No Ma’am. He just likes the ladies a little too much to be a one-gal, put down roots kinda guy.”
CarlieRae nodded. “So, a hittin’ man, just not with his fists.”
Charity burst out laughing. “Oh, Mama, I’m so glad I called. It’s good to talk to you.”
“Back atcha, Baby-girl. Now, when are we gonna see you again? My arms are a’aching for a hug.”
For another half hour they spoke, CarlieRae filling her daughter in on all the ridiculous shenanigans that made up her brother’s daily lives.
Lordy, she missed them. Even though they were each and every one of them absolute pains in the ass, overbearing know-it-alls who cared more about who could outwit, out beat, and out think the other, she missed them.
When they finally said goodbye, adding several I love yous with it, Charity felt better.
Only a twinge of head pain remained, but she resolved to stop feeling sorry for herself.
She’d written out a plan, set some immediate and some long distance goals, and then called home.
All in all, it was a productive evening.
She’d brushed her teeth and settled into bed with her e-reader when her phone pinged with an incoming text.
Eyes narrowing, she recognized the number immediately and wondered why on earth he was texting her.
How’s the head?
Kolby.
She waited a few beats before replying.
Better.
The communication dots pulsed across her screen, then,
Good. Did you get some rest?
Yes.
Are you coming into work in the morning?
Strange question.
Of course.
Then, before she could help herself, added,
Why?
She waited for the dots to ebb again.
Just wondering. Thought you might take a day. Recoup. Relax.
I’m fine.
The screen stayed still.
With a confused shake of her head, she typed,
Okay. Sleep calls. See you in the a.m.
After hitting send, she thought for a moment, then added,
Thanks for checking up on me.
She plugged the phone in, heard it ping, and then picked it back up.
Glad you’re feeling better. C U tmrw.
She sent back a thumbs up then powered the phone down.
As she snuggled under the covers, she thought Operation Ignore the Beast was going to be a bust if he kept this up.
And then she wondered why he was being so nice to her.
Suspicion slid across her mind as she dissolved into sleep. Suspicion and just a smidge of pleasure.
But still...